My dad is in the hospital. He was complaining of chest pains and his attendant (a woman named Bonnie who comes by every weekday to care for him) thought he might be having a stroke. They sent him via ambulance to Springdale. Gina, my sister, and I waited in the emergency room for four hours before they finally decided to admit him (though noone ever said exactly what was troubling him. I only found that out yesterday (If anyone from Springdale Memorial Hospital is reading this, you should consider sending everyone who works at your hospital [save one orderly I met] through some basic customer service training. The lack of communication between staff and family members is pathetic).
My Dad is 83 years old. He has quite a few health problems. This time they noticed that he was severely dehydrated, which tells us that, despite having meals on wheels (a fine program, BTW) and an attendant dropping by to make sure he’s okay, he still manages not to eat or drink enough to stay healthy. He’s going to need ’round the clock care from here on out, I’m afraid. Setting that up isn’t going to be particularly easy. But no other options have presented themselves at this point.
All of that ordeal, plus life’s regular stressors have made the past week very difficult for me, but I’m holding together fairly well.