From October 25 through last Monday, my Dad was in the hospital with a broken hip. Needless to say, I spent a great deal of time with my Dad and then spent quite a few days driving back and forth from Evanston to see him. He's doing OK, and is recovering from surgery nicely. He has amazing tolerance of pain. He hasn't complained of being uncomfortable since the surgery. The biggest issue right now is that he's not cooperating with the physical therapists. He needs to get up and try to walk around. And that, of course, depends on his mood and how much he feels he's in control of any given situation.
Dad has had dementia for at least eight years and has been in a nursing home for the last four years. He has profound aphasia; he can't communicate in any meaningful way. Sometimes he speaks words, but they usually have nothing to do with the context. His cognitive abilities are seriously impaired. It's been a long, frustrating haul.
I just looked at a picture of him from four years ago. He could no longer take care of himself then and needed 24 hour care, but, looking back, I can say that was a good time for him. He was able to communicate his desires and frustrations. Strangely, if he had Alzheimer's, dealing with him might be easier. He wouldn't know us. He wouldn't care when we came to visit. He wouldn't expect us to take him home. But he does know us, and he still exhibits enough cognitive ability to be frustrated with his inability to communicate. Dementia is a hateful, destructive disease.
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