When the Sh*t Hits the Fan…

…it might be wise to have a back up plan. I am planning one now.

Fear. No one likes fear. Not what it can do to you or how it can make you feel small or weak. Recently I have not been feeling up to snuff. As this week moved along my uncold turned to a death knell. As most of my readers know I take care of my Dad, who suffers with dementia. I try to take care of myself, my manchild/husband and my Dad. Sometimes the craziness of my situation takes over and I am no longer in control of the important things, like my health. I haven’t been this ill in a very long time. I know it is my body’s way of telling me to fix things, to pay more attention to it. OK! Message received.

I am talking about fear because it has come in waves this week. Being ill has taken a toll on me. This cold zapped me of all of my energies. It stole my voice. It fogged over my mind. It made me helpless and weak. I struggled to draw breath. Mostly importantly it kept me from attending to the important things in my life that need daily attention. I was unable to get to my Dad for three days. He called the neighbors and begged for bread and milk. He had both but I am sure he thought (in his kaleidoscope reasoning) he needed to stock up in case I failed to return.

I was angry. Not at my Dad but at this COLD. This cold put my Dad into a potentially dangerous situation. His memory is gapped in several places and completely changed or erased in others. He has to be directed in every day tasks or he loses his place. He needs to be guided. I finally made it over there last night. He had peanut butter, jelly and Fluff, Hell, West and crooked. He had jelly in his hair, on his pants, across his face. He was in desperate need of a shower.

I love this pic of Dad and I. You can see how much we look alike.

I love this pic of Dad and I. You can see how much we look alike.

I cleaned up the kitchen as best as I could and then we moved to the task of getting Dad into the shower. I assure you not a fun task. Dad gets angry when it is shower time. In his mind he is certain he has taken a shower just that morning. I wish that were truth. If I left it to Dad he would rot in the outfit of his choice.

This cold taught me that Dad can longer be left on his own. I have avoided putting my Dad into a nursing home or other such living arrangements for as long as possible. I have had the paperwork for some time now. It is mostly filled out. I have spoken with his primary care doctor. We are both in agreement that he needs to be placed. How do I put aside my fear, my disappointment, my anger in order to find him a place? A safe place. I know no one will ever take care of him like I do. I have to find a way to get over my worries and do what has to be done. I love this man. I have to do what is best for him and for me.

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