Captain Obvious

So here I sit (no, I’m not doing that rhyme!)… in a nursing home hallway. This one happens to be one of the nicest. It connects the patient area with the rehab facility and is long and quiet with big windows and the slight hum of a failing air conditioning unit nearby. People walk, roll, stumble and/or run by. The runners are the patients who have escaped from the more “secure” part of the facility. It’s amazing how fast some people can go dragging a 20lb tank of oxygen.

As you might have surmised, my Dad is still recovering from his bout with pneumonia. Actually, it has sort of snuck back up on him and he’s back on antibiotics. Amazingly, he’s finally getting a good powernap. Usually, no sooner than he shuts his eyes someone comes in with that overdone, loud, assuming-you’re-not-only-old-but-deaf, voice… “Mr. So-and-So?! I’m here for your sponge bath!”  “Mr. So-and-So?! Time for your meds!” “Mr. So-and-So?! Do these scrubs make me look fat?”  OK… no one ever asked that (though the scrubs aren’t very flattering).

Anyway, like I said, I’ve found a peaceful little spot with a nice cushy chair and a view of trees and the occasional bird taking a crap on a patient dozing in the sunshine outside. I have to admit… it’s hard sitting in my Dad’s room. And not because of my Dad but because it’s a room filled with all kinds of medical noises. They just remind you that life is short and that we all take for granted this wonderful thing we call “good health.”

With that in mind, here is some medical advice from my upcoming book, “No shit, Sherlock: the musings of a man known for overstating the obvious”

1) Don’t smoke. Ever. I don’t care if it’s your right or if you think it makes you look cool or if you just “can’t stop” because you’re so addicted or if you just enjoy it. Stop it or don’t do it. It will ruin your lungs and will kill you. You’re not much good to your family as worm food.

2) Exercise. Yes, get off the couch, futon, La-Z-Boy or one of those little portable chairs you carry to sit and watch sporting events. Just get up. You can do P90X or you can just walk. But do something. Do you really want a future of sponge baths from Hilda— the nurse with the long, coarse hair growing out of her elbow?

3) Eat…right! Skip the fast foods that will make your arteries look like cannolis. Get those fruits and vegetables in your system (as long as they’re not from Germany…as of 6/6/11 they’re the cause of e-coli over there). This is so important. About three years ago I was eating “clean” as us former P90 x-ers like to call it, and I really never felt better. A nasty old burger on a rusty old grill isn’t “clean” in so many ways!

Yes, I am Captain Obvious but if you could see what I’ve seen here, you’d take care of yourself much better than you are. It’s not just for you but for your family. So there. That’s my rambling thought process for the day. The hallway is becoming less quiet and man, those birds are now on a major dive bombing mission.

Whoa! Right in that lady’s Ensure.  Well, protein is protein.

Purge the dirge.

The ethereal music pumping out of the nursing home’s ancient sound system would have been appropriate at a church service or maybe even a funeral, but as background music in the lounge at my Dad’s post-pneumonia rehab center, it struck me as a bit off putting, to say the least.

Imagine all these people trying to get well but hearing this haunting dirge as they lifted their weights, climbed their steps and navigated their hallways on the latest Hugo Elite walkers.

I understand trying to keep the atmosphere light and relaxing but if I were 84, I’d feel like I was being set up. I half expected the playlist to go into a quirky choir rendition of “Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door.”

When I first walked in to visit my Dad in the rehab wing I had to pass through the residents wing. Smack dab in the middle is the cafeteria/performance stage and on it was a woman with an acoustic guitar singing, no lie, “The way we were” by Barbara Streisand. “Memories, like the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories, of the way we were.”

Really?

I’m 48 and I wanted to commit hari kari on someone’s cane. Imagine being in your twilight years.

I mean, we’re all gonna’ go sometime, but sheez. Talk about depressing. You always hear this talk about “quality of life” when you get older but having to listen to songs that only remind you that your time is nearly up seems counter productive.  I suspect the pharmaceutical companies must program the playlists because the more depressed you can make the residents, the more meds you can push.

“Astra Zeneca can help.” Suuurrre they can…

So during my visits I vowed to talk to and smile at as many residents and rehab patients as I could. And if you’re visiting a nursing home, I’d advise you to do the same. In most cases, faces just lit right up. Some people couldn’t react physically but you could see the smile in their eyes.

And I swear I heard one poor soul mumble “Play some freakin’ Buddy Holly!”

Just not, “That’ll be the day…”

Finding humor in the toughest situations…

So I get the call around 3:30 this morning that my Dad is back in the hospital with pneumonia. This time it doesn’t sound so good. It all started happening back in 2008 when it was discovered he had a double-lung infection.  And ever since, he’s ended up in the hospital at least two times annually. Every time this happens I gird the ‘ol loins and prepare for the worst and every time so far, the worst has not occurred.  I know this winning streak will end at some point and another wonderful human being will move on to the “next level” as the gamers call it.  So where is the humor in all of this? Surely, laughter cannot be found in watching someone you love so dearly suffer through an insidious disease. Or can it?  Hospitals aren’t exactly comedy clubs. At least at a comedy club you can die onstage and live to tell about it.

So I ask again…where is the humor?

It’s in the memories.

Every time Dad has gone into the hospital memories of a healthier Dad come flooding in as if to balance the less desirable reality before my eyes. Like the time we were all coming back from my uncle’s house and Dad had to go to the bathroom so bad that, upon arriving home and discovering the house key was lost, he grabbed a crow bar and literally ripped the molding off the door to get in. He looked like a member of a S.W.A.T. team as he busted through the door. To this day, that very molding remains, crack still evident, much like that of the Liberty Bell. Yes, he was liberated that day… from a couple servings of sausage and peppers.

I also remember the time Dad and my brother decided to rebuild the old picnic table. When it was finished they both sat down and discovered that the table was at chin height. Something to do with putting the legs on upside down.

Of course, I had my own building story with Dad. He and my Mom wanted to put up one of those aluminum pre-fab storage sheds. The optimistic part of me told them that I could get it done in a day.  Of course, the day I picked was ridiculously windy and it wasn’t until I nearly had my head sliced off by aluminum panel #2 that I read the instructions that clearly stated “Do not assemble in windy conditions.”  By the way, it took two days to complete the job. Thank God my wife was there with her little hands. There was no way any adult male could have gotten those tiny screws in those little crevices. The thing was obviously designed by elves. That explains my wife’s pointy ears.

I could go on and on with memories like these. There are so many. And thank God I have them. They take the sting out of difficult circumstances and allow me to stare adversity in the face with a grin that would make the Cheshire cat jealous.