Life at the Cuckoo's Nest

I returned my father to his home from the hospital yesterday around 4:50. By 4:58, I began questioning the wisdom of this.

Craniotomies are funny things. The speech comes and goes and rational thought comes and goes. And when both disappear, it's difficult to determine how far the patient has strayed from what used to be (so-called) "normal". For instance, the minute we left him alone in the bathroom, he found pills in the cabinet that suddenly looked pretty tasty. His house is not childproofed or crazyoldman-proofed in the least.

But I made Daddy promise to be good and left him with my stepmom who was preparing a dinner for him (pureed, as indicated on the doctors' orders). Then I went to my own home, which is starting to suffer from serious neglect.

The phone calls from my stepmother - not a strong woman, to say it politely - began around 10:30 p.m. Around 6:45 a.m. I told her to try not to cry and I would call home health care at 8:00.

So today - which was supposed to be the official day of celebration for my daughter's eighteenth birthday - we will be instead celebrating "Get Every Vitamin and Pill Out of the House and Move All the Cords off the Floor and Threaten to take Daddy to the Nursing Home if He Misbehaves" Day.

And I apologize for complaining when so many others go through more difficult times than this. I realize that I have been extraordinarily lucky in life. But while some blogging days are for bragging and some for expressing gratefulness, and some simply describe a moment in one's personal time and space without commentary - a morning like this is made for venting about one's crazy (and getting crazier) family.

NTD