Home Wardbound
Mom called me yesterday to inform me that she and Paul were taking Dad to the hospital psych ward. Apparently he had become "combative" at Potomac Homes, striking another resident on Saturday among some other recent disturbances. They adjusted (i.e. increased) his Depakote in an effort to sedate him but it didn't work, leading to Saturday's altercation. So they suggested we admit him to the psych ward in order to detox him or something like that. I don't quite understand it.
Mom said it was humorous because when they extracted a urine sample from Dad, a security guard and a male nurse held his legs down, she held his right arm down, and Paul held his left arm down. Dad cursed at Paul, what the hell was he doing? Then when the female nurse stuck the catheter up his penis, he screamed:
"GOD DAMMIT MANDI!"
I guess that's funny. I guess it's also scary. In his place, what the fuck is going on here anyway??
Note to A-B'Sop: This scene may be an interesting one to sketch for me to paint.
If I hadn't had a 101.6 fever, I would have been there for him. I think. Unless I'm full of shit, which is highly possible.
I just don't like it. I suppose it's denial. And that's not fair to either of us. Especially since sometimes I feel like the only one who actually cares.
He shouldn't have to be in this situation. Why is he? Forget the Alzheimer's, shit happens. But why is it that the environment around the Alzheimer's so crappy. Does it have to be? Is the only solution that I have to make a compromise? Would he have? Did he? Would I want my children to? Will I need to? Will I have lived my life such that it's not even a question of making a compromise but a desire?