Since this is one of the places I vent – especially in light of the issues of having guardianship over and dealing with my father – does anyone remember my mentioning this:
Fortunately we found him a lovely place, lovely, without too much hassle. Okay – notwithstanding that on his second day he told a 19 year-old CNA that she had a “nice crotch.” We clipped that shit in the butt – post haste. Not only is it so fucking inappropriate but it GROSSES US OUT!
Yeah well, we thought we had that taken care of until the next episode. The first three days my father was in this care facility I was over there a total of 8 times. Eight! Not to see him but to deal with his comments to staff and inappropriate touching. We got that squelched for the moment, not forgetting to mention to the social worker that it was also up to the staff to set boundaries. My father is saying inappropriate things to them, not me or my sister; he doesn’t. He rarely says inappropriate things in front of us either because of our reactions, and I’m pretty darned sure he’s aware of just how we will react.
Ah well, as they say, c’est le vie….of course – at the time, that’s not exactly what I say. I’m working on the patenting of multiple variations of the ‘F-word.‘
All right so my dad found a woman, Dorothy, whose dementia is significantly more advanced than his. His is not all that advanced. [Yeah, he has problems with short-term memory, recites stories from the past, and, Gawd! how he perseverates, meaning he asks the same goddmaned question over and over within a few minutes or sometimes spaces more minutes in between.] All in all, he’s in pretty good shape for 87. Dorothy can’t remember where her room is and even the sign on the outside of her room doesn’t help her anymore.
So one day Dad and Dorothy are having a little visit and Dad puts his hand on her thigh. The staff talked to him; then, we talked to him. The staff restricted his access to Dorothy; he got belligerent. They called us and we had another discussion with an 87 year-old man about what’s appropriate. For the record, Dad said it was her knee, by-the-way. Us – we’re going with thigh.
Since my father insisted in attempting to track Dorothy down and seeking her out, he’s been asked to leave by the “head decision makers.” Now we’re getting ready to take his ass over to Caldwell to another place that handles behavioral ‘conditions’ and the mentally ill who have Alzheimer’s. Dad will be on the behavioral unit. They’ll work with him to do what, change the behaviors he’s had for the past 75 or so years.
And the thing that irritates me the most – I can’t pay as close attention to what’s going on in the presidential campaign, other news around the world, and blogging like I want. That’s what really pisses me off.