Warning: this is a long one but I feel all of this is relevant to better understand future blogs. Being my Dad’s caregiver is what has inspired this project, so an introduction is necessary.
My dad has lived the lives of 2 cats. What I mean by that is if a cat has 9 lives, my dad has survived twice that. The universe has tried to kill my dad on numerous occasions. And every time, my dad says “Hold my Beer!”
My dad’s name is Thomas, aka Tommy, but never Tom, because he has nieces and nephews…I’ll let you think about that (hint…he’s African American).
As I start to type this, I’m overwhelmed with adjectives to describe him. Because when I think of one, the opposite also applies. For instance, he’s one of the strongest men I’ve ever known and yet he was also crippled by some of his life experiences. His love for my sisters and I is unmatched, but his demons kept him from being a more present parent. Dad was someone to be feared; he could just look at you and you would melt into tears (partly because he was 6 feet 3 and 240 pounds), but he left the punishing up to Mom. I am definitely a Daddy’s girl, much to my mother’s despair, but as in most families, the parent that had to be the disciplinarian, was not the most appreciated.
My dad was born in the mid-40’s, in Oakland, California. He is the oldest of 7 children from his mother Doris, and the oldest of 8 from his father, Thomas Sr. With so many kids (the first 4 is just 6 years), Tommy had very little growing up, including food. Being the oldest, he bore the responsibility of taking care of and protecting his younger siblings…most often from his own father. My grandfather was in the navy and because of this, the family was often relocated. My grandfather was also a raging and abusive alcoholic, so him being on a ship, 9 months out of the year was often a blessing. A couple of my dad’s cat lives were lost at his hand.
When he was able, he enlisted in the Navy Reserves, and eventually active duty. He was a Corpsman and he did 2 tours in Vietnam. They called him Doc Lundy. Between the horrors he witnessed and almost drowning in a river with his ruck sack on, I’m pretty sure he lost more than a few kitty lives during this time in his life. And let’s not forget about Agent Orange.
He met my mom stateside, in Vallejo, California. They married and moved to Japan where my dad was stationed, and I was born a few months later. My birth is a story in itself, but what is key to note is both parents wound up in the hospital at the same time. My mom having just given birth to me and my dad for the seizure he had that very same day. Fast forward 2 more seizures and he was honorably discharged (probably another kitty life or two). My future as a Navy brat ended when I was a year and a half old.
We moved to San Francisco where Dad worked for the VA Hospital in an administrative position. My mother worked at a hospital in the Presidio, where she met my older sister, a 15-year-old foster child. I was 2 when they brought Mamie home. I went from being an only child to being a baby sister. This was awesome for me though I’m not so sure how Mamie felt about having me at her heels. Mamie moved out at 18 and I was 5. A year or so later, my younger sister Avril was born. So I was now the middle child and older sister at the same time. A couple of years later, we moved to Vallejo and that is where the bulk of my upbringing continued.
Dad was a very attentive and loving parent in the SF days. He took me to the zoo, the aquarium, the Japanese Tea Garden, and many other places in the city. Because of the seizures, my dad never obtained a driver’s license, but since SF has tons of public transportation, getting around was not an issue.
Moving to Vallejo changed things though. I should now mention that my dad is an alcoholic and had been for many years. Probably since he was a teenager. The seizures may have actually been alcohol related. Moving to the burbs caused my dad to have to commute 5+ hours a day by bus (or buses) to the VA in SF and back. He left at 5:30 AM and got home after 7…maybe later if he was bowling and/or at the bar. The trips to the zoo became very few. Any outings, period, were reduced to once or twice a year.
Eventually, his drinking led to him losing his job and almost going to jail. I was 19 and newly a parent (another story for another day). Up until this point, I did not realize my dad was an alcoholic. He wasn’t violent like his father. Though looking back, I see the signs. If he wasn’t working or commuting, he slept or watched TV. There were 2 or 3 occasions where I would wake up and find him on the couch, sleeping it off. No idea how he got home. And he was banged up from being in a fight (we are definitely into a second cat’s life by now).
He would occasionally come out of his shell and have a purpose. He’d be charming. He liked gardening and cooking. But beyond family gatherings and events Mom dragged him to, he rarely left the house.
After losing his job, Dad stopped drinking. He’s been sober almost 30 years. Great, right? Well now he had to face his demons and soon after, he was diagnosed with PTSD. He went to AA and therapy sessions (one-on-one and group). The group therapy with other Veterans was the most impactful. They helped him not feel so alone as well as helped him get his disability income.
The following events also happened after he became sober. He got throat cancer and survived radiation and chemotherapy. He was diagnosed with Hepatitis C (common for Corpsmen) and did additional chemo for that. He and Mom divorced after 36 years of marriage. He had a gall bladder removed. He started having dizzy spells and fell a few times. What he thought might be vertigo turned out to be mini strokes (this is in bold for a reason). How many kitty lives is that? And Dad had become more reclusive than ever.
Then other health issues occurred. He was having a tough time breathing and was admitted to the hospital. He was diagnosed with Atrial fibrillation. After a few days, he was sent home with meds. But, he seemed to be getting worse. At this point, my sisters, mom and other family and friends stepped in. We realized he was living off a diet mostly consisting of Coca-Cola, potato chips and ice cream. I called his doctor, who I later found out had been trying to reach him for weeks. The doctor prescribed every test out there. So many appointments and so many tests. They found he now had heart failure and rediscovered the lesions on his brain from the strokes (he had originally been diagnosed at another hospital). During this time, I became his Power of Attorney and Medical Designee. My family checked on him at least twice a day. We tried to feed him (which he often didn’t have the energy to do) and make sure he was taking his meds. His body continued to fail. He was barely lucid. He couldn’t hardly walk. Until one day that doctor said we needed to admit him to a rehab center. So we did…
Dad has been at the rehab center for a week. He’s off liquid foods and onto soft foods. He’s actually eating! They are helping him to walk again. He seems to be recovering in every way…except one. His memory. We noticed that his ‘forgetfulness’ was not really improving. I had seen this before, in my grandmother (his mother). Remember the bolded text above? Well, the strokes had resulted in early onset dementia.
His type of dementia is known as Vascular Dementia, which in its simplest definition is brain damage caused by strokes. It’s subtle in the beginning but over time is fatal. Although Dad was very sick from the heart failure (the cardiologist had actually only given him a year to live), what actually almost killed him was his inability to handle day-to-day tasks. Like cooking proper meals and remembering to take his meds.
Fast forward to today. It’s been 3 years since he was admitted into that rehab center. When he was well enough, we moved him into a nursing home. He’s lived there ever since. His heart has stabilized and his dementia hasn’t worsened so far. If you didn’t know him, you’d wonder why he was in a nursing home. He often wonders himself. But then he walks a short distance and has to rest or he starts to repeat the conversation you just had an hour earlier. But all in all, he’s doing well and is stable and that is a blessing. Just another middle finger to the universe.
He is definitely running low on lives to live but for now he’s still purring.
If I wanted to, I could write a book about my dad but this blog is not meant to be a biography. The journey from when my dad became really sick to where he is now is filled with many milestones, learnings and pitfalls and these are what I will be writing about in the future. And how these takeaways have affected my decision making regarding my own future. Stay tuned.
Anne
healthyandsaneish.com 