Geriatricville is Trying to Kill Me

Did you know that walking into a door and having it bash you in the face hurts like a #@**^%$#?????   There, I won’t swear…I already did that when I walked into the door.  I think my feet are trying to get back at me for having evolved into a bipedal homosapien that likes to wear hiking boots when not hiking. “Go on, stick your foot out a little farther…hahahaha….ooops, did you trip on that carpeted step? what a shame…next time, it won’t be carpeted!!! MUHAHAHAHAHHA!!! ”   Really, I kid you not. I think my feet are trying to kill me when ever I wear these shoes. I’m fine when I don’t wear them but LOOK OUT if I have them on, I might fall on YOU!

Sometimes I wonder if I have not aged beyond my numerical years when I wasn’t paying attention and slipped into Geriatricville with the rest of the residents of the ward that live here. My dog, who walks outside and tips over (thankfully in the grass). And of course my Dad who is the King of Geriatricville heading to 95, today he tried to kick me while the nurse and I attempted to change the cushioned bandage on his foot. He has a wound similar to a blood blister which is healing and never opened, so we keep it well cushioned, but he is still  demented and thinks I’m trying to take his foot off or something. I thank God I have such an unlimited supply of patience with him. I understand he is unaware of what he is doing and just talk to him and reassure him about what we’re doing and try to show him things. I treat him the way I would want to be treated. After all, dementia and mental illness….aren’t they one in the same? The only difference is, his will kill him. So, he deserves every ounce of my sympathy I can muster up and if I can’t then I can sit in front of him and cry but still explain why. Amazingly, he understands emotions. If I am sick, he will try to help me even if it puts him in harm’s way. So, I have to be careful, of course, not to show my emotions to him but sometimes it is hard. So, I am truthful to him. If something hurts I tell him and tell him why. It can be very helpful for me because he caused so much of my baggage that I carry around and causes so much of the reasons that I cry today. If I give in and tell him without saying it is him directly, then it helps. I don’t hurt him because I don’t mention him and he feels he helps me by comforting me. The whole dynamics is very interesting to me now because I am a parent and I see him not as a father now but as a parent. He is not the man who was my father. He is an old man who is very different from the one I know. I also wonder how my children think of me and the impact I’ve had on them up to this point in their life. Will they one day be crying at my bedside as I lay dying?

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