Monday, February 14, 2011

Sick of It.

Well, we're one more doctor's visit down, which is a good thing. I feel so bad for my poor Father, however. I can tell he's getting utterly sick of being taken to the hospital, poked, prodded, undressed, dressed, and just generally forced to do things he doesn't particularly want to do. I'm beginning to think he actually recognizes the surgical clinic since his face gets a little tense when we get there. He did seem happy to see me when his caregiver rolled him up to where I was sitting. Just about the only benefit of all of this is the fact that we're seeing more of each other, so I think his memory of me is being jogged a little more often.

I caught an expression on his face this afternoon, as the doctor was listening to his heart. It was an expression that I instantly recognized from my childhood. It's a small expression, but I know it so well. A twist of the lips, followed by a tightening of the whole mouth, and a slightly impatient look in the eyes; it's his look when he's a little disgusted with something or he doesn't approve of what's happening. He used to use it on me all the time. I don't blame him in this instance, however. I'd be a little disgusted, too.

At the last minute, the doctor gave us a lab sheet and told us we needed to take Dad to get a blood draw. We had already been in the clinic for an hour and a half(for a 10 minute exam) and were exasperated at having to stay, but we had to do it. As we tried to put Dad back together and get him back in the wheelchair for the trip to the lab, he protested in the only way he had left. TBC

1 comment:

  1. Wow, I can't imagine all those doctors appointments and hospital visits! So time consuming and so confusing for the patient! I know that if my Dad had to be there for an hour and half, he would be so anxious and paranoid and clawing to get out. I usually have to put some music on for him... Ray Charles always works.
    Your Dad is lucky to have you.