Dad had a better sleep last night; he was up for only 1 hour between 9:30 pm and 7:30 am and he was quiet - very little of the talking he normally does. I hope that means he rested better. He had about half a breakfast, and after his morning wash and change of clothes, we took him to the living room. He slept for a few hours, had a half lunch, then slept more.
It is impossible to know what's going on in his mind, and it's very sad and frustrating for me. Not that what he does or says frustrates me, I'm frustrated he has to go through this. There are times when he talks, uses the wrong word, then immediately corrects himself, or tries to, until he gets it right. At other times, he goes in totally unexpected directions. He asked where Mom lives and I told him Charleston. He then started talking about China, and asked me why she moved to China. I reminded him it was Charleston, then he wanted to know how Charles likes his work. He meant Chad (who, for those of you who don't know him, comes from Charleston).
I was able to go out to dinner with a group of girlfriends this evening, and as I was leaving, Dad and Dave were talking about having hamburgers for dinner. After I left, Dad insisted they go out for burgers, that he could walk and he wanted to get out. Of course Dave had to convince him it wasn't possible, and he cooked burgers. It's hard to know that Dad, in his more lucid moments, is bored and wants to get out, but it just isn't possible. His fractured hip and rib, and who knows what else at this point, could break and cause a disaster. He cannot walk any more, he can only stand and take a few baby steps. I feel badly, though, that he wants to get out. I've suggested many time we at least go outside in the wheelchair, but he feels he isn't up to it.
Dad's mind goes in a thousand directions. One moment he's talking about gears and wants to know how something works, and the next he's talking about the cheap goods from China (China is on his mind these days). I keep looking for a time he could carry on at least a short conversation so I can call Uncle Jack, but it isn't happening these days.
Dad is having trouble using a spoon and fork. He can't keep soup in his spoon, and it's hard for him to spear a bite of food with his fork. He doesn't like me to help him, so I've been trying to give him small things he can pick up with his fingers. I think I'm more frustrated than he is, as he just rolls along, very slowly, talks and drinks his malts. He's generally in a good mood, not cheerful, but not depressed. Every morning he gets up and says he thinks he's a little better. I'm grateful he thinks so.
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