Here we are, almost one month into the kids' summer, and vacation hasn't really started. Sure, we've spent some time in the upper part of lower Michigan, but as for lazy summer days, we haven't really experienced those yet. For those of you who've been following the blog, you know the last month has been full of familial unrest. In short, we're trying to help my parents get to a good place, which probably involves moving them from a home that could be a deathtrap. But as older parents are wont to do, they're not listening to my sisters and me. It's amazing how well they are resisting us.
I'm not here to lament that situation. I've done enough complaining via text to my sisters. We've snorted and chuckled through the pain and agony of dealing with doctors, nurses, nurse practitioners, pharmacists, and any other medical professional we've come across. Some people have been a dream to work with, and others, well, let's just say that I'm not sure they have the patient in mind--at all. Do I think we're making progress with my parents? I have no idea. It's clear to me that they need to get out of that house. Dad could fall again, and Mom is in no way able to cook and clean like she used to. For that matter, Dad can't, either. And if you cannot nourish yourself properly--or remind yourself to take your medication--then you have no business living alone.
And that's where we are. I don't have any earth-shattering updates. I keep thinking I'll have my dad call me and tell me that he's cancelled the in-home health aide. "We don't need them!" he'll boom, confident in his abilities, perhaps forgetting that neither he nor Mom can drive. When I spoke to him today, he wasn't even sure what day it was. Which means, if he does try to cancel any help my sister has lined up, I'll need to head up again in a quick second.
Of course, you'll hear about that update, or any other one that might come down the pipe. I find that getting this crazy summer out onto paper (into cyberspace, really) is keeping me slightly more sane. And I still hold to the idea that if I do write out my experience, I can maybe keep history from repeating itself down the line.
One can hope, right?