Me & Stepping Thru
I knew if I waited long enough, my sister would post about our most recent ordeal. Tah dah! You can read about it here but then come back because I’ve got a little bit to add. *drumming fingers on the table*
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Back already? Wow, you’re a speed reader for sure.
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O.k. so now you know why we were at the hospital (unless you cheated and didn’t go read the first part) but you don’t know the half of the story. The good half. The funny half.
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When Daddy finally woke up he was naked and he knew he was naked. Before you freak out, just know that he was covered up to his shoulders with a sheet so it wasn’t like you could SEE that he was naked but trust me, he was naked.
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This posed a huge problem because my dear Daddy thought he was driving. He kept yelling at us and telling someone else to drive because he couldn’t drive naked. We tried cajoling him by saying “HBL is naked too and so is Coach (my brother in law)” and Daddy would say, “really?” But then a few minutes later he’d say something about someone else driving because he couldn’t drive naked. We kept telling him one of us would drive and he’d say O.k. but after a while he said “you all keep saying you’ll drive but no one takes the wheel.” We got tickled and were laughing and he gave us a really dirty look and said “I don’t know what the hell is so damn funny.” Haha….our Daddy hardly ever curses and this made us laugh even harder so we had to escape to the hall to compose ourselves.
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Oh. He really REALLY thought he was driving naked! I finally told the nurse that he needed a gown. They wrestled the gown on him and he calmed down a little but kept asking how to get out of there because every time he drove out “that” door he’d end up in a pasture. It was obvious that going along with him wasn’t going to cut the mustard.
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Skip to that evening after Stepping Thru and I had been called back to the hospital and since they’d sedated our Dad, they put a Depends on him. Yes, a diaper for grownups. We knew if he ever really knew that he’d have all our heads on a platter but we weren’t the ones in charge….yet. Daddy’s wife kept referring to his “diaper” in front of him. I finally turned to her and said “STOP CALLING IT A DIAPER”. She asked what she should call it then and I said to call it disposable underwear or anything but a diaper. Several more times she said “diaper” and ST had to straighten her out again. Stupid woman seemed to have no regard for his dignity
and this just flat pissed me off. grrrrr…..
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He was sedated but he was still having hallucinations about the terrorists and kept tugging at his underpants. Stepping Thru and I were each sitting on opposite sides of his bed trying everything to calm him. I tried holding his good hand but he keep taking my hand and and trying to throw it away. I put my iPhone with the white noise turned on, beside his head thinking he’d zone out and he almost threw it across the room. He pulled on his fingers on the arm that was wrapped and strapped down in a sling, until we thought he would pull them off. Literally. He also pulled at that damn disposable underwear until ST finally grabbed the side he’d pulled loose and took it the rest of the way off and then Dad threw the sheet off too. No matter how many times we’d lay the sheet over his lower half, he’d throw it back off.
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We were texting each other across the bed but when it was too much to say via text, we’d meet at the foot of his bed but shield our eyes from seeing a part of our Daddy that we never really wanted to see. Didn’t work. I’ll never be the same again. ack!
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Our reinforcement showed up about 2 a.m. and not a second too soon. It was our Dad’s hired hand, Jane. She’s my age but works like a man and keeps him lined out on a daily basis so we knew she could handle him. That evening had been one of the longest of my life and since our husbands had already gone to the hotel, ST and I didn’t have to be told twice to go.
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I wish I could say the next day he was 100% but he wasn’t. He still thought we were all walking on the walls and ceiling and he was searching the nurses pockets for guns but he’d have moments where he was perfectly lucid and normal.
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Funny turned into a nightmare that we all finally awoke from and now he’s home healing. He’ll never be the same though. As ST said, he remembers it all and he’s scared to death to ever be put under again. He had to wait 10 days to find out if they’d have to do skin grafts and when they said it wasn’t necessary, he was able to relax a little.
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I’ve always said my Daddy would rather die doing something stupid (for his age) than die an invalid. I don’t think this incident has changed that sentiment one bit and in fact I worry that it will only make him more determined to “go” his way.
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Only time will tell.
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I forgot to tell you why my Dad was pulling at his fingers. He thought there was a knife there and he spent hours trying to pull that knife out to use it on the terrorists. This was the arm he’d just had surgery on that he kept tugging at and he kept unwrapping his bandages. But, the good news is…..he wasn’t pulling on what I originally thought he was pulling on. His arms were under the sheet. I wouldn’t have been able to survive that visual. 
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