Tonight's picture was taken on February 18, 2009. Mattie was stuffing his mouth with a cupcake that I made. In fact, any time I went home during that period of time, I would bake cupcakes for Mattie. I would then put them in a Tupperware and take them to the hospital with us. The cupcakes were used as incentives to get Mattie to do his physical therapy exercises. Remember at that point, our hope was that Mattie's situation would stabilize and he would potentially return to school in the Fall of 2009. With that in mind, physical therapy was essential. However, Mattie's cancer treatment left him unable to really eat, he had no appetite, and therefore when he requested a certain food, we jumped through hoops to get it. So in this case, this was Mattie's cupcake phase! Mattie had various phases.... the vanilla milkshake phase, the vanilla frosted donut phase, the UZ potato chip phase, the French fry phase, etc!
Quote of the day: Today's coronavirus update from Johns Hopkins.
- Number of people diagnosed with the virus: 78,265,672
- Number of people who died from the virus: 931,359
It was another day where I did not know whether I was coming or going. My dad had his physical therapist and speech therapist over today. During his PT appointment, I wanted to run to the grocery store. I am not sure how I made that happen, and I felt badly because I pulled Peter from work to help me manage the therapist appointment. I felt like I needed to scramble because Peter flew to Boston this afternoon, and therefore I prefer to do such tasks when he is around to oversee what's going on in the house.
The physical therapist annoyed me to NO end today. He suggested we buy my dad a rollator (basically a walker with four wheels and a seat). Before I bought it, I asked the therapist if I needed a particular height or size. He said NO, a standard size would do! WRONG. The rollator we bought, is too short for my dad. So the therapist told me today I need to return it and order another one. That I did not crown him over the head with the rollator is a miracle. A miracle for him!
Any case, I ran my chores and then came home, unpacked the groceries, folded laundry, and then the speech therapist arrived. Turns out she is pregnant and will not be continuing with my dad. She is the one person he really likes. Naturally! During the session, my dad's irritable bowel issue flared up and I had to take him to the bathroom mid-session. To make a long story short, after complaining to the social worker yesterday, she got us more in-home sessions for my dad. Honestly it is a mixed blessing, because managing the therapists' schedules and participating in their sessions (which is vital, because if I don't he won't have the foggiest notion what exercises to do when they are gone) is complex for me. It makes it impossible to get any work done. In fact I started an email this morning that I completely forgot about, until I came back to the computer tonight. I am scattered, frazzled, and very tired.
The speech therapist gave me and my dad an assignment today. Why not, I need another assignment, don't I? She wants us to make a memory book together. She has got to be kidding. She wants me to go through photos, record memories, and so forth. I am not sure when she thinks I am going to do this between intense caregiving tasks, bouts of pooping, cleaning, cooking, running errands, doctor appts and the like.
This afternoon, after all the therapists left, I took my parents out to lunch. At lunch, my dad had to go to the bathroom. So into the ladies room we went. I did hear some women grumbling about his presence, but frankly I have NO choice. He can't manage this on his own, as he can't even process the steps one needs to follow to use the bathroom. No meal is ever in peace. I am constantly on the edge and jumping to meet my parent's needs. When I drove home this evening, again, anxiety over took my dad and he started screaming while in the garage about getting to the bathroom. We did not make it in time, and he was a royal mess to clean up. I could try to describe my days in writing, but living them is a nightmare of grand proportion.
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