Brace Yourself

Nothing works! Did literally every functioning computer system in this house decide to break down in the same day? Seriously – when my Dad’s brain broke-down, so did every electronic in the Nemer household. I’ve been meaning to write – but everything is broken, or bad, or difficult. So I’m writing now on my laptop which is not connected to the internet and I’ll have to somehow transfer this file to a computer that is connected and then cut and paste it onto the blog – so it took quite a feat to get these words to you, and there are many of them, since it has been a week since my last update, and things have changed and taken shape in dramatic ways, but I appreciate you bearing with me through it. Here’s a play-by-play of the past week, picking up where I left off…

Tuesday 1/20:
morning – bagels, bacon, and Obama! we watch the inauguration, tears all around – mostly from Dad. Mom leaves for work, I leave for a run with the dogs so that Angela can get Dad out of the house. all successful.
afternoon – I pick up Dad, and he’s oddly serene the entire way home. We make a simple dinner consisting of shrimp and rice which Dad picked out. All is calm... I’m wondering, why? Mom gets home – informs me that Dad refused all of his therapy that day – he bit, kicked, spit, threw punches, and resisted until they stunned him with a shot of Ativan.(sp?) ((A drug they also used to subside his aggressive and thrashing behavior when he was in his fighting vegetable state back in the day 7 months ago.))

Wednesday 1/21:
morning: all quiet on the Royal blvd front.
afternoon: leaving CNS – semi-tumultuous. It was after a conference where we met with Jessica, the behavior analyst from CNS-Bakersfield, who reinstated that what Dad needs is constant structure and a hand-over-hand approach to therapy that forces him to complete his tasks. Mom can’t believe that he’s been biting and spitting at the therapists there. We find him in one of the rooms to say, “hey Dad! time to go!” and he yells at us, “oh would you two just get out of here!!!!” we skulk over to the lobby and wait. “so who wants him?” I say to my Mom sarcastically, since we took two cars and one of us would have to brave the beast on the ride home. “Well… let’s see who he goes for.”
(I’m realizing now this day deserves some detail…)
For some reason, Dad has decided to hate me this day. We get in the elevator, and Dad snatches his backpack from me, “gimme that!!!!” he says. Mom initiates cheerily, “so who do you wanna drive home with? me or Annie?” “I don’t wanna go home with HER!!!” he snarls at me. okay…. I shrink into the corner and act somewhat offended, (I’m really not I just want him to think so.) We get out of the elevator and I walk far ahead of them and get my car. As I drive past them I lean out the window, “byeeee! see ya at the house! are ya suuuuuuuuuure you don’t wanna come with me??? I’ve got the snacks!” Dad nods a distraught “no” at me, so I inch slowly forward, watching them in the rearview mirror – and I just knew that Dad would feel bad and change his mind. Mom waves me down, “ANNIE!!! he wants to go with you now!” ah hahaha. Part of me is excited my Dad wants to ride with me, and part of me is terrified that he’ll get angry and try and escape. Surprisingly – we make it home – the power of pistachio nuts acting as my distracting savior.
evening: Mom’s starving, Dad’s starving and lying on the couch, dinner out is suggested. “let’s go to Jax!!!” our classic, comfortable, delicious neighborhood favorite – and they always give a generous and much-needed pour of vino. With ease, we exit the house and head out. Going to sit down in the booth, Dad says, “I have to sit next to HER?!!!!” “yes – she’s your beautiful daughter, she loves you.” Mom says. I give a puppy-eyed look to my Dad, and he obliges and sits down next to me. (I wonder if he really does think I’m his sister Robin sometimes – I’ve heard their daily life together wasn’t a too far off reflection of his aversion to me on this day…) anyway, he sits next to me. The waiter comes to take our order – I’m silent since anything I say gets snapped at or shunned. But deciding what to order is such a feat – Mom’s helping guide Dad towards what he wants, “how bout the tri-tip?? or the steak Diane with all the mushrooms, you love those!” “where’s that?” Dad says, he’s totally on the wrong page of the menu. I lean over and start to turn the page kindly, “it’s on this page of the menu, Dad.” “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT’S ON THAT PAGE!” he snaps at me. the poor little waiter-boy clearly stunned by this dysfunctional-family moment. I make eyes at him behind Dad’s back in an attempt to communicate that I’m okay – Dad doesn’t mean what he says. We order, we eat, we’re happy, we go home…

night falls: Dad lays down on the couch for 5 minutes, I put on the TV. He gets up, “ugh I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” “Dad, it’s only 7:45… do you really want to go to sleep now?” I say, gently. “I’m going to bed.” He goes upstairs and crawls in bed. I head to the computer for some mindless Facebooking, perhaps a blog. I hear Mom in the bedroom with him, tucking him in. She comes into the study and says, “okay – teach me how to work this thing.” And there I begin Facebook101 with my Mother – a trying attempt at teaching her new technology and quite hilarious all at the same time. We’re giggling and engaged with the computer, when all of the sudden, the door slams.

Mom goes over to her bedroom door, turns the knob. It’s locked. “David???” she says. “open the door! you locked it!” no answer. “DAVID???? open the door please!” no answer. we exchange looks of panic. “DAVID!!! open the door!!!!!!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!” she’s banging on it now. ask for Melvin – I suggest. “DAVID!!!! Melvin needs to go out!!!!” nothing. bang bang bang bang bang bang on the door. nothing. she knocks for what seems like 15 minutes – and panic ensues. We have to get in. What could he be doing in there?! Why isn’t he answering?!!!! Mom decides we should sneak in through the balcony sliding door. She’s trying to get the screen off the window but can’t – I intervene – pull her away from the window and disengage it myself. I throw the screen to the side and crawl out – carefully across the slats over the patio. I climb over the fence to the balcony – and Dad is simply asleep in his bed. I slowly open the screen door – and he pops up. “GEEEETT OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!!!!!!!!” He leaps out of the bed and chases me across the room. I duck and run to the door and open it for my mom. “Dad you locked us out!!! we couldn’t get in!!” “DAMN RIGHT YOU COULDN’T GET IN – GET OUT THE WAY YOU CAME!!! GET OUT!!!!!!!!!” and he’s throwing punches, and his eyes are bulging out, and he’s swinging at us and threatening – I dart back to the screen door to close it – I lock it, then think twice and unlock it again, then I dash back to the door as he’s yelling at me to get out. He slams it behind me – Mom’s still in there. “DAVID CALM DOWN!!!” she screams. he screams back, I hear yelling, pushing, my Mom’s voice crying. I’m terrified. I scream back from the outside, I hear her say – “it’s okay, Annie! I’m okay!” She comes out and closes the door – holding the door knob as Dad’s trying to lock it again from the other side. the Evil Monster is in FULL SWING. We’re both shaken and terrified. She doesn’t want to let the doorknob go or it’ll lock again. So I creep back out onto the patio so I can see Dad through the window. He’s pushing the door shut, he won’t give up. They stand like that for ten minutes – I’m waiting to give my mom the cue that she can let go, that Dad’s gone back to bed to let the monster rest. It isn’t until I see him turn, whimper and shake his head, then walk back and crawl in bed – that I give her a silent cue that she’s safe to let go. I crawl back through the window – bruise my ass on the metal frame – and sit down with my Mom. We stare at each other, frightened with disbelief. Was that our David Nemer that just attacked us??? No, no it wasn’t. It’s a brain damaged human being – and he’s dangerous.

We call the CNS hotline to report to our case manager. There’s no doubt now that he’s got to go to Bakersfield. We operate on super-silent mode the rest of the evening, as to not risk waking the beast. Mom sleeps in my bed that night, Jenny wedged between us. Poor Melvin probably frozen in a ball on the floor in their room – not knowing what the hell to think.

Thursday 1/22: it’s a new day, and it’s raining.
morning: Mom creeps back into their room when the sun comes up. Once Dad’s awake, he comes into my room – cheerily, his face awash in smiles and pure joy as he sees Jenny curled up on my bed. He curls up next to her and places Heartly, (my stuffed hippo that I’ve had since I was 9), under her paw. It’s precious, heartbreaking, and stupefying all at the same time. He cuddles with me and her for about 5 minutes – not recalling an inkling of what occurred a mere 10 hours earlier.
8am: Angela arrives, and the morning routine carries on with ease. I decide to go for my 30 minute run and sweat away the drama of the night before. 15 minutes in, just at the turn-around point, I hit an evil pinecone and come down hard – rolling my left ankle and smashing into the asphalt on my right knee. ohhhhh wonderful. of course. Running - my one escape and outlet – shot to shit by a stupid pinecone. I try and get up, oooh it hurts. I’m crying - for so many things, the rain starts pouring, my knee is bleeding and my ankle is assuming the shape of a softball. I limp home. A pathetic sight as I walk through the door, Angela comes out of the kitchen, “I fell…” I cry. “ohh mi…” she hugs me sweetly muttering something in Spanish. I limp upstairs, knock on my Mom’s door, she opens it, “Mommy I fell…” I cry. (maybe I needed to fall just to feel how wonderful being so truly nurtured is, not that I feel that I need it, but the physical sight of a scraped knee elicits instinctual nurturing – the kind you crave when you’re five years old). Dad, however lacked that instinct, “oh get over it” he grumbles, waving me off.

evening: after a day of ice/elevation and an attempt at work – I pick up Dad. He’s fairly complacent, I heard it was a good day from the therapists, and we head home. As I’m setting the table for dinner – Mom walks in. “they’re taking him tomorrow.” Shocked, “tomorrow? already?” “yep.” she says. “Angela’s coming in the morning for routine, then Laurie the nurse is arriving to give him a shot of Ativan for the ride up, and then a van from Bakersfield arrives to take him there.”

with this daunting, scary, information – we have our last dinner together. and go to sleep.

Friday 1/23:
the plan is in action, Dad’s completely compliant, pleasant, and of course making this more difficult. If it had been the Evil Monster we had to say bye to that morning it may not have been so hard.

after they took him, my Mom and I sobbed. “I just keep losing him” she weeps. I understand… but it’s not about us. it’s about him – and it’s going to make him stronger. I just know he’s going to fight until he figures out what the fuck is going on – and, we’ve already made it through so much – this is just two months out of the rest of his life, and it can only help from here. We’ve hit a wall where we lived in danger – and now, Dad’s got to get through the grapevine, and climb over that wall – all by way of Bakersfield.