Recycled Teenagers

very once in awhile, Mom can be quite stubborn and bull headed.  (OK, every once in awhile? Who am I trying to kid? I just liked this "E" drop cap and had to find an opening word that started with "E"!)

We go to church twice on Sunday's. A couple of weeks ago, we came home from the afternoon service to an irate Dad. "Your mother fell again," he said as we walked through the door. "She fell cleaning up the mess you should have cleaned up."

I had been sick for 5 days. Saturday was the first day I was feeling better, but I still didn't want to spend much time upstairs, for fear of getting Mom or Dad sick. I had noticed there was something on the floor that needed to be cleaned up, but just didn't have the gumption to do it.

Mom knows she isn't supposed to lean over because her balance isn't good and she is prone to fall. But for some reason, she decided she just had to clean that mess up, at that time.

You guessed it. She fell.

She didn't get hurt badly, but she couldn't get up by herself. She asked Dad to bring a chair close to her so she could pull herself up. Instead, my 80+ year old Dad lifted her up from the floor and put her on a chair, straining his back.

I have a troubling tendency to blame myself for things that are other peoples' responsibility. It causes me a lot of anxiety and is one of the things I've been trying to change about myself. The mess she had insisted on cleaning up had happened while I was sick, and it sat there. Why couldn't she have asked Husband or Son to clean it up while I was out of commission? And why couldn't it have waited one more hour for us to get home? I was upset about the way Dad had blamed me for her fall, and I walked away and went downstairs. I didn't realize he had hurt himself. If I'd known, I would have understood that was the reason he was putting the blame on me, and I would have acted differently.

The next morning, he wanted to go to the chiropractor, so I called in. When the receptionist asked what he needed to be seen for, I didn't want to gripe about them harshly, yet I didn't want to make excuses for them and take the blame myself, so I decided to reference an old joke of Dad's. When he was about 60, he liked to tell people he was a Recycled Teenager. So, I told her that I live with a couple of Recycled Teenagers who like to be rebellious sometimes.

I think Dad appreciated my use of his joke.

More On Dad's Pain

ver the past few weeks, Dad has been doing a lot better, both emotionally and physically. Actually, more emotionally than physically, but doing better emotionally seems to be helping him at least want to improve his physical situation. Of course, he's gone to doctor after doctor over the years, seeking relief from his pain, but he was only interested in what they could do for him, but he would never do things they suggested he could do for himself.

For example, the physical therapist wanted him to do some exercises. Even when reminded, he wouldn't do them very often. He always sleeps on his right side, with his right arm under his head. The doctors think that his lack of variation in sleeping positions caused the soft tissues in the right side of his neck to shorten, and those in the left side of his neck to lengthen, which causes pain in a particular muscle that attaches above his left eye--exactly where his pain is. He can't lie on his back or stomach for very long at a time because of breathing issues, and he wouldn't try sleeping on his left side because he's completely deaf in his right ear and didn't like not being able to hear anything while he's in bed.

In October, I talked to his doctor about how every time we make plans to do something, Dad would end up sick, and asked him if he thought it could be caused by anxiety. Dad said, "But I wanted to go." The doctor said that didn't matter. Even good stresses can cause anxiety. He prescribed Buspirone, a medication that would boost the effects of the Cymbalta antidepressant he was already taking, help with anxiety, and even help relieve his belly pain.

Only a couple of weeks later, the belly pain was gone. His mood improved. He not only told jokes, but started laughing while telling them, to the point his face turned red. For years, he didn't want to talk to anyone on the phone. If he answered my calls, he quickly asked if I wanted to talk to Mom. Now, suddenly, he was calling people just to see how things were going with their farms and families. For years, he practically ignored Mom. Now, he calles her sweetheart, hugs her every chance he gets, talks to her, watches TV shows she wants to watch, and generally seems more interested in her. I've got my dad back!

It took a little longer, but in the last week, he's started sleeping on his left side! With the help of his doctors, I think we'll make some progress on his headaches.

Dad's Pain

Dad has a lot of pain. And I'm not talking about myself.

He has had chronic headaches, for decades. He's got irritable bowel syndrome and lymphocytic colitis, so he has a lot of belly pain. He has acid reflux, so he often has chest pain that is hard to distinguish from heart problems (he had a heart attack and bypass surgery in the 90's). And it seems he's developed arthritis in his upper back and sternum.

One of the doctors that treated him for his chronic headaches gave him prescriptions for morphine. Stupid doctor. Reminds me of the joke, "What do you call the person who graduates last in the class in medical school? Doctor!"

Dad became addicted to the morphine, his personality changed, he started threatening Mom, talked about killing himself, and isolated himself (and because of his suicide threats, isolated Mom, because she wouldn't go anywhere without him). We did a family intervention, put him through drug rehab, and hoped for the best. He has a new doctor, one who knows about the morphine problem and who won't give it to him again!

Well, a few weeks ago, Dad's belly pain got so bad, he couldn't eat dinner or breakfast the next day. So, we took him to the ER.

While I was in the restroom, the doctor gave Dad morphine.

Ever since then, Dad has had one pain after another. It moves from place to place and escalates. And he keeps asking for more morphine. We keep refusing to give it to him. From what I understand, once the brain has experienced an addictive drug like morphine, it can "create" the trigger that used to get it. So, Dad's brain had a taste of morphine, and now it wants more. I don't know how long it will take for the desire to go away. It's been more than a month already.