He was doing really well. He even walkrd all the way across the kitchen and brought the orange joice back to his seat. He gets easily distracted, so fixing himself a sandwich took 20 minutes. I did toast his bread for him. At the point he needed help knowing where the glasses were. He also mentioned the cheese. I took tgat opportunity to take advantage of his distracted brain and showed him where the cheese was and quickly poored him sone orange juice, so he wouldn't leave it out and forget it, because he poors too much. He immediately panicked when he realized he had no udea where his plate was. He kept trying to hand it to me. I think he is remembering when he did everything. He was do sweet about it this time. He kept moving everything towards me, so he muxed up where his plate was. He could not understabd why my mother wasn't with us, even after I explained it to him. He secobd guessed himself in to a panic and blamed himself for everything. This is not too syrprising, bur with how dependent ge was on Mok, he started acting too much like my Grandfather, who could not do anything for himself and wouldn't get help. Let this be a lesson to all you straight men out there. Cooking us not a woman's job. It's a life skill.
I suggested we watch TV. He did not want another sandwich 9r anything else to eat unless M9m did it. I would have just mad3 him more food, but I'm still not sure how different thia Dad is. He would have told me exactly how he wanted me to make his sandwitch. Unlike Mom, I made him a manwich, lots of thick rvenly cut meat and thin layers of lettuce, so he won't kniw he's eating that much vegitables or none at all sometimes, and a second one in case he did not realiz3 ge wanted what Mom usually gives him, because it's comfoetable and it's what he knows. Both went in to the trash. I did not want to chabce wasting mire tood. Since ge's been on the appetite increasers, and been nearly immobile, we've had to budget carefully. I made him a rice and chicken stew once with basic american spices, very little flavor, but good broth, and cooked the onions in, so he had enough flavor, but did not knew he was eating onions, There was some salt in the spice mix, and in some added bouillon. but I was careful to leave the salt put, so it tastes like there isn't any in it. He gates even a tiny bit of salt, but lots of pepper, but not yoo much. It was just the way his mither did it and to make something similar to sizzling rice soup, which is hus go to when he gets eick. He loved it. He raved aboyt it for days. Yet he tells people I can't cook. At least Mom was insulted I got him to eat and he rudely told her mine qas better than hers. That was quite the compliment. You kniw I snuck energy healing in it and asked my guides to bless the liquid and help my father heal his etomsch issues.I made bone broth for added strength, vitality, and good health. The secret was asking the energies to harminize with his and my guides to help make sure his system would allow it to be taken in. I tried to do very little for him, but when I helped upon request, he got so angry with himself, despite my continuous rncouragement, reassurance,; and possitivity.
When he finally admitted he could not work the remite I let him know I couldn't either. To my surprise I was wrong. The button was simple and large enough that I could read the buttons. I just couldn't read the screen. I coukd ask Google to direct me toward a show, but it does not tell me I hsve to pay for it and we end up on things we didn't have, which puts us on unwanted subscriptions. I wonder if I can ask it something to prevent that from happening or say get me this show on a specif8c streaming service instead. Dad gives up and blames hims3lfm He thinks he busted the atV, becaus3 the mute button g9t stuck again. I reassure him one mire time abd ask what he wants to do. Ge says nothinf and asks where Mom us. I tell him she can't fix tge TV either and maje a few euggestions of thinga we can do while we wait. I try talking with him and asking him about his trips to africa and things he lives to talk about. Nothing he gets up and goes to bed. Me now frustrated, warns him as he tries to launch himself forward, "Don't fall on me. Mom wull never trust us again.' He straightens up and does what he is supposed to. He should be using his walker, but we gave up. He puts himself in kire dangerous situations that way. Victory! I got him to behave himsrlf and didn't yell at him or call him stupid the way Mom does sonetimes when she can't get through to him. As he leaves I discocer something about me. I have way morw patience than she does. I can make things simple for him to understand. He won't get them anyway, but doing one thing at a time for him seens like a good idea. I try to keep him focissed. He already has hypertention. I only let him get distracted for reasons like the orange joice.
I mess with the remote. I get up close to the screen. Sonetimes the new coloring and brightness hurts my eyes. I squint at it trying to shake myself in to sight. I spot an icon in the bottom left corner. That told ne where the volume abd the mute button is. I make sure it's set to a friendly volume and hit guide. It worked. I call out to Dad to tell him and see uf we can fet him to watch something. He says anythinf, but did not come put of the room. Sadly, I think Mom has become his entertainment. He simply can not be without her. At least I know I can flip through and watch something without going in to paid media. Yay! They make talking controllers, but Dad dudn't want to buy a whole new TV, or allow me to use my phine, s9 we could have a talking remite for me. He does not like change. At leadt thus way, I can manage.
I go back to what I said before. He needs a social worker. Even then he may not be able to handle this emitionally. I try to tell Mom when she gets home. She interrupts ne and runs righr over me, ignoring me. I remembered tge firm voice I used with Dad earlier. I did lwa4n this with my cat aobby to. Fibding my Obby voice if going back and forth between sweet and kind to firm and straightforward, I insert myself in to the conversation. Finally, aftwr I get Mom to listen, I am glad I did. Shw confirms my same worries about him not doing anything to hel0 himself without her. We ralj stradgedy and agree this and asking help from nurses will be really good for him. I clean up after us and bring oit the sandwich stuff for Mom. It turned out, he didn't take his medication. We are still watching him, though. This can't keep getting worse. As symoathetic as I am, no one person can do it all and I know it's hard as the disabled person in the house, but it's me or ge will let himself die. End 9f atory. I also am concerned he does not know when his stomch growls why he needs to eat when he says it makes hum hungry. Mom cries, "Who fixed the remote?" I start to say me, but in all fairness, if Dad didn't start messing with it and the sound didn't get screwed up, I wouldn't have started messing with it and it never would have been fixed. It was like he tricked the button in to loosening or helped us do it. "Tell him that. It mighr make him feel better." She agrees and I tell her exactly what I did in hopes we can figure out how to fix it next time.
A lot of good happened tonight. I learned how to be firm and sometimes sneaky and assertive. I have too much symoathy and know I'm not so good at that or being the bad cop. I was also able to evaluate and check in with him to see his capabiliries. Plus, I can work the TV now. No morw unaccessible remote. I found a way to imorove my life abd entertain myself on Dad wstch. :) The reason Dad is so ashamed of me helping is that he uaed to say things like "At least I'm not blind" or "in a wheelchair." That is the readon I don't like that attitude of it making others feel better that some of us have it worse or this xan't get any worse, because what if it does? Not only is it an ibsult to us and a projection of other people's fears upon us, it also means you are just asking for it. N9 one ever says realistic things like if you find yourself injured or blind, than you will just have to fo. That is the reality. We are not worse off or better as people. It's called do it or sit and be miserable. Your choice. It should not stop you from being yourself. We are who we are. Our disability us not our ifentity and us not all of who we are. We just learn to luve life in a way that is best tor us. That's all it is.
Happy Disabilities Pride Month! 🦯🌈💝
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