No, it's really Friday, but I've been thinking all day it's Saturday. I'm so tired and emotionally wrung out I just want to SCREAM!
I got a call from Mel last night about 6:30 or so, dad had drunk some antifreeze and the rescue squad was taking him to Methodist Women's Hospital (since it was closest hospital). So, that was my ticket to the crazy train. I grabbed my purse and headed out. We were pretty sure dad would get an EPC done, especially since this was his second suicide attempt in a little over a year. Oh hell no. Dad tells the cop at the hospital he just drank a little "for attention", he had no intention of hurting himself - I mean, he was a cop before, right? He knew that a little wouldn't really hurt him. (Maybe not, but a very pissed off daughter might...) So, the cop comes out and tells us he's not going to EPC dad. (Sorry, EPC is an emergency commital procedure for mental health.) Dad "volunteered" (my ass) to stay for treatment, but there really wasn't anything anyone else could do. Whatever. Sometimes that "Good Old Boy" network is a little much to take. So, Miss, Mel, and I spend until 10:15 waiting for blood results, etc., to see what, if any damage he had done to himself. When we asked him what he was thinking he said he was "just stupid" and he never really meant to do it. Come on - you walked through the garage, found a dirty cup, complete with cobwebs, poured antifreeze into the cup, walked back over to the chair you had been sitting in and... Ooops, just drank the darn stuff!!! Missy was sitting right there! I don't blame her for this, as soon as she realized what he was doing, she asked him what was in the cup and he told her, "Antifreeze". God give us strength.
By 10:15 they decided he was going to be fine, but they were going to have to transfer him to Methodist Hospital (no vagina, can't stay at the women's hospital), where he would have a couple beers, supposedly the antidote for antifreeze poisoning, and stay the night. Today Mel and I went up to see him and he was chomping at the bit to go home. The internal med doctor had been in and told him he could go home, BUT he still had to see the psychiatrist. (Oh, the officer told us last night that if dad tried to leave the hospital AMA, that we could THEN get an EPC, because... Well, that just doesn't make sense, does it? Who would want to leave a hospital?)
Dad just got crankier and crankier as the day progressed. He was SURE that Mel and I were conspiring to keep him in the hospital - Mwa ha ha.... The psychiatrist FINALLY came in about 2 or so and talked to him alone for about 10 minutes before she decided he was in no shape to go back home. She met with Mel and I and we decided to go for a BOMH (Board of Mental Health) commitment and Dr. T said she would arrange for transport to a mental health facility here in Omaha as soon as a bed was open. Oh, and before that even happened, we were all waiting in his room and dad nodded off. When he woke up, he didn't know where he was, didn't remember being there all night and half the day today, and didn't remember drinking antifreeze or having to go to the ER last night. Woo Wooo... All ABOARD THE CRAZY TRAIN!!!
Before I sound like a total shrew, I love my dad, and this all really breaks my heart. I know he is not competent and I know he has dementia. There are just some days that are so full of CRAP that I can't hardly breathe. And today is one of them.
Mel and I left Methodist because I knew dad would absolutely blow a gasket when he found out what was in the works (and I wasn't wrong). I had just gotten home when Mel called and said the hospital had called her and Heritage Center has a bed for dad, so they were going to be transferring him and we needed to go out there to fill out the paperwork. Terrific. We were supposed to be at Sue and Smitty's at 6 for a birthday party for Alec, Jackie, and Madi. I grabbed my purse, and again, I was off like a speeding blue bullet!
Dad arrived about 4:40, and Mel, Sarah, and I were getting the interview done. i felt really bad when I found out he had to be transported in handcuffs. That's the only thing that has made me cry all weekend. (Take that you people who think I have no heart!) The thought of dad in cuffs just really hurts me, and I know he was probably humiliated beyond belief. I'm so sorry, dad.
When he came in, Mel went down to his room with him. He's in the locked locked unit - as opposed to the regular locked unit, and I'm sure that makes him even madder. He wanted to see us before we left, but when Mel went down to see him he was yelling about how this is bullshit and he's going to run away. Uh huh...
I dont' know what's going to happen. The woman (Polly?) at HC told us we wouldn't need the BOMH hearing because we were dad's powers of attorney, but they won't keep him on a long-term basis, so I just don't know. He can't come home, he just can't. He's been threatening to kill himself ever since last year, this time he just acted on it. What next? This is not something Adam and Sarah need to be around 24/7. Dad has no money for a nursing home and we sure as heck don't have the money. Our meeting with the admission board isn't even until the 28th of July... Holy buckets. Mel says she hasn't heard anything from his caseworker about the Medicaid. I think maybe she did, but it just got lost in the shuffle. I hope we don't have to reapply, but I bet we will.
I finally left the hospital at 6:20 and got to Sue and Smitty's in time to have dinner and see Hailey and Emma playing together. I loved it! They are so cute together, it's too bad that Emma lives in Tennessee! One of the worst, crappiest days turned into a great day by seeing Hailey smile! She kept coming over to me and giving me loves. She means the world and more to me. It was good to see Magann too, she's been working like a crazy woman - 85 hours last week alone! Holy sandman, Batman!
When I got home tonight, absolutely exhausted I realized that Steve had not done one single solitary thing since I left last night. The dishes were piled up in the sink, the laundry still needed to be put away, everything was just like I left it last night at 6:30. Oh, and he only had to work 1/2 day today... He had stayed at Sue and Smitty's when I left because I was so tired. After he came home and just before I got into bed to write my book for the night, I walked into our bathroom and was met by a huge puddle of water. The magazine that he left open on the floor (after using the bathroom this morning) was entirely soaked, the towel on the floor was soaked, and there was s small river leading into the other room. When I called him to the bottom of the stairs and asked him what happened he said one of the dog's beds got into their water bowl and he hung it up on the shower door to dry... Of course, it seeped to the lowest end of the blanket and ran down the shower door onto the floor. I told him about the mess and he said, "Wow, really?" and went back into the other room to watch TV. Oh yeah, he understands fibromyalgia all right. He knows what a hard couple days I've had and he's SO, SO willing to help.
Just between you and me, I don't care if those damn dishes ever get washed...