One Week Home
Dad came home last Monday, and I guess he’s kept us all plenty busy since I didn’t even find time to write a post saying he made it home!
Mom and I arrived at the rehab center Monday morning to find him ready to bust out if we didn’t get a move on, and the three of us were headed out of there about an hour and a half later. I think my dad must have set some kind of record throughout this ordeal for being discharged from facilities at top speed. You might recall that he was moved out of the hospital within about an hour of being told he had a bed at a rehab facility as well. Maybe these places are eager to be rid of him! No, I think he’s been well-liked by everyone who has cared for him over the past eight weeks. Coming home last week he was the one in a hurry. We couldn’t get him off of “that awful bed” fast enough!
And then he met the hospital bed we had at home for him. That lasted two whole nights. Since last Wednesday, he has been sleeping in his own bed as comfortably as I think it’s possible for him to be at this point. Over this past weekend, he had my brother Micah build a ramp next to the bed so that he can get his wheelchair level with the bed and scoot himself onto it independently. Everyone except for the the stubbed toes in the family loves that ramp! And Mom, who can’t get to her closet without performing acrobatics.
Dad’s penchant for building things hasn’t only expressed itself with the bedside ramp. He also designed and half-built for himself a new seat for his commode. The process involved a hand-drawn map of his truck to help me to find the right tools, him coaching my husband through using said tools, and wheeling the hospital bed across the floor so that he could do some of work himself instead of having to explain it. He and the hospital bed were still getting along that day. There is photographic evidence of Dad building his own commode seat on a hospital bed in the middle of the dining room, but he wasn’t dressed for the occasion to be shared.
So far Dad’s appetite and mobility have continued to improve since coming home. He can transfer in and out of bed alone and now only needs one person to help him with other transfers instead of the two or three it used to require.
He saw both of his surgeons yesterday for follow-up appointments, and they are both happy with how his injuries are healing. The neurosurgeon cleared him of his restrictions related to his back, and he no longer has to wear his back brace. Dad will still voluntarily wear the brace for getting in and out of the car due to a near mishap upon leaving his appointments yesterday. I guess we still need it to be able to grab hold of! Let’s just say we’re glad the valet attendant was nearby; we’re not sure whether you’re supposed to tip a valet guy for moving things other than your car. Oh well.
The orthopedic surgeon said Dad needs to move his ankles. We hadn’t been sure until this appointment whether we were supposed to move them since we were told “treat his feet like they’re still in splints.” But now we have the go-ahead to rotate and flex his ankles as much as he can tolerate several times a day. We’re also allowed to massage his feet as he can tolerate, so I’ve been rubbing essential oils into them the past two days. My three-year-old daughter loves to come help rub oils on Grandpa’s feet. I wonder if all of this will have any impact on her future career path. The way she is with my dad, I can definitely picture her being a nurse or some other patient-care type profession when she’s older. Dad really enjoys the little one’s participation in his care.
Mom and I arrived at the rehab center Monday morning to find him ready to bust out if we didn’t get a move on, and the three of us were headed out of there about an hour and a half later. I think my dad must have set some kind of record throughout this ordeal for being discharged from facilities at top speed. You might recall that he was moved out of the hospital within about an hour of being told he had a bed at a rehab facility as well. Maybe these places are eager to be rid of him! No, I think he’s been well-liked by everyone who has cared for him over the past eight weeks. Coming home last week he was the one in a hurry. We couldn’t get him off of “that awful bed” fast enough!
And then he met the hospital bed we had at home for him. That lasted two whole nights. Since last Wednesday, he has been sleeping in his own bed as comfortably as I think it’s possible for him to be at this point. Over this past weekend, he had my brother Micah build a ramp next to the bed so that he can get his wheelchair level with the bed and scoot himself onto it independently. Everyone except for the the stubbed toes in the family loves that ramp! And Mom, who can’t get to her closet without performing acrobatics.
Dad’s penchant for building things hasn’t only expressed itself with the bedside ramp. He also designed and half-built for himself a new seat for his commode. The process involved a hand-drawn map of his truck to help me to find the right tools, him coaching my husband through using said tools, and wheeling the hospital bed across the floor so that he could do some of work himself instead of having to explain it. He and the hospital bed were still getting along that day. There is photographic evidence of Dad building his own commode seat on a hospital bed in the middle of the dining room, but he wasn’t dressed for the occasion to be shared.
So far Dad’s appetite and mobility have continued to improve since coming home. He can transfer in and out of bed alone and now only needs one person to help him with other transfers instead of the two or three it used to require.
He saw both of his surgeons yesterday for follow-up appointments, and they are both happy with how his injuries are healing. The neurosurgeon cleared him of his restrictions related to his back, and he no longer has to wear his back brace. Dad will still voluntarily wear the brace for getting in and out of the car due to a near mishap upon leaving his appointments yesterday. I guess we still need it to be able to grab hold of! Let’s just say we’re glad the valet attendant was nearby; we’re not sure whether you’re supposed to tip a valet guy for moving things other than your car. Oh well.
The orthopedic surgeon said Dad needs to move his ankles. We hadn’t been sure until this appointment whether we were supposed to move them since we were told “treat his feet like they’re still in splints.” But now we have the go-ahead to rotate and flex his ankles as much as he can tolerate several times a day. We’re also allowed to massage his feet as he can tolerate, so I’ve been rubbing essential oils into them the past two days. My three-year-old daughter loves to come help rub oils on Grandpa’s feet. I wonder if all of this will have any impact on her future career path. The way she is with my dad, I can definitely picture her being a nurse or some other patient-care type profession when she’s older. Dad really enjoys the little one’s participation in his care.
That's how Suzanne started out, when she was real little! How sweet to take care of Grandpa!
ReplyDeleteEncouraging report! Thanks, Lizzie.