It was a bueatiful spring day today. Daddy’s bed sits in front of the living room windows where he has a view of the yard, the woods and the near field. Lewy might actually enjoy the view if he would ever turn his head that way and look out. Even when someone suggests to him that he should, he just won’t do it. Stubbornness? Parkinsonian issues? I sure don’t know, but it is strange he will never look over to his right.
Perhaps it’s because of the things flying over his bed. The ceiling people apparently are pretty interesting. They are always up to something. Always mischief. They like the ceiling fan.
After the slime assault, Lewy settled down somewhat and drank a good bit of water and agreed to eat. A very large meal of 1 egg and the nub end of a baked potato – mashed up with gravy was the fare along with grapefruit juice and Ensure. Yummy;…at least Lewy was eating.
And then the spewing began again. I got him to hold a roll of toilet paper to pull off some as he needed it to spit on, then set a trash can right beside where he hand naturally rests. With the roll in his hand Lewy could not find the toilet paper. When he finally give up looking for it, he would raise the entire roll up to his mouth and wipe the globules on the roll. I don’t think he ever hit the trash can, but somehow having it there made me feel better.
He is in there now coughing up mass quantities of phlegm. The sound of it gurgling in his lungs and throat makes my stomach do flips. I stuck my finger up his butt and dug out shit. But just the thought of plegmn makes me green around the gills.
My girlfriends came over as expected. It was so nice to sit down and visit with someone else. I found myself yakking away a bit too much. It shows I need a tad more outside interaction. Someone to talk to that can formulate a sentence. I’m at the point where there is an easy path into depression. But having been there done that, I recognize the signs and believe that with effort I can hang on just as long as Lewy can. But beating back depression is a long long tough row to hoe.
You spend years getting to the bottom, and some how expect to climb out over night. I’m not doing the mood altering drugs. This sucks. It’s sad. I’m sad. I’m gonna cry a lot. There’s nothing funny about stage 7 LBD. There’s nothing to joke about at all. In stages 4, 5, and 6 laughing came easy and often, because the Lewyisms were at the least quite entertaining. There was not so much misery.
I think about Dr. Cutie Pie, saying if it were his father he would hope for tomorrow. And I find I do. I hope for tomorrow…not today…but tomorrow…because
After all; tomorrow is another day. (Sorry, I couldn’t help it,…and Frankly my dears, I don’t care if you give a damn)
…TGIF…
3 comments:
pearose said...
There is no way the people who care about you are going to let you slide into a depression. I'm glad it is Spring - that will help you. Ask for help when you need it. Even having a home health service out during the off-Hospice days will help you a great deal. Do what you need to do and ask help from others.
This is the toughest part of the toughest job in the world. I am so sorry that you're having to deal with such anguish.
old friend said...
((((((hugs))))) and giggles! We always have the best laughs....talk to you soon...I've been down that grey road and it sucks...we'll take a different fork...get ready, your sides are gonna hurt from laughing
Stella said...
This is not good. What can I offer from afar? Hmmm. Hubbie at one time offered you "time out" so you could run. Nothing beats running. Run until you forget why you are running and then return. Tired but refreshed. At least that is the way it is supposed to work. One child of mine was going through a bad time and she had trouble leaving for the gym in the afternoon but she lived where she could park her car and leave a child, entertaining himself, while she ran to get a new [badly needed] lease on life. One day she was returning, with tears streaming down her cheeks when she heard her son calling to her, "C'mon, Mom you can do it". That has become a mantra in our family, when things get hard. "C'mon, Pauline, you can do it" Go for a run or go outside down the street and sit. I am sending a big "Thank You" to that fun loving husband of yours.