Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2009. Mattie was in the outpatient clinic and that day he worked on creating this figure in the photo! Meet Dr. Crazy Hair. This doctor came upstairs to the in-patient unit with us and he stood right outside Mattie's room door greeting everyone entering! Dr. Crazy Hair not only had feathers for hair, but he had a big toe nail (a shell) in his coat pocket and a stethoscope made out of model magic. When I asked Mattie why the doctor had a "toenail" in his pocket, his response was "it was infected and he pulled it right off of a patient."
Quote of the day: The whole world seems tilted, my inner ear displaced by a hole where my spouse used to be. ~ Suzanne Finnamore
Today was another winner of a day. Eating with my dad is becoming more and more challenging. He still thinks he likes to go out to eat, which is why I do it, but I find he no longer likes to eat anything that he used to love. Even things he loved a month ago! My dad used to love shrimp. He would order it everywhere. Now he isn't interested in it at all. In fact, what primarily interests him is bread and butter and potatoes or corn.
Each week, I never know what I am going to get, what he will eat, or will he shovel too much food in his mouth and choke. Eating with him, means constant policing. I am not policing him about etiquette, I am policing him about hygiene and safety issue. My dad ALWAYS has a runny nose when he eats! It doesn't matter what the season is and unfortunately if I do not instruct him to blow his nose, he will let this dripping fluid migrate into his mouth. When I take him out, I have countless packets of tissues (he can go through a whole packet in one meal at least) and garbage bags with me to collect all used tissues.
Today the restaurant put chopped tomatoes into the corn dish. My dad refused to eat the tomatoes. Instead of picking them out or having me do it, he would instead put them in his mouth, chew them, and then spit them out. He did this numerous times, and despite instructing him not to eat them, he didn't listen. If my dad wants to do this kind of spitting at home, that is one thing, but I do not like him doing this in public. So it was a full afternoon of monitoring and policing.
Mind you before we left for the restaurant, I had my dad use the bathroom. However, that served no purpose because somewhere during our meal my dad went again. He no longer tells me when he has to go, because he has no cognitive ability to feel those sensations. Therefore, I have become very good at reading his non-verbals. I know all the telltale signs of him having to use the bathroom. Though I suggested we leave the table and use the bathroom twice, he refused. I am pretty sure he refused because he doesn't want to get up and walk.
By the time I got my dad up to leave the restaurant for home, it was like looking at a crime scene. It was so bad, that I decided I couldn't manage this big change of clothes and clean up job at the restaurant. So instead, I put my dad in the car, protected the seat, and drove him home in this state. Once home, it took me about twenty minutes to clean him, change him into clean clothes, and replace all his wound care bandages. Which then led to another round of laundry. I can't tell you how many times my washing machine runs in one day, all I can say is thank goodness I am not living in my Washington, DC apartment, because the notion of fighting other tenants for machines would do me in completely. I did it for 20+ years, even with a baby in tow, but I neither have the fortitude or energy for that anymore.
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