There's a lot I'm sick of in this whole situation. It occurred to me, if a year ago when Dad was in a comatose/vegatative state, that if I had known that a year later, today, he would choose the same way of life - maybe it would have been smarter to leave him there than sing to him every night and will him back to life for me. Because today, he might as well be in a coma again. He won't budge off the couch, he won't budge out of bed, he does make his way to another destination in the house only to lie down and be pathetic again. It's absolutely hideous. He's had no outing today. I left him to lie on the couch while Adela cleaned the house - I had work to do. I had to try and form some semblance of a life/job for myself and went and coached kids in a production of 'High School Musical 2.' Very fullfilling. I'm being sarcastic but I have to say it did fulfill me for 4 hours of the day. I got out - I put my teaching skills and enthusiasm to the test, I got kids to learn choreography and be fabulous at it, and I fulfilled a purpose for the day other than caretaker. Nice work, Anne. And then I came home to the pathetic lump on the couch. I will repeatedly ask myself and my father, WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO WAKE UP when he has now made it abundantly clear that he prefers sleeping all day and closing us out of his life. Well I wouldn't let him today, and I won't any day, it's just the time and place within the day that I decide to put up the fight. And this afternoon, I made it his job that we were going to walk the dogs to the corner. THE CORNER. Not to the stream nearby, not around the block, not down the street, but the corner. And that was a feat. Dad has scars on his arm to prove it, I have bruises on mine. But I pulled the big guns out today and went all Annie Sullivan on his Hellen Keller ass and with force, succeeded to get him out the door, leash + dog in hand, and up to the corner. His one outing of the day. He bitched and moaned all the way through. Example: "I can't.... it's cold, I have nothing on my arms." me: "it's fucking 105 degrees out, Dad you'll be fine." Dad: "I need a jacket." me: "fine - you hold the dogs I'll get you a jacket, we're going to the corner." then throughout the twenty-five foot jaunt to the corner: Dad: "I'm turning around, why am I doing this, I'm going back." me: "Dad - you used to walk 15 miles around this neighborhood and you can't get your sorry ass to the corner?! walk!!! we're going! it's your only obligation for today. you've laid on the couch ALL DAY. you're walking to the corner." Dad: "no I'm not." Me: "yes you are!" then some pushing ensued. Me: "don't you dare push me in public. I'll back off if you can prove to me you can walk the dog five more feet to the corner." He picks up the pace. We make it to the corner. Me: "good!!!! look at that! you did it! you're amazing! we can go home now." I turn my back to him and prance back towards the house. done and done. his one obligation for the day fulfilled. And believe you me I left out a good chunk of juicy details and 23 minutes worth of pushing, pinching, scratching, spitting to get him out the door to the corner. But I succeeded. And my father can say he did something for his day. I don't care about the physical shit -- he knows he's capable of more, he woke up from an impossible coma after all, he came back from the dead -- he can walk to the corner if I have to get some battle scars from it.
He's now out on walk #2 of the day with Mom. We had a pleasant dinner on the patio -- fried chicken, music, vino. He loosened up and didn't let this morose, pathetic state of being get the best of him. And by loosened up I mean didn't cop out behind being asleep the entire time nor did he whine like a 2 year old. He ate, he hummed to the music, and when Mom suggested a walk with the dogs, he cleared the dinner plates and went to get the leashes. Success and contentment for a good 50 minutes. The evenings are always better. It must feel more routine, normal and natural. As opposed to the mornings where he doesn't know why he's getting his ass out of bed and it's so ridiculously slow and sad and tedious. I tried a new tactic this morning and played into his baby-ness. "awww Daddy, aww you're so sleepy. I'm so sorry. You have to get up and put your clothes on! oh you can't? here okay, I'll help you." and I stick his feet into his shorts while he lies in the fetal position on the bed in his bathrobe. "come on, Daddy! you can put your shorts on the rest of the way." He keep his eyes tightly shut and kicks the shorts off his ankles. "okay. I'll let you do it yourself." I say in my most babying voice possible. "You get dressed Daddy and I'll go fix your bottle -- uh bagel. did I say bottle? I meant bagel." And I left. And no doubt, 10 minutes later, he came downstairs, fully dressed.
I don't know what the point of this blog is but I feel you deserved some detail and perspective. Welcome to the daily life of David. Ta-da!!!!!!!!
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