The Fall
Notes from an elder care crisis
Two months ago, my octogenarian father fell.
The old people fall. We all fall, but when old people drop a trap door opens. A broken hip can mean a broken life. We’ve been through it twice now with dad. This time, he’s five years older. Five years deeper into ill health, five more years of smoking, stress, and sadness.
Dad fell through the trap door and we went with him. Two months now in an alternate universe. We’ve toured all the floors of the hospital. He’s encountered AFib, sky high blood sugar, alarmingly low blood pressure, several infections, a gastric bleed, transfusions, and “hospital induced delirium.” Two surgeries. Two different rehab units. Two rushed trips back to the hospital. We are lost in a maze at the bottom of a hole.
He speaks of death (“I’ve had a long life, if it’s time then I’m ready”), but still has a sense of humor. Still flirts with ladies.
In the ER, the heart doctor asks, “How are you feeling right now?”
“I’m surrounded by beautiful women but I feel like shit.”
In the ICU: “I’ll remember Patsy as the woman who stole my underwear.”
Pre-surgery: “I’ll have a bacon burger.”
