Getting ready to leave for the hospital. It seems that we may get out on time. Thank you for all my friends here and on FaceBook who have offered encouragement, positive thoughts and a good sense of humor. My friend Sharon will be posting on my wall when she hears from me. If one of my FB friends could add a comment here for anyone who might be interested I’d appreciate it.
Hugs all around. See you later!
Probably. 
Curious about Total Knee Replacement? Perform virtual knee surgery or view rather frightening photos of the procedure.
Today was my pre-admission appointment as well as my meeting with my surgeon for the last time before the day of my surgery. I had a really, really detailed medical history taken (yes, I once stubbed my toe…) and talked with the anesthesiologist. Turns out that they probably will not use general anesthesia, for which I am grateful because I hate it. They’ll use a nerve block and a spinal and give me something to make me really sleepy. It’s a little disconcerting sounding but apparently the outcomes and pain control are much better with this method.
The funny part was during the medical history. We were nearing the end and suddenly I’m like, “Oh, about that bad reaction to anesthesia, I went into respiratory arrest once…” I forgot all about that surgery. It doesn’t count in my mind because they didn’t actually do anything besides almost kill me. That sent the nurse and me into paroxysms of laughter. Oh no, I haven’t had bad reactions to anesthesia except for that one time I almost died.
Oh, and I really think my transmission is slipping. Yay.
I went to Joint Camp last night. Yes, Joint Camp. It’s part of the “Joint Adventure Program.” Lots of good information but in a semi-ridiculous format. Oh well.
As Hannah noted the other day, I’m supposed to have knee surgery in less than three weeks now. Part of me is excited. Part of me is scared. Part of me wants to run far, far away but that’s nothing new and not necessarily anything to do with the surgery. The recovery time seems to be more than I anticipated but then most of the other “campers” were significantly older. I have worked to get ready for this.
What am I doing?
“It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore gloomily.
“So it is.”
“And freezing.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening up a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.”
A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh
There are things I just can’t write about, not here, maybe not anywhere. I’m tired, really tired. I will be away from the blog for a while. It’s not like I’m updating really regularly anyway.
This may seem mean or it may seem funny. It’s neither.
I spent all week trying to get Dad to fill the prescription for Zoloft we got last week from the doctor. I also needed him to get the 2009 tax information from the pharmacy and I couldn’t do that for him so I wrote down what he needed to do. We were out together twice during the week and he wouldn’t do either thing then. He kept insisting he’d do it later. I reminded him every day and he would fight about it. He didn’t get a prescription, he’d insist. He didn’t know what the prescription was. He didn’t know where the prescription was. I’d tell him, as patiently as I could a dozen or so times every time we talked about it until I’d lose my patience.
Friday. I reminded him in the morning that he needed to get his prescription filled and get the tax information. We had the usual argument. He found the notes I had written him and read them. I told him the prescription was under the visor of his car. He’d find the note again and read it and ask what prescription. I’d remind him that it was Zoloft (the second note specified Zoloft and where the prescription was). He’d tell me it wasn’t in his car. I’d tell him it was. He’d look at the note again and ask what prescription. I’d tell him it was Zoloft. He’d say he lost the prescription. I’d tell him it was under the visor in his car. He’d insist it wasn’t and finally he went out to check. When we confirmed that the prescription was there I made sure he left it there (so at least I’d know where it was) and I left.
He happened to show up at the nursing home while I was visiting Mom so after we visited her, I nabbed him to go to Walmart to get the prescription filled and the tax information. What prescription? The Zoloft. He didn’t know where the prescription was. It’s under the visor in your car. No it’s not. So we went out to the car and confirmed that the prescription was still there. By the time he got into his car, he forgot why we were going to Walmart but – at least I got him there.
At Walmart, which is about a block away from the nursing home, he got out of his car and started heading to the store. Do you have your prescription? I don’t know where it is. It’s under the visor of your car. After another search, he found it and we headed into the store.
“What are we doing here?” he asked. Getting your prescription filled and getting the tax information. “I forgot to bring the prescription.” No, you didn’t, you just got it out of the car. After another search, he found it tucked in his checkbook and thankfully handed it to me.
We made it to the pharmacy and I gave them the prescription and told them what tax information we needed. “Do we need something here?” We’re getting your prescription filled and getting the tax information, it’ll be a few minutes. I got him to sit down and we went through the “why are we here” a few more times while they filled the script. We did finally get it and the tax stuff. I don’t know why I bothered since I doubt he will take it and if I remind him, he will just say he will take it later. But you never know, he might surprise me.
We went out to dinner afterward. We looked at a menu and both decided on spaghetti with meatballs. I placed the order and put the menus back up at the counter (it’s a kind of informal but tasty place). While we waited, he complained that he wished he could see a menu. I told him he’d already looked at the menu and had order spaghetti with meatballs. No he hadn’t. He rolls his eyes at how stupid I am to say such a thing. He continued to argue about it until they brought out our dinners and then decided the spaghetti looked good.
I had him follow me home as my newly repaired car overheated on the way to Cassville earlier. I stopped at the store to pick up some milk and butter and he stopped, too. When I found him in the store he had cigarettes in his cart. “Dad, you have 30 or 40 packs sitting in the kitchen.” (Actually, he has a lot more than that scattered around the house, every time he stops at the store he buys more.) “No I don’t,” he argues.
I could be more patient with him, probably. I do try. It isn’t just the memory thing that gets to me, it’s the arguing. It’s the rolling of the eyes since I can’t possibly know anything. It’s the whining, “I’m sorry” that he gives when I snap.
“You’re going to have to trust me on some things,” I tell him. “I do trust you,” he says. I can hardly imagine how frustrating and frightening it is for him to not remember things. I don’t know how to help him and I am so tired of everything being a fight.
Last Friday when I went to visit Mom, I started crying. I haven’t been able to stop since. Oh, it comes and goes. I’ve hardly slept because every time I close my eyes to try and sleep, I start crying again.
It’s nothing new that’s happened. It’s frustration and anger and grief at the decline I see in Mom and the fear and anger and frustration at the changes in Dad. It’s guilt and confusion and fear about my ability to cope with this. It’s wanting to run far, far away. It’s all the little things I need to do. It’s the few things I need Dad to do that he just won’t do. Can’t? Maybe.
I don’t feel like I can take it much longer. I can see the future and the future is ugly. I can’t be the person everyone relies on, everyone expects to cope. The shrink reminded me last week of why I quit being a shrink myself. I reached a point that I knew I didn’t have the answers. I didn’t have them for myself. I didn’t have them for other people. I could not stand people coming to me and expecting me, needing me, to know the answers.
Was that presentient of the current situation or what? I have no answers. I feel barely able to take care of myself no less take care of anyone else. I don’t want to have to take care of someone else. I can’t imagine how I can get out from under this. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do to stop that future from coming.
One day at a time and all that jazz.
This is my little friend the three-legged raccoon. He came in the daylight and didn’t run off when I went outside so I was able to get some snaps of him (or her). I didn’t want to risk the tripod but the focus isn’t too bad.
I am such a softie with animals, particularly those that seem to be in need. He seems pretty healthy but I’d think it would be hard to get enough to eat in competition with the other coons (skunks, muskrats, fox, squirrels, bobcats, groundhogs and maybe bears) in the area so as long as he keeps coming around, I’ll keep supplementing his diet.
I wonder, given that he doesn’t seem particularly afraid of me, whether he is one of my little friends from past years. Grabby and Chubby used to come and knock on the door to see if I was going to bring them out some food. I will keep a little more distance with this one since I’d just as soon not get bit again. Besides, I’m not aiming to make a pet – just help out a bit.
I haven’t written about the lap-band and eating issues in a long time. That’s because my eating has absolutely sucked. No matter how I rationalize and even though I understand that I’m using food to try and cope with stress, it doesn’t change how much my eating has sucked. I’ve been bouncing up and down in weight and I’m afraid I’m starting to seriously re-gain weight. So, I’m back to working on the plan, trying to find my comfort level again. I did so a couple weeks back and it was really pretty easy to slide back into the plan but it was also really easy to slide back out of it.
We talk about this being a lifestyle change and not a diet. In my view, it’s both. It’s a diet because it’s artificial. So called normal eaters do not obsess about everything they eat and the protein and carbohydrates of everything that passes their lips. On the other hand, we were never normal eaters to begin with. It’s a lifestyle change because the only way to do this is to make these changes forever. It’s not a diet where when you reach the finish line you can go back to eating whatever you want. It’s hard to view it that way for me. I keep coming back to the idea that there is an endpoint. There’s a point when I will be normal? No, probably not.
I haven’t forgotten my series on Eating and Addiction. I’ve been a bit derailed but I will get back to it, I hope soon. The next part is on Dependence and Addiction and that’s probably an important topic for where I am right now.
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