My Dad’s A Goldfish – in hospital (still)

cropped-goldfish-87-1254566814ncva1.jpgThe Goldfish had been in the infirmary for almost two weeks when he was transferred to the community hospital for ‘rehab’ before coming home. During his time in the infirmary following the seizure, he had recovered from two bouts of pneumonia, had had other seizures we were not told initially about and after so long in bed had lost his mobility.

The first time we went in he was sitting in a chair beside his bed. On the notice board above his bed it said he couldn’t walk unaided and he must have two people helping him with his walking frame. The Goldfish obviously hadn’t read this and several times had attempted to get up and walk.

He was transferred on his birthday so we arrived with cake, cards, including one from the young lad with a collapsed lung who’d been in the bed opposite the Goldfish in the infirmary and gifts, Although he had no idea it was his birthday, and the news that he had reached the age of 88 didn’t seem to mean anything to him, the Goldfish was happy to tuck into his chocolate cake. He choked a few times but this in no way put him off.

Next time I went in the Goldfish had caused a bit of a panic when they’d lost him. Maybe he had read the notice and thought: “I’ll show you who can’t walk.” He’d borrowed another patient’s walker and taken himself off to explore – or maybe he thought he was going home. What worried the staff most was that they had left a door open and feared he might have got outside. They found him sitting alone in the physiotherapy department and escorted him back to his chair. Then, they fitted an alarm – an electronic tag at his age! It was a wire attached to a box gadget which sat on the bed. If he stood up and moved away the wire would slide off the item of clothing to which it had been attached setting the alarm off. A nurse would appear before he had the chance to go walkabout.

On my next visit – we went several times a day during visiting hours and at meal times to make sure he was fed – the Goldfish decided he was coming with me. He stood up and I watched for the wire to unclip itself as he moved forward. However, he picked up the box and slipped it in his pocket so the wire remained connected. I swear he winked at me.

Next time I discovered him down a corridor, sitting in a wheelchair he’d ‘borrowed’. He used it the way Fred Flintstone drove his car – feet going as fast as he could make them. “Hello, dear,” he said when he saw me, big beam on his face, eyes twinkling. Those moments of utter lucidity and clarity are astonishing and precious.

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “My Dad’s A Goldfish – in hospital (still)

  1. Oh Mary, I love to hear about moments like these. Your dad knew exactly what he was doing when he lifted that box lol and the wink….. So great to think that he was the man you knew and loved even if it was just for a short time. Made my night to read this x

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Ruth. Those special moments when it was clear he had things sussed are treasured memories. I’m glad you enjoyed reading about it. Wish you could have seen his Fred Flinstone impersonation in the wheelchair!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Those moments of complete lucidity are amazing. The problem here is that Maureen often has them early in the morning. This morning it’s 2.30 and she can get back to sleep. I generally stay awake pondering on how to respond to her latest……

    Liked by 1 person

    • I can see your problem! It was around 2.30 am dad was inclined to go walkabout. I’d put him back to bed and tell myself if I went straight to sleep I’d have a good four hours but, of course, I didn’t sleep but lay awake listening for him getting out of bed again. Lack of sleep is the most wearing thing to cope with.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I love this post! You are a remarkable family to find joy and humor in these difficult circumstances.

    When my husband’s grandmother was hospitalized in her final illness, she was NOT pleased. We arrived to visit only to find that all phones had been disconnected in her room, and grandmother complaining that she wasn’t allowed to talk to anybody. But she seemed oddly pleased with the situation. When we asked the desk nurse about it, she said that Grannie had been calling all the emergency services (fire, police, and even Child & Family Services) and telling them she had been kidnapped and was being held hostage, or—for the sake of variety, we presume—that there was a bomb under her bed. We loved it!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. A love piece. I have been thinking of you and Mr. Goldfish while reading the new Chris Cleave book. I’m not sure how old your father is but from his handsome pictures, I picture him very much as the dashing yet sensitive young men of the novel….

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh, I like that, ‘a love piece’. I think he was quite a sensitive man – not so sure about dashing. I haven’t read Chris Cleave’s books (on my tbr list) so not sure which one you are reading – is it Everyone Brave is Forgiven? Mr Goldfish was in Greece when he was in the army andI have lots of tiny b&w photos I need to scan. He always talked with great fondness of his time in Greece.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s