And it was a Good One

Papa T. got to come home this afternoon. Yay! He had to come home with oxygen. Boo. And that could be permanent. Oh my. We're not sure yet. We'll just have to wait and see, but it's definitely a possibility, and if that's the case, Lord help us all 'cause that oxygen tube up his nose has been a thorn in his side since he got to the hospital. He hates it. But as Hubby says, it is what it is, so he may just have to get used to it. Easier said than done probably. We're hoping that now that he's home, he will actually improve. His progress at the hospital had plateaued, and the doctor was a little stumped by that, but we really think that he will improve now that he's back to his house, his bed, his surroundings and his routine. And UK basketball. Go wildcats. One thing's for sure, we will celebrate for the next few nights with some of his favorite dinners, which basically means any combination of home cooked vegetables with a side of any kind of bread.


It has been a long seventeen days, and some of those days were good, and some were downright depressing. Taking care of old folks is hard work, and it can be very stressful when there are issues like blindness and dementia involved. Daily, I spent the drive to work praying for patience and strength and healing and a sense of humor. Five mornings ago, when I was having a particularly stressful spurt and I was more than a little tired, I caught myself asking the good Lord to give me a good day. And when I realized what I was doing that old Don Williams song rolled through my head. Before you know it, I was singing Lord I Hope This Day is Good for about three miles. And I don't know all the words, so it was a lot of "Lord, I hope this day is good" and a fair amount of humming. I thought how appropriate that song was for this particular moment in my day to day life.

"Lord, I hope this day is good. I'm feeling lonely and misunderstood" and "Lord, have you forgotten me?"

How honest is that? And it's a real toe tapper, so that was kind of uplifting. I downloaded it from Hubby's CD collection, and I've been playing it since. It shall be my theme for the time being, and that leads me to the question of the day, my friends. What song would be the soundtrack for YOUR life right at this moment? Shout it out 'cause I'd like to know. And in the meantime, here's to home cooked vegetables and heartfelt music. Yay!

The one Where Papa T. Professes his Distaste for Chicken

In the interest of keeping things lively around here, we like to work in a trip to the emergency room every now and then, preferably when the ER is at its busiest. Despite a great Saturday evening that included Teen Angel taking him to dinner, Papa T. woke up Sunday morning feeling like he had been run over by a bulldozer. He hurt so bad he was moaning, and had he not had a fever I would have blamed it on the jumbo sized platter of catfish and gallon bucket of coleslaw he ate the night before. We thought he might have an infection of some sort, so we loaded him into the car, throw up bucket and all, and headed to the hospital. By the way, why is it you can go for years without transporting a nauseous person in your car, and the minute you buy a new car, somebody has to puke while riding in it? I rode in the backseat with him all the way to the hospital, shoving the plastic garbage can under his nose every time he groaned. It took me back to that time when I was about twelve and got sick on the way home from the company safety picnic due to a hot dog and too much Tilt-A-Whirl. Tip: Do not eat a hot dog covered in ketchup and ride the Tilt-A-Whirl seven times in a row. And then drink a big Pepsi.


We made it to the hospital without any big messes, and much to our surprise, Papa T. had some pneumonia, probably a result of that bad cold he had a couple of weeks ago. He was very weak and achy, so they admitted him, and he'll likely be there for several more days. And I'm not namin' any names, but when all of this is over, somebody is gettin' a pneumonia shot whether he likes it or not. Although, after the catheter incident, getting a needle anywhere close to his body will be a big achievement.

This means a week of running back and forth to the hospital, which really isn't as bad for me as it is Hubby. The poor man is exhausted from staying at the hospital. He has the brunt of the work. Teen Angel and I just fill in the gaps as needed. It also means a week of erratic meals. So far this week, I've had for dinner: Popcorn, Sunday night and a salad with a side order of mashed potatoes last night. That still beats the steady stream of fruit salad, tuna sandwiches and chicken breasts Papa T. is getting on his cardiac diet. I don't know where hospitals get their honeydew melons, but they are like green bricks. Papa T. is not the most patient of patients, so it should be an interesting few days. If I'm lucky, tonight's special in the hospital cafeteria will not be tuna.

She Had me at Hello

As I waited for my husband in the hospital hallway, my eyes met hers for a brief second. A stranger with drooping shoulders and a weary face. She was probably a little younger than me but seemed twenty years older. The heavy burden she wore like a coat filled up the space between us, not more than five feet. She quickly dropped her eyes, but I felt compelled to speak. I'm not sure why. Perhaps, it's just because she seemed so alone. Maybe it's that compulsion I had to fill up silence. I hesitated when I realized she was waiting to enter the mental health floor. Behavioral Management they call it, in small lettering on a sign right next to the locked door. The voice inside me urged me on, and I quietly said, "Hello."
"Hi," she softly replied. She glanced up. Our eyes met again, and I refused to let go of her gaze.
"Rough day?," I asked.
"Yeah. Rough coupla' weeks."
"I'm sorry." I didn't want to pry, so I wasn't going to ask any more questions, but my few words were enough to open a door she was eager to walk through. She needed to talk so badly, she was willing to share with a stranger.
"It's my husband," she offered. "His depression's been really bad the last coupla' weeks, and he..he...you know....".
"I'm so sorry. I know that's tough."
The tears started to leak in a slow drip from the inside of her right eye. She tried to hold them back, but couldn't.
"He's been here since Thursday, and he should get to go home tomorrow, but they told me today I need to remove the guns from the home. I..I..I just can't believe we're to this point. I can't believe we're here," her voice trailed. She didn't look away. She wanted answers. Answers that I didn't have.
"I understand. Really, I do. I know how hard it is, and I hope it gets better for him and you. You're not alone, you know. Lots of other folks are going through the same thing, so don't think you're alone."
"Thank you," she whispered. And then she wiped her eyes and reached for the opening door. It was time for visiting hours. I watched her walk through the door and stood glued to the same spot on the floor, staring at the door until my husband tapped me on the shoulder. "Let's go," he said.

I had wanted to tell her it would be better in a few days. That everything would eventually be okay. That this was just a bump in the road that they would weather together. And it may be. But it may not. You see, I really DO know what she's going through. I have someone I care very much about who has struggled with depression, and I know how debilitating it can be. How overwhelming it can be. How it can overtake a person and destroy them. I know what it's like to worry that today's the day this person will give up, that hope is out of their reach and unattainable. And I know that there are many people out there without hope.

We often try to hide our troubles, sometimes out of embarrassment, often out of pain. So many folks are walking around with problems we don't even know about. Things we don't find out about until it's too late to help. I don't have the answers, but I know they're not alone. And if you love one of those folks, you are not alone. Take comfort my friend, you are not alone.

The stranger at the hospital....I hope she's okay. She had me at hello, and now I can't let her go.