Friday, November 17, 2006

Refusing to eat -


Dad is asleep. He has his new pants on and his slippers. There is a company that produces great clothes for the aged and infirm. They have snaps in the back and back closings. I bought him a pair of slippers that will fit his swollen feet, with Velcro and flaps on the side. They are very easy to slip on. His hot water bottle has disappeared. He woke and Heather helped me put some clothes on him. He went back to sleep.

I wheeled him down to the Muskoka Room. I tried to wake him two times but there is an imperceptible shake of the head “No!” to food. I tell him I’d leave, but first I cut up his meat for him. He will not wake up much. Just dozes with his head on his chest. I moved his chair backwards. He keeps his head forward. When I brought dinner he slightly shakes his head no. He does not want any. It is a nice cheese-stuffed veal. I decide to cut it up for him and leave. I am so drained. I leave to talk to Mirabelle. When I came back, after saying good-bye to Mirabelle, there is a cute, auburn-haired PSW feeding him. She speaks to me through the glass and says he just started eating. I tell her that he is angry with me for putting him in this place. He ate some of his dinner as she gives him some attention. Good for her.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Brain tumour is taking over


Off I go and trundle Dad down to his dinner room. His brain tumour is growing on the left side of his brain, the scar from the staples still evident three years later. Dad is slipped over on his right side. I cannot feed him in this position. I ask a support worker to help me prop him up, now that I know how to do it with another person. When she walks into the room with me Dad seemed to say, “Bitch.” but I am not sure! I keep carrying on.
I put on the radio but cannot get a clear station. This room is used for crafts and visits from family and friends. I could have had the radio on all these months. Often the residents are in front of the TV just before dinner and I cannot choose a channel that I would prefer to news. As staff slowly wheel residents into the dining room, I often pop in this anteroom to change channels, if Dad doesn’t miss me. He gets upset when I disappear.
It is veal for dinner. It looks like meat and so I hope Dad will eat it. I brought him an orange, as there is never any fresh fruit around at dinnertime. I am trying to cut back on protein myself and think that sharing an orange will be good for us. When he saw it he says, “That’d be nice!” Dad munched a bit and says, “Did you wave to her?”
I reassure him, “Yes!” although I am not sure about his meaning.
“Did they say anything about half -past?” He is in a world of his own. One just must respect that. He refused the veal, although it is breaded and stuffed and seemed quite nice. I tried a piece, thinking it will incite him to eat. No dice. “Sorry about that.” he says.