Greatest. Mother. Ever.

A Quick Update

Thank you to everyone who has responded to my last post about my father, and an extra thank you to everyone who has taken the time to call. I wish I could respond to everyone, but my phone has been blowing up nonstop with calls from dad's friends, family, doctors, nurses, church people, etc. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, so I'm kind of taking a break from the phone. I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I love all of you so much, and I do so appreciate the outpouring of support from everyone. It's just kind of a hard story to repeat a thousand times, you know? It's easier to blog about it once and get the information out that way. I hope you'll forgive me. I will try to get back to all of you at some point.

The old man is full of surprises. I wish you could have seen him 5 days ago. He was like Tom Hanks at the end of Philadelphia, only less lucid. Today the man walked the full length of the rehab center, and was cracking jokes like he was freaking Bob Hope. He is taking us on quite the roller coaster ride, I tell you. He still isn't eating very much, but he tells me it's because the food there tastes like--and I quote--"poop." I'm going to smuggle some contraband treats into the place just to see what he does with them. In his defense, he is on a pretty nasty all-pureed diet. Hopefully they'll give him some solid foods here soon.

Once again, thank you for all of your thoughts, prayers, phone calls, and the like. I don't know where this journey will take us or how long it's going to last, but today was a good day. I'll keep you posted. Much love to you all.

Bro

That's what my mother always called my dad. Everyone, including myself, always found it hilarious because would you ever picture this woman using such urban vernacular?

I didn't think so.

I wonder if that will be the first word he hears when he passes to The Other Side and is greeted by my mother's perennially smiling face. It is breaking my heart to tell you this, dear readers, but I am afraid that moment may be upon us.

Last week my dad had his third stroke. The first two caused some vision loss and some general mental cloudiness, but the most recent one claimed his speech and his ability to swallow. The first five days in the hospital were absolute torture, for him and for us. He tried to speak, but he just couldn't produce any sounds that made sense. Once I leaned over and jokingly asked him, "Are you in there, Rex?" A sly grin spread slowly across his face, and I knew he was desperately trying to crack a joke. "Doubtful," would have been his probable response. Or perhaps, "That's not the first time I've been asked that question."

While his speech deficit frustrated him, his inability to swallow scared the hell out of us. What were we going to do? Buy a few more days with an NG tube? Give him a permanent feeding tube? We knew he definitely didn't want that. Bring him home and watch him starve to death? The options were all unpleasant, to say the least. Then, last Saturday, he started to swallow. It looked like good ol' Rex had cheated death once again.

He left the hospital a couple of days ago and entered a short-term rehab facility to regain some strength before we brought him back home. That was our hope anyway, but things have taken a turn for the worse. He spends most of his days sleeping, and he has no appetite at meal times. We are lucky if we can get him to take five bites of anything. My sisters visited him tonight, and they said they weren't sure if he was even aware of their presence. The doctor at the rehab center talked to my sisters tonight about providing Rex with what he called "comfort care" instead of rehabilitation. I think you and I both know what that means.

So tomorrow I will take my father's white temple jacket to the dry cleaner, and I will buy him a fresh new pair of garments. I will spend hours looking through all of our family photo albums, culling the nicest pictures to display at the funeral. Most importantly, I will visit my dad and hold his hand while I still can. I will tell him to say hello to mom and a few other family members I have never met but have grown to love through doing family history work. I will ask him to put in a good word for me when he gets to The Other Side. I will tell him how much I love him, and that it has been a privilege to be his child. And finally I will tell him that taking care of him these last few months was no burden. It was the most precious and sacred experience of my life.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year...

No, not Christmas--Oscar season!

I know you have all been waiting on pins and needles for my yearly Oscar predictions. You've been so patient. Here they are, faithful readers!

Best Picture: Gotta be The Artist. Everybody is a-twitter about the whole silent movie thing, and although it didn't exactly blow my mind, it was a very sweet, charming, unique, and definitely daring film--daring in the sense that in the era of CGI this, 3-D that, somebody had the cojones to make a film that gave all that mess the middle finger. I wish it would be Moneyball or The Help, but I'm putting my money on The Artist. If it's The Descendants, I will never watch the Oscars again.

Best Actor: Again, I think it's Jean Dujardin for The Artist, but I wish it were Brad Pitt. How long will the Academy insist on snubbing Brad?

Best Actress: Meryl!!! I would be happy with any actress nominated in this category because they all gave incredible performances, but Meryl is INARGUABLY the best actress alive. Seventeen nominations and only 2 wins, the last of which was in 1982? That is some serious horsesh*t, and it ends NOW. For the record, her movie was crap. But her performance? I think I heard angels singing softly in the distance.

Best Supporting Actor: In my nightly prayers, I ask The Good Lord to give Jonah Hill the win this year, but I know my prayer is in vain. It's going to Captain von Trapp for The Beginners as penance for not giving him the Oscar when he truly deserved it for The Last Station. I guess I'm OK with it. The man is 82 years old, has an acting career that spans seven decades, and doesn't have an Oscar to show for it. Give the Cap'n an Oscar before he dies, for crying out loud!

Best Supporting Actress: Probably Octavia Spencer for The Help because she was amazing and totally deserves it, but also because The Artist is winning both Best Picture and Best Actor so they can't really give it to Berenice Bejo. I mean, it ain't Titanic, people. There are limits to how many Oscars the movie can win, and I draw the line at Best Supporting Actress.

And that's how it's going to shake down, dear readers! I'll be back in a couple of weeks to gloat.

Rex-n-Effect

I assume everyone is up on their 90s hip-hop classics?

Anyway, on a more serious note:

Some of you may have heard that my dad recently had another stroke. It happened early Saturday morning. I noticed that something was wrong when he turned his head to look at me, and then started talking to the wall.

"Dad, can you see me?"
"No."
"OK. Let's go to the E.R."

He was admitted to the hospital where he ended up staying for 4 days. In addition to leaving him totally blind, the stroke had also damaged the part of the brain that would normally worry about such things. He knew he was blind, but he didn't seem too bothered by it. If you or I were to wake up tomorrow morning and not be able to see a thing, we would FLIP OUT. Rex was fine with it. No big deal. And the not caring was part of the stroke.

And now for the good news. Two days later, he was able to recognize my face. I handed him a glass without saying anything, and he reached out for it. Three days later, he was able to feed himself. It was a miracle, plain and simple. A big huge "thank you" to The Man Upstairs.

Today, we moved him to a short-term rehab facility. It's a nice place, I guess, but being in those kinds of places just breaks my heart. The residents looked like they were well cared for, and everything looked clean and nice...but it wasn't home. I am anxious to spring him out of there as soon as possible. The plan was for him to stay a couple of weeks, get some strength back, hopefully get some vision back, and then come home. Well, he's progressing so much faster than we had anticipated, and I know that I can give him the same level of care that they are giving him, if not better because I know the guy. I know what he can and cannot do. Like, why did they give him his silverware wrapped up all tight in a napkin like they do at restaurants? He doesn't have the manual dexterity to unwrap it. If I hadn't been there, how long would he have had to wait until a nurse noticed him struggling?

One week, and I'm busting him out. I can't wait any longer than that.

Thank you to all who have already sent kind words and offered prayers on my dad's behalf. I know they have made a big difference already.





Isn't he handsome?

Retraction

In the Christmas letter I mailed out last week, I mentioned the college roommate reunion I had in May. I credited Bekah Dunkley with the financing, planning, and execution of said trip, but I was sadly mistaken. I just received a sternly-worded text from one Greg Dunkley letting me know that it was in fact he who masterminded the whole thing.

My apologies to Greg, the true giver and planner of joyful reunions, and the sender of terrifying texts. Seriously, people. If I ever go missing for several days, your number one suspect is GREGORY DUNKLEY of BOISE, IDAHO.

You're the best, Greg!

Epic Fail

Threw away some rotten kale today. I woke up every morning and said to myself, "Today is the day I eat kale." But every time I opened up the fridge and looked at it, I gagged. So I made a batch of sugar cookies and ate 90% of them instead. They were tasty.

Re-purchasing kale tomorrow and forcing it down my throat, come hell or high water.

Puh-thetic.