Seems I went and let myself get dehydrated again this past Monday. Its really a nasty little feeling to lose control of your arms and legs. Luckily, this time, I had my phone near me so I didn't have to crawl to it, hoping I'd make it. I knew what was going on because I had done the same thing a few years ago. You can read about it here:Pining For The Fjords
This time wasnt nearly as comical even though I SWEAR Miss Swan from Mad TV was a couple of beds over. I expected her to blurt out a "HE LOOKA LIKEA MAN!" but alas she never did. The poor woman did however sound just like the TV Character.
I was next to a homeless man who had been beat up for his beer. His name was Charles. He flirted with every female nurse that came in. His gravely voice sounded like Karl (Billy Bob Thorton) the main character from the movie Slingblade. He was entertaining for a while until he had to go to the restroom and none of the nurses would come see him.
I try to see the humor in everything. Even while I had a barf bag in one hand these people made me chuckle.. or up-chuckle so to speak.
I apparently called two people while I was in the back of the ambulance. Id say it was a butt dial however it was more of a "barfdial". Nobody wants that phone call.. nobody.
Today is my dad's 88th birthday. It has been a roller coaster life for him. When he was young he was in the Navy. He cleaned President Eisenhowers ashtray when the former president traveled across the sea on the ship (The USS Baltimore) my dad was on. My dad went on to win World War II single-handedly (according to him). He often spins that tale to whoever will listen. He once told it in the VA clinic and was met by one man who yelled back "WELL I SURE AS HELL HELPED!!" Dad was a bit more careful who he regaled from that moment on.
He had a stroke back in September of last year. It took a lot out of him. He'd had a few mini strokes before that but fully recovered. This time his speech was a permanent reminder that he was no longer a threat to Hitlers evil empire.
He went through the loss of his wife (my mother) 20 years ago. He had taken care of her while Alzheimers ravaged her memory and then her body. He also cared for his own dad at the same time. His mission to care for both of his loved ones wasn't always a pretty
sight and he had no business trying to carry that much weight on his
shoulders but nobody could persuade him to do anything differently. He
may have conquered Germany but the burden of being with my mom and
grandfather was too much for him. He had to bury his eldest son last year who died suddenly from the same heart condition I had. The loss of his eldest grandson and only great grandson from carbon monoxide poisoning was hard on him. Men from his era were never supposed to show weakness yet the refusal to take note of his emotions made those weaknesses shine like Times Square.
Now I am the caregiver. My dad has been a burdensome task at times. He can still do a lot of things for himself but he finally had to let go of the dignity he feverishly clung to and submit to the embarrassment of adult diapers.
Dementia is a strange animal. There is no rhyme or reason to the task he can no longer perform and those he still retains. He can make his own instant coffee in the microwave yet cannot heat up the frozen pancakes that are a daily morning ritual in that same microwave although they take the same amount of time to make ready.
His time is near. He is ready to go and has been ever since my mother passed away. This world holds no interest for him anymore.
I wish you a happy birthday Dad. I hope it was good for you.
It's about 10pm and Im sitting watching television. Well, I see somebody (Who shall be known as 'THE MURDERER') walk right in front of my door which they should not be doing since my house sits about 40 feet from the road which is longer than most murderers want to walk when they murder. My heart tried to push its way into my throat but luckily it stayed in place. I'm assuming when I had my open heart surgery that the doctor stitched it in there real good so it wouldn't go slippin out at inopportune times.
My burglar alarms, named Baby (a 60lb Blue Heeler) and Princess Pooter Marie Von Sniffbutt (a 19 lb no-bellied Whippet) heard the murderer walking up to the door and began furiously warning me with their "THERE IS A MURDERER!!" barks which are very, very loud and make the mail deliverer pee her pants a little every time she comes to our mailbox. The dogs are a great warning system but the postmarks on my mail are from two years ago.
Anyway.. I go to the door and flip on the porch light to see Mr. Murderer turn around, head the opposite direction and wave me off like when you give somebody the brush-off. I guess he was like (in his best 1940's Italian movie gangster voice) "Nyaaaahhhh... I ain't murderin youz tonight.. I gots bettah tings ta do, capish?"
I called the police and they came out surprisingly fast. The dogs were still barking prompting the officer to remark favorably on their murder repelling abilities.
At any rate, the murderer wasn't captured but I'm on the lookout for anybody who I think looks like a murderer. I'm also buying a pin-striped zoot suit to show the dogs what to look for.
Just went to 7-11 to get eggs and there was a lady standing outside the store. She didn't say anything to me when I walked in but when I came out she very excitedly asked "Can You Take Me To My House??!! Somebody Broke Into My House!! It's Just Right Over Here!!"
Well.. ok lady but answer me this:
Why are you standing outside a 7-11 if someone broke into your house? Did you run away? If so, why do you want to go back? If I know there are boogelers in my house I ain't going anywhere near it. I am hauling my fat hiney somewheres else and eating my weight in balogna sandwiches till I stop being scared.
Why aren't you walking towards your house if it's just "right over here?" Did you say to yourself "OH DEAR GOD THERE"S A BURGLAR IN MY HOUSE I NEED A SLURPEE!!!!"
No, probably not.
No.. the most logical answer is going to be that you are a "lot lizard" or in other terms..
A hooker. A lady of the evening. A prostitute.
You wait in parking lots and then ask for a ride from unsuspecting gentlemen and large women that wear plaid. When you get inside the car you offer forth the terms of an agreement that concludes with them handing over their money or being killed by your "manager" or you yelling out the window that you are being molested.
I'm sorry maam. I can't do that.
I can't give you a ride.