Health Getting Better

2:30 Thursday Afternoon, June 27
Dressed, with slippers in easy chair in Lounge

Kathleen begins a conversation and I can't hear the beginning. Kathleen offers a ride in the wheel chair to the patio, but Bernie protests, "The Lady won't let us." "We can probably get an OK." "I don't know which one to ask." "OK, let's talk here." "Good."

Bernie doesn't finish any sentences, and speaks in a whisper. His breathing is shallow and rapid.  His hands fidget. "Are you anxious, Bernie?" "Yes." "About anything in particular." "I don't know how to put it in words." "OK, then."

How about a walk?  Bernie says OK, and an aid immediately notices and brings us a walker.  Bernie get up from the chair with a minimum of effort.  He takes off down the hall at a moderate pace.  He is sure footed and comfortable.  At the end of the hall we wants to return, but I suggest a lap to the outer hallway, and back again.  No objection.

While underway Kathleen talks with the nurse, and confirms what we have heard the last two visits.

(I didn't mention either visit previously. Bernie seems to be getting better. I didn't want to report that without waiting a bit to make sure it wasn't just a false report.

Nearly two weeks ago the hospice nurse said, "We can't figure it out exactly, but he seems to be healing. His immune system is working. The persistent sore on his bottom is nearly completely healed, and his foot has not gone septic. (Click here for more on sepsis.)

Last week, the same: "We are putting lotion on his sore, but it is healed."
This good news is encouraging. It does not address the confusion and anxiety, but his health is improved.

At the next hospice evaluation, it is likely he will be "graduated" from hospice. This will not impair his ability to rejoin again when the time comes.)

Kathleen mentions Bernie's foot to him. He offers, "It is swollen a bit, but not as bad as it was." Hmm. He remembers and is lucid making a comparison.

Kathleen asks if a visitor we know visited, and Bernie reports, "Yes. They brought Chinese food from
Eriks.  It was a wonderful idea, but the food wasn't as good after the 30 minute drive as it was at the restaurant." Hmmm. He remembers the visit (not a sure thing), and was direct enough to review the food. Good.

Kathleen begins another thread of conversation, and Bernie interrupts. "I have to be going now."  "Bernie, would you like us to go?" "He smiles and says, Yes, I suppose so."

We make our goodbys and halfway down the hall look back to see him waving.

Fr. Craig Reports:

Monday, June 10, 2013

Father Brennan was in the Common Room where a pianist was playing Irish tunes. The pianist was quite good and told a little story behind each tune he was playing. Some of the residents were signing along. Father Brennan was awake and alert and seemed to be enjoying the music along with everyone else.

The pianist changed to songs from classical movies such as Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, and Sound of Music. We chatted about movies during the break between songs. I asked him if he had ever seen Casablanca or Gone with the Wind...no he hadn't. I asked about Sound of music...oh yes...Julie Andrews was in the movie...wonderful movie.

I asked Father Brennan how he was doing and he said it was a "not so good" day. He said it was difficult to put into words but he felt things "just weren't right". We talked about that for a bit and both of us expressed hope tomorrow would be a better day...he smiled...a smile that said so much...words are unnecessary.

cpl+

Oh Faa-der; Yes Faa-der

Wednesday, June 5, 2013
10:30 am
In Lounge, Dressed, Socks and Slippers

I stand for a minute and watch from behind the facing row of easy chairs. Father's seatmate is just getting up, and I plan to take his seat, but an aide notices me and gets Bernie's attention and we wave.  She offers a wheel chair and Bernie assents.

"Would you like to go to the patio." "Yes, that would be nice."  I push slowly and Bernie lifts his feet barely off the ground.  "Isn't it pretty here."  I am encouraged by his positive spirit. "Sun or shade?" "How about here."  He chooses a shady spot and before I can begin the opening questions he says, "It's a little chilly here, could we move into the sun." "Why you bet."  I'm glad to have him interact and express a preference.

The next 30 minutes are a demonstration of quick easy, nearly automatic responses, but only a few words long, contrasted with incomplete sentences, trailing off into "Oh, Dear God. Oh, Dear God."

For a while now I have anticipated opening a conversation about heaven and transition.  I broach the subject and Bernie says he doesn't think about it much.  "What will that be like?" "No one knows." "Does any of that transition worry you?" "No."   He doesn't duck the subject, but doesn't have much to say about it.

I ask another generalized question, and Bernie answers, "God has a plan for every individual." 

He seems to be unafraid, but neither anxious to talk about death and heaven.



I ask about his foot.  "I have no pain in my left foot."  "Oh, is that good?" "Yes, very good."  That was the foot which was first thought to be cellulitis.  Since it has not responded to any of the antibiotics, everyone has a wait and see attitude.  "We'll see what happens. They check it every morning," Bernie offers 

"I know they mean well, but the nurses and aids can be a bother.  'Oh, Faa-der.' 'Yes, Faa-der.'" Bernie twinkles with an impish look, and I laugh out loud.  This is not the first time.  His dialect is very familiar, and I am well conditioned.  He looks up and see's how much I enjoy his sense of humor and gives a teasing smile, quite and subtle enough that we could deny everything if we were caught.

I mentioned he looks like he might have gained some weight. "Yes, that's what Kathleen said when she visited."  Why some things linger and some are forgotten.  During other visits I have asked about visitors, and he said he didn't recall any. Obviously he has many, some reported here and some not. I don't know if he would rather not discuss the visits.

I ask about meals. "Which is the best meal of the day?"  "Oh, definitely not breakfast. I suppose the mid-day meal." "Bernie, when you were growing up, what did you call the last meal of the day?" His pace quickens and answers immediately, "Supper." He interrupts himself eagerly, "Never dinner." It was as if he was afraid someone would take the floor and he needed to express himself.  "And what about the midday meal?" And, as if a switch turned off, he was unable to recall what that meal was called. "Oh dear God."  We joke for a minute, and I offer, "My cousins in Canada call the evening meal supper, and at noon they eat dinner."  "Oh, no -- never dinner."  "Sometimes the Sunday meal would be called Dinner."

I remind him of the many times he'd come to dinner (supper) at our house, and either during the meal or afterward someone would use a word and another would say something like, "do you mean connotate or denotate (or detonate?) and the four of us would each grab a dictionary and for the next two hours one word would lead to another and each of us would read from our dictionary and argue with the dictionary editors.  He remembered all this and smiled.

"Can you tell me what this watch is telling?" "Well, it IS a little hard to figure out...the little hand is between the 11 and the twelve and the big hand between the 5 and the 6 so it is hard to read.... It looks like 11:25 or so."

"OK, we still have some time."  "Are you concerned about something." "I just don't want to be late." "For lunch?" "Yes." "OK we can go in now."

We slowly wheel into the dining room and it is nearly half full. I say, "You point, I'll steer."  He raises his hand to point to the table under the clock where we sat last week. One of the aides said, that's where the priests sit.  Father Joe was already seated and had his head down.  Bernie points to his spot and we wheel around. I take a chair.  Bernie says, "I don't know what else to say."  You don't have to say anything, I'll just sit for a bit and listen. 

One of the CDs is on the player, and I cannot guess the era. I recognize the tune, but have no idea why it is familiar.  I pull out my cell phone and launch Shazam.  In about 30 seconds, the app tells me. "My cell phone can listen to a song and tell me the name.  That's Blondie 'Call me' - 1980."  "That's amazing" both priests say almost in unison.  Father Joe and Bernie both appreciated how remarkable it is that a cell phone can listen to a few seconds of a tune, and identify it.  We all shake out heads and agree, "That really is amazing."

Each of these men is amazing. They immediately came to life to acknowledge this small technical feat.