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2007-02-28 - 6:46 p.m.

Into the Fire

Where'd I leave off this morning? Ah yes, driving Dad back from the hospital on Friday afternoon.

Oh wait, I need to tell you what he said while the nurse was getting his discharge papers ready. He claimed that Dr. K (who was in that morning, before we arrived) told him that he was not allowed to have any water ("water is the enemy"), but diet soda was ok.

WHOA. Back up the bullshit train.

"No, Dad. You can have water and juice, but you have to limit your intake. And you need to stop drinking the diet sodas."

"You weren't here. You didn't hear what he told me," he protested.

Mom and I both leapt on him. "There's NO WAY he told you it was ok to drink soda instead of water. They've got too much sodium in them which is causing you to retain fluids. You CAN have water, but you can't drink too much of it."

He refused to listen. "I talked to him. You didn't. Just leave me alone about it, ok?" He was TESTY.

When the nurse came in with the paperwork, we asked her to clarify the liquid situation in front of him. She told him what we'd said. They wanted to keep him restricted to 1 liter a day. Fruit juices (little to no sodium) were the best, and water was fine, but he needed to avoid soda.

He blew her off.

Now, by this time, we already knew Dad wouldn't stick to his fluid restriction of 1 liter a day. And we also knew he'd keep drinking his soda. But we were hoping he'd at least cut back enough to keep his sodium levels somewhat normal. And that the hospital stay had scared him enough to LISTEN TO WHAT THE DOCTORS WERE TELLING HIM.

Unfortunately, he told them all what they wanted to hear so he could get out ("Yeah, I understand, I get it") and so everyone would leave him alone. But it was quite obvious by the way he was acting that he planned to do things his way. And that he still didn't understand why he'd been admitted in the first place.

As evidenced by him asking me to run in and get him a diet Dr. Pepper at Walgreen's when we were waiting in the drive-thru to drop off his new Rx.

"Dad, you shouldn't be drinking soda! It's got too much sodium in it! I am not going in to get that for you."

"Jesus! My mouth is so dry I can't stand it. And by the way, my sodium was too low, so I need it."

OH MY GOD. HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND.

Mom and I both jumped on him, trying to explain that his blood sodium level is related to fluid intake, not the sodium he ingests, but it was all blah blah to him.

"Dad, I've got some water here. Just take a sip of that. We'll be home in 10 minutes."

"I don't want that. I can't have water."

"YES YOU CAN HAVE WATER."

"The doctor said the water almost killed me. It's the enemy. He TOLD ME I CAN DRINK MY DIET SODAS. I won't drink too much. Just get it for me. Christ already!"

(Of course, the whole concept that soda consists of carbonated WATER was totally lost on him. When I tried pointing that out to him at his Monday doctor appointment, he fell silent and ignored me).

"Dad, just have some water, ok?"

"No. If you won't get me my pop, I'll get out and get it myself then."

Now, Dad could barely walk three steps. His legs and feet were still swollen (he could barely get his slippers on), he had no energy, hadn't slept well in the hospital, etc. And as much as I didn't want to fork over his carbonated smack, I didn't want him to fall over in the Walgreen's either.

I angrily relented, pulled into a parking spot, ran in and bought him his goddamned diet Dr. Pepper.

I glanced at mom in the backseat in the rearview and I could tell she was as upset as I was.

Prior to the big fight, I was planning on swinging by the Taco Bell around the corner so mom and I could grab our first meal of the day (it was nearly 3 pm by then). Dad piped in that he was full and didn't want anything.

But I lost my appetite by then, and I knew mom felt the same. I could tell.

I told mom we'd pick up something to eat when we came back to get Dad's Rx, which wouldn't be ready till nearly 5.

We stayed silent the rest of the ride home, while Dad happily sipped on his smack. In his own little world.

"Oh, that tastes good. That first sip especially."

I was LIVID and wanted to reach over and strangle him. He was completely unaware we were visibly pissed off and had stopped talking to him.

10 minutes later, Dad said "Where's the Taco Bell? I thought you guys were gonna stop."

"No, I told mom we'd get something later."

EARTH TO DAD.

"Well, I'm full. I don't want anything."

WE KNOW. YOU HAD TWO MEALS ALREADY TODAY. AT THE HOSPITAL. THAT YOU WERE JUST RELEASED FROM. AFTER A WEEK STAY. BECAUSE YOU NEARLY OD'D ON DIET DR. PEPPER. REMEMBER THAT? AT ALL? DO YOU REALIZE WE'RE EVEN HERE? BUSTING OUR ASSES TO BE AT YOUR SIDE, CLEAN YOUR HOUSE, TAKE CARE OF YOU?

And thanks for asking, but we HAVEN'T eaten yet today. But no bother, we take care of ourselves...eventually.

By the time we got home, I was jonesing to head back to Houston that night.

Mom and I got Dad settled in his recliner (it's so painful to watch him move) and then had a bitch session in the garage, our first minute alone together since he'd been released.

Before we sat down, after yet another argument with Dad about fluids, he said something like "Hey, let me say this: You don't understand what it's like to have such a dry mouth and not be given anything to drink. My throat was raw and I could barely swallow. It was killing me. I need to have this soda."

I shot back "Oh, so you'll wind up in the hospital again or DIE?"

"Maybe it'd be better if I wasn't around anymore anyway. So I don't have to suffer."

Mom and I were taken aback. He'd rather DIE than restrict his fluids.

Good Lord.

Speaking of which, before he sat down in the recliner, he made a point of reading the Bible at the dining room table. It's his nightly hobby. For the past couple years. His plan is to finish reading it before he dies. Although he admitted to me recently he skipped over the remaining chapters in the Old Testament because it was so depressing, so he moved on to the sunnier New Testament.

I can't quite explain his "conviction". I'm not knocking the Bible here, but Dad's not really religious. But he's come to believe that God has gotten him through a bunch of shit (unemployment, no money, death scares) and he's been protected. So reading the Bible is like his repayment of a debt to God. Or something.

Meanwhile, he treats everyone around him like shit.

SWEET.

Anyhoo, mom and I eventually got situated in our cozy smoking spot (two plastic chairs and a table) on the front alcove, and since Dad refuses to have his front door window covered, I could watch his (limited) movements from where I was sitting.

Although we tried to hide them in the kitchen cabinets, Dad located his pre-hospital stash of diet Dr. Pepper (henceforth referred to as "Dad Smack") and popped it in the fridge, and his gigantic insulated drinking mug (GAH!). I do give him credit for nursing the one bottle of Dad Smack from Walgreen's all night (considering he could've downed 5 cans once he got home). I saw him saunter away with the mug when he FINALLY went to bed. With water and ice I assumed. Not too much, I hoped! But goddamn, it was better than soda.

Since he wasn't listening to anyone and doing his own thing (and since he's still confused, with memory loss) who the fuck knows what he was thinking? Was water suddenly his "friend" when no one was looking?

Were bunnies riding on Packards? Were giant salt shakers and Culligan men chasing after him? Was the floor puffy, or was that his feet? Who said what, and did it involve eating lasagna? Where were his car keys? Did Lawrence Welk have them?

As he nodded off here and there in his chair "watching" TV, we tiptoed in and out the door as needed ("grab the cell phone and a notepad!"), trying to avoid disturbing Dad as much as possible. The weather was warm, the door squeaked and the mosquitos were in full swing.

"Goddammit! Shut the door. The bugs are getting in!"

Hi Dad. So nice to hear your voice.

We called my sis-in-law to update her on the situation. She said we should leave first thing in the morning since Dad was being such jerk. Or, as I termed it (once I confirmed she'd seen the SNL video clip), a complete "dick in a box."

HAAAAAA.

I still can't get over how funny that was, by the way. Kills me. Like an ice cold Diet Dr. Pepper on the way to hell.

Once again, I was all emotionally aligned to "embrace" Dad and be at his side, and yet, he was a complete ass.

Not a surprise, but after this latest health scare...you'd think he'd GET IT, ya know?

Even if it was just to appease us and follow the doctor's orders for the time we were there. Appreciate the fact that we'd rushed to his side.

Instead he treated us like two annoyances he wanted to swat away like mosquitos.

In Dad's world, the big band music plays, every whim and wish is granted, he's healthy and strong, and he'll work and live forever with a cold soda by his side.

As they say, it's his world and we're just living in it.

Which makes it so nice that we were able to "escape" back to Houston.

Everyone needs a getaway from reality.

Thank God my actual life is in Kentucky. I'd almost forgotten.

That realization feels like something I was looking for months ago and couldn't find.

There it is. There it is. Indeed.