A Tale of Two Doctors and Other Interesting Stories

“Hello?”

“Is James Seletyn or Rebecca Seletyn available today?”

((heavy sigh)) “No, I wish.  My Mom passed January of 2010.  My Dad has been placed in a nursing home and will never be able to pay the bill you are calling about.  Please remove this telephone number from your register as only a caretaker for the house will be here and he is not able to answer any of your questions. I have turned in my Mom’s death certificate this week to the bank.  It is on record now if you look.”

((infused sad politeness)) “Ok, I will get that note in here.  Thank you.  Are you their daughter?”

So begins my Saturday of cleaning out my Dad’s house, packing up the savable, shuffling around the discardables and answering the onslaught of debtor calls.

I clean, pack, throw away – all without knowing which things held relevant meaning to my Dad.  This rock, sitting here on the desk, did it have meaning?  The partial newspaper that is housed between two books, I read the pages but nothing clicks.  I despise this, the dismantling of my Dad’s life at my own hands.  I know it is a necessity but that realization does nothing to quell the unease for the task at hand.  My inner teenager keeps reminding me that this shit sucks.

Earlier in the week, there was a caregivers meeting where I met with his “team” and then had a one-on-one with his doctor.  They have all been such wonderful people.  I am glad that we were able to get him into Overbrook.  It is a difference like day vs. night in the quality of care he receives.  I especially like Dr Simpson.  I keep thinking it is like a “Tale of Two Doctors”.  You see, while Dad was housed at Huntington Health and Rehab, he started a very unsettling trend of weeping.  I say weeping, not crying, because he would tear up and suddenly be racked with sobs.  It disturbed me in ways I cannot begin to describe.  When I was unable to get a meeting with Dr McCormick (not an uncommon thing), I “bum rushed” him at the nurse’s station to ask him about Dad and if there was anything we could do.  I noted that Dad kept weeping.  His response, “Jesus wept.”  ((stunned silence)).  The complete lack of decorum displayed by that doctor was the driving force behind my finding Overbrook and getting Dad to a better facility.  The proof is in the pudding, as they say.  Dad is doing much better now.  Will he return to his faculties and have complete coherency?  No.  But his quality of life has drastically improved since the move.  That is where Dr Simpson comes in…  His blood sugar is now regulated and within a normal range (sometimes it is low, but not too often).  And in my one-on-one meeting, I had one question that plagued me.  I explained how I likened what I was going through to Survivor’s Guilt.  Here I am, healthy and ok, dismantling my Dad’s life and trying to sell off his home.  And, all the while, I had am plagued with the worry that “what if” he “comes to” and is once again ok and hates me for leaving him in such a spot?  Dr Simpson explained that although Dad might improve tremendously, he will more than likely never get to a place where he could live on his own.

By the time we were discussing this, we were walking down the hallway.  He put his arm around me and said, “Michelle, I give you the day off from worrying.  I learned two words early on in my career: concern and worry.  Concern is ok because it makes you take care of things that are necessary.  Worry, on the other hand, just keeps you up and night and is nonsense.  So, I want you to quit worrying so much and start thinking more of yourself.  You worry about everyone and not about yourself.”  He gave me a squeeze and walked back to his desk and went about his routine.  Although I know that Dad’s move to Overbrook was (more than) the right choice, it was that moment that completely sealed the deal.

And, even though I knew he was in very capable hands, at 3PM on Saturday, when Overbrook’s name popped up on my iPhone to announce the person trying to call – my heart picked up speed and a dull panic set in.  It was Dad.  I had hoped my uncle could have visited him on the day I could not be there but he was unable to.

“Chelle, where are you.  I haven’t seen you in forever?”

“Dad, remember we talked about this yesterday.  I am in Fayette County checking on your house, cleaning up a little, making sure Max is ok.”

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah.  I was just missing you and didn’t know why you had not come today.  Take your time.  Take care of everything.  I want to come home soon and you can make sure everything is ok there for me.”

My stomach sinks a little bit at this conversation.  The house is not on the market (yet).  So I am not a liar when I tell him that his home is still there, his dog is still there and Alex is looking out for both.  I do not tell him how Medicaid insists on our selling his property. I do not tell him that I am dismantling his life.  I try to remember the difference between worry and concern.  And, like always, worry wins out.

Some things I learned while combing through my Dad’s artifacts: He once worked for a baker, making $1.10 per hour (I found out today that he was in the process line and put dough into pans).  He owned a machine company that build a pizza cutter (which he and his partners never patented and therefore never received credit).  And he collected memories, much like I do – in the forms of pictures, postcards, old greeting cards (both made by Hallmark and by us kids), newspaper headlines, etc.  I have included a few of those treasures I unearthed while sorting through the basement.

I made a dent in the work on the house.  There are just so many details to attend to and only one me.  It will take a while, but I will make my way through it all…

IMG_4469 IMG_4470 IMG_4477 IMG_4479 IMG_4480 IMG_4481 IMG_4484 IMG_4486 IMG_4487 IMG_4489 IMG_4490 IMG_4493 IMG_4494 IMG_4495 IMG_4496 IMG_4497 IMG_4498 IMG_4500 IMG_4501 IMG_4502 IMG_4503 IMG_4507 IMG_4509 IMG_4514 IMG_4515 IMG_4516 IMG_4517 IMG_4518 IMG_4519 IMG_4520 IMG_4521

3 replies »

  1. Hi Michelle. It’s Cindy Greig. Keep up the good work! You’re doing a great job. It’s so hard, but you are doing the right thing. Always know that! You’re taking good care of your Dad and that’s what matters most. He’s happy and healthy! Enjoy your time with him. Your blog makes me cry, but I’m a sap anyway!

    • Thanks so much Cindy!! There are days that I am so strong and I know what I do is right. And then there are days where I question every little thing I do. It is definitely not an easy process. This weekend was a tough time for me, trying to decide what matters and what doesn’t in a collection of things my Dad has acquired over the decades. The very thought of it feels terribly wrong.

      I thank you though for your kind words, they do mean so much to me!

  2. Michelle when my father was so sick and I knew he was in so much pain. I remember a few months prior to his passing praying for Gods will to be done to give him relief from his pain. whether that would be placing his healing hands upon him or to take him home I did not know at the time. It is always hard to have a sick parent and not know which way to go or what to say from one situation to the next. I was blessed to have my father lucid up until almost the very end. I only wished I could have been closer in proximity. I still miss him terribly but I do know he is in a much better place. Enjoy every moment hug him tight and often and cherish your remaining time. Worry only makes you old give that to God he is better at it than you are.
    Love You and Miss You
    Juanena

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