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well, Pop has 2 feet again.
8 years ago
That was Wednesday. Pop's kinda peeved he can't just go back home like everything was back to normal. Uh, no, that's not how rehab works.
I gather getting to this stage took a longer than an "ideal" case would. Pop would constantly do stupid stuff that would set his therapy back. Shuffling down the hall in his walker, he'd forget to keep himself centered, get off balance, fall onto his stump making it bleed, and reset the clock to zero. Sitting in his wheelchair in the living room, there's be some object or essential piece of paperwork just out of reach, instead of calling out "Hey, could you hand me that?" he'd try to reeeeach to get it himself, fall on his stump making it bleed, and resetting the clock to zero. In the bathroom trying to transition from the toilet to the shower-chair in the bathtub, instead of using the walker to stand up then 90 degree turn then sit, he'd try to go directly, fall on his stump making it bleed, and resetting the clock to zero. Going back to bed, instead of backing up all the way until his legs were against the bed, he'd go "eh, landing zone in sight" and sit down, too early, fall off the bed onto his stump, making it bleed and resetting everything back to zero.
You get the idea.
Mom went off on me Friday. Apparently, if I notice the bag we put our recyclables in is full, a driving rainstorm is no excuse to not empty it out into the city recycling bin. And telling a *guy* to make a judgement call with smell is doomed to failure, but I kept quiet. Mostly because she's Mom and 90% of the other things she was complaining about were absolutely right. And also being in customer service for over a decade has sucked the soul out of me. Anyway, Mom says I'm in charge of feeding Pop because she's going "out."
So, me and Pop are in the kitchen. I'm making some burritos out of stuff I want to use before it goes bad. Pop's rambling on like he does. In a segue from how the NFL used to treat concussions and how an old neighbor of ours couldn't understand the concept of working nights, Pop just casually mentions he's fallen off the roof of the house two times.
O_O
And he's pretty sure the second time is why his balance is all borked.
O_O
First time he was taking roof coating up the ladder. The fact that the fall rendered him unconscious was not the important part of the story, to him. The important part was that the drum of roof-coating fell straight down, landed flat, and didn't spill.
The second time he was leaning over the edge to paint under the eaves. Again, that he was rendered unconscious was not the important part of the story. It was how bummed he was that couldn't ride a bike anymore after that.
I gather getting to this stage took a longer than an "ideal" case would. Pop would constantly do stupid stuff that would set his therapy back. Shuffling down the hall in his walker, he'd forget to keep himself centered, get off balance, fall onto his stump making it bleed, and reset the clock to zero. Sitting in his wheelchair in the living room, there's be some object or essential piece of paperwork just out of reach, instead of calling out "Hey, could you hand me that?" he'd try to reeeeach to get it himself, fall on his stump making it bleed, and resetting the clock to zero. In the bathroom trying to transition from the toilet to the shower-chair in the bathtub, instead of using the walker to stand up then 90 degree turn then sit, he'd try to go directly, fall on his stump making it bleed, and resetting the clock to zero. Going back to bed, instead of backing up all the way until his legs were against the bed, he'd go "eh, landing zone in sight" and sit down, too early, fall off the bed onto his stump, making it bleed and resetting everything back to zero.
You get the idea.
Mom went off on me Friday. Apparently, if I notice the bag we put our recyclables in is full, a driving rainstorm is no excuse to not empty it out into the city recycling bin. And telling a *guy* to make a judgement call with smell is doomed to failure, but I kept quiet. Mostly because she's Mom and 90% of the other things she was complaining about were absolutely right. And also being in customer service for over a decade has sucked the soul out of me. Anyway, Mom says I'm in charge of feeding Pop because she's going "out."
So, me and Pop are in the kitchen. I'm making some burritos out of stuff I want to use before it goes bad. Pop's rambling on like he does. In a segue from how the NFL used to treat concussions and how an old neighbor of ours couldn't understand the concept of working nights, Pop just casually mentions he's fallen off the roof of the house two times.
O_O
And he's pretty sure the second time is why his balance is all borked.
O_O
First time he was taking roof coating up the ladder. The fact that the fall rendered him unconscious was not the important part of the story, to him. The important part was that the drum of roof-coating fell straight down, landed flat, and didn't spill.
The second time he was leaning over the edge to paint under the eaves. Again, that he was rendered unconscious was not the important part of the story. It was how bummed he was that couldn't ride a bike anymore after that.
