I’ve always said if I were a parent, I’d be in jail for child abuse. After today I think that’s probably true. No I didn’t hurt or abuse Lewy; I just wanted to. I wanted to take him by the throat and just shake him. Death by Shaken Parent Syndrome. I suppose it’s possible.
Today Lewy was in full bloom. I had an appointment with our family GP. Lewy cannot be left alone, so where I go, Lewy goes.
After being sunny and in the 70’s on Sunday, today was a raw low 30’s rainy day with winds straight out the northwest at 15+ mph. Brutal weather.
I got ready, and woke Lewy up, got him in the wheel chair to wheel him out to the car. When we got to the threshold at our front door the wheel chair stopped because the threshold is too high for the chair to roll over. I asked Lewy to lean back so I could press down on the handles to raise the front wheels. Lewy leans forward. I asked him again, and pulled him back into the chair. Just as I was trying to leverage the wheels, Lewy leaned forward.
Now all this time, the front door is standing wide open. Having been raised by my tight wad of a dad, I knew that the worst possible thing you can do is leave the door standing open. How many thousand times has Daddy yelled at me for that? Yelled before I had even gotten the door open enough to walk through it.
“Please Daddy, lean backwards”.
“You need to be shuttin’ that door.”
“I can’t because you won’t lean backwards!”
“Why do you always want to fight with me?”
“I don’t!” I pulled him backwards and pushed down before he could react by leaning forward. Finally, over that d*** threshold. Now out to the car that has been warming up. The porch goes of course, straight out, then there is about a 2 inch drop where the sidewalk has sunk where it meets the porch. Then it takes a step run up something approximating a 5% slope. Now if you don’t live around a bunch of hills like we do…a 5% slope on the interstate gets truck lanes and lower speed limits, and warning signs.
The front wheel of the wheelchair went off the edge. Lewy flung forward like a wet dishrag being slung across the room. I had to grab and retract to prevent him from flopping out head first.
Lewy’s wheelchair has the foot rests removed so we can get around the house better and Lewy is normally very good about picking up his feet. But now the chair was tilted forward straddling the drop off at the side walk, and Lewy had his feet firmly planted on the ground. I tried to push the chair forward up the sidewalk. It would not budge. I tried again; it tipped forward but would not roll. I checked for the problem and discovered Lewy’s planted feet.
“Pick up your feet”……no response….”Come on Daddy pick up your feet, its freezing out here.”
“What’s that over there? Is that your keys?”
“What? Where? (I should know better)…He’s looking at the drive way, there’s not a thing there. “Come on Daddy lift up your feet, I’m freezing.” He just would not do it. “OK, let’s walk.” I go and help him stand up and gingerly walk him up the sidewalk. This is slow and tedious. At best 3 inches for a pair of steps. “Come on Pappy, let’s go its freezing.”
Daddy takes a few steps and stops. “Where are the dogs?’
“In the house. Come on!” “Don’t worry about other stuff, just walk…” He takes a few steps, and stops…
“Look at all those nickels! Are those my nickels?”
There aren’t any nickels Daddy…that’s gravel. Come on don’t stop.” He takes a few more steps, and stops.
“Which car are we going in?”
“THIS ONE!” Don’t stop, come on Daddy its freezing out here!”
We finally make it to the car door. I open it and start to help Lewy sit down. He starts fiddling with the door handle. “Come on Daddy, let go of that.” I say as I try to wrestle the knob from his vise grip. “Come on Daddy get in the car”. He starts turning to go in head first. “No Daddy, you’re going in the wrong way. Put your butt in the seat first.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“No its not. Turn your butt around over there… Come on - turn….Please Daddy would you please just turn and sit?”
“I am” he insisted as he was reaching for something in mid air that I couldn’t see. “We’ve got to move these straps out of the way.”
“Come on Daddy just get in the damn car, would you, please!?”
“Have you got the heat turned on?”
“Yes, Daddy the car is warmed up. Would you please just… get… in?” He can’t walk and talk at the same time. It’s just too much for Lewy to deal with. After much more ado, Lewy finally gets in the car.
“Do you have enough gas?”
“Yes, I have enough gas.” This has been an old sore rub with me from years ago; he is a nut case over letting the gas gage go below ½ tank. Drives me crazy…..Its ¾ full for Christ’s sake! He is working my last nerve. Lewy talks all the way into town but its garbled nonsense. Fine. I don’t have to pay attention…..After 30 minutes of pure dementia talking we arrived at the massive oversized conglomerate corporate hospital where our doctor had to move his office, because they bought out the local not for profit (wonderful place) hospital down the road, and shut it down. They didn’t want any competition. So now instead of a nice calm setting with easy parking and a Care-Van to ride you to and from the building, we have a 60 acre parking lot that is poorly laid out so traffic patterns are not only ridiculous but somewhat dangerous. There are no parking spaces to be found, no Care Van, the Valet Lot is full, it’s raining, and I get pissed off every time I have to go to this corporate monstrosity.
“Ain’t you ever gonna park?” I’m thinking I might hit him now. We drive around in circles. Nothing. Now we are in the vulture crowd circling for reverse musical parking spaces. Around and around.
AH HA! A space! And a good one near the front at that…..Then the reverse process of getting Lewy out of the car begins. By the time I get him out and in the wheelchair, 1 hour and 25 minutes have elapsed from the time I started ushering him out the front door. 30 minutes of driving; 55 minutes trying to get Lewy in and out of the car. I’m freezing, it’s starting to hail.
Upon leaving the doctor’s office, I’m wheeling Lewy down the long corridor to the elevators. He’s dragging his feet. “Pick up your feet Daddy” He doesn’t. “Pick up your feet Daddy” He doesn’t.
I finally shove him down to elevators when he picks up his feet. Great the last 3 yards was not a struggle. Then he starts yelling at the elevators. “ARE YOU GOING DOWN?”
“Daddy, hush, quit talking to the elevators.’
“WELL? WHICH WAY ARE YOU GOING?”
“Shush, you’re making a lot of racket.” The elevator arrives; oh good it’s empty. I turn around and back in so we are facing the door. Lewy instantly reaches up and starts pushing buttons. “No NO STOP!!” …. too late….And here is the 4th floor, and the 3rd floor, and yes of course the 2nd floor also. He didn’t push the Lobby button….
We arrive at the Lobby and I wheel him out. It’s raining, the wind is howling. They picked the highest hill in the county to build this monster. There really should be wind turbines up here. I raced to the car with Lewy in tow. Then the process starts all over again. After 15 minutes of begging Lewy to get up and get in the car, and him stopping every 10 seconds to inquire about a billion different things;…………..I’m ready to grab him by the throat and just shake him!!!
JUST GET IN THE DAMN CAR WOULD YOU PLEASE!!!!
It would be different if he could not actually do what I’m asking. It’s Lewy. Lewy won’t focus. I’m freezing my butt off. I gave Daddy my really warm coat….I’m standing in the rain in my Hoody.
I can understand how someone can get to that point of frustration that becomes overwhelming to where you lash out and do something you ordinarily would not consider. Its scary, to think I might could actually flip out one day and whack him.
I know it sounds so silly, but for me at least, this is pretty damn hard to deal with. His every waking minute is involved in intense physical care of feeding, bathing, dressing. Everything NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW!
It’s exhausting.
1 comments:
3rd Wife said...
It's not silly, and it IS hard. You are doing things that most people couldn't, or WOULDN'T, do. Since I am a parent, I understand the frustration. But at least when you're dealing with kids you know that they eventually grow up.
You have my utmost respect for what you're doing, Pauline.