Cataract Surgery Part Two

My mother had cataract surgery on her left eye about 4 weeks ago. I was the designated driver, which sounds easy. However, the other part of being the designated driver is being the "dad babysitter". You see, my dad has Alzheimer's, so when my mom is away from him he gets even more confused. He doesn't really know that my mom is his wife but he does recognize her as the person he lives with and the one who takes care of him. So-he didn't really understand why she was being wheeled away on a gurney and why he was stuck with me. On a good day I am his sister--on a bad day I could be anyone. When my mom had her first eye operated on I took my dad to the cafe on the 1st floor of the hospital. While we were eating he kept asking me what year I was in school. So, he thought we were in a college. On the upside--he thought I looked young enough to be a college co-ed. On the downside--he needs cataract surgery too so it wasn't much of a compliment. To my dad I probably look like Barbra Streisand in "The Prince of Tides" where the camera lens was obviously covered with Vaseline. She looked almost pretty--except for her huge nose. I tell you...that woman has a genius make-up artist.

But I digress...as the day went on I tried to explain that we were in a hospital waiting for Mom to come out of surgery. Then he would say, "You mean....our mom?" and I would say, "No...my mom, your wife." He would then say, "Oh. I know. I know." Then we would eat a few more bites and he would say, "So...what year are you in school?"

By the time Mom came out of surgery and we could go in the recovery area I was a little frazzled. When the doctor came in to talk to me about my mom's recovery I was glad to talk to someone normal. However, the first thing I said to him was, "So, when does my mom get her parrot and her bottle of rum?" (Hello! It was cataract surgery.) I'm sure he was hesitant to send her home with her confused (to say the least) husband and her obviously drunk daughter. (I was pretty focused on that bottle of rum.)

Anyway, the left eye healed in 4 weeks and it was time to do the right eye. I was again the designated driver, but because the surgery was last Monday I had to take my two daughters with me. (It's summer vacation. Yippee!! That means the kids are home all the time. I love summer break even though I have days when I ask myself why school can't be year-round. For example, today Bronte locked the keys in the Durango....while it was running....with my purse and cell phone inside. Luckily we were in the driveway at the time but Tony had to come home from work to unlock the stupid thing. He pulled up to find me in the driveway with my head in my hands muttering, "Gas is almost 4 dollars a gallon. There goes 30 bucks.") So last Monday the girls and I set off to pick up my parents and take them to the hospital for Mom's right eye to be sliced open and an implant put in. No kidding. That's what they do. After surgery is over the doctor gives you a card to carry in your wallet that states that you have an implant in your body. I have no idea why, but I told my mom to tell anyone who asks about her implants that she had a boob job.

Well, I was a little nervous about spending the day in the hospital with an 11 year old, a 6 year old and an 81 year old with Alzheimer's. I told the girls to bring their Nintendo DS's and prayed all the way to my folks house. (However, we all know God isn't listening to me right now because I got kicked out of Bible Study.) After we got to the hospital and they wheeled my mother away we all headed down to the cafeteria. What a nightmare. My kids had no idea what to get and were milling around like moving speed bumps. Brenna finally decided she wanted chicken fingers but was too shy to tell the guy behind the counter what she wanted so she just stood there holding up the line and looking at me beseechingly. My dad said he wanted a sandwich, but those were all the way on the other side of the cafeteria. I headed over to Brenna and ordered her chicken and decided to get my dad a hamburger while I was there because it was easier. Believe me, he was perfectly happy with it because he had no idea what he told me he wanted in the first place. Bronte was just standing in front of a big display of cookies and I was starving but didn't want to wander around to see what was available for fear my dad or my 6 year old would get lost. By the time I made it to the cashier I had two trays full of food. $23 later we made it to a table. Lunch went pretty well, although Bronte said the pizza was disgusting (it was) and my dad couldn't figure out how to eat his burger. (I had to pick it up for him and place it in his hands. I could just cry thinking about it. I mean, this is the man who threw about 8 billion pop-flies in our back yard so I wouldn't be afraid of them when I played Little League. This is the man who took me to see Oscar Peterson and The Chicago Symphony and Pearl Bailey. Now he couldn't even navigate a burger...)

So, we made our way back up to the waiting area for Day Surgery. The girls were playing their Nintendos and I sat my dad down on a couch next to a table covered with magazines. He can't read anymore, but he likes magazines. I started to do the crossword puzzle in the Tribune and a few minutes later the doctor came out to talk to us. He said the surgery had gone well, but they gave her a little bit more anesthetic because when he did her other eye she jerked awake half-way through. He told us we could come in and see her so my dad put down the magazine he was reading (Working Mother) and we traipsed back to recovery.

To say my mother was a little out of it would be putting it mildly. When we came into her curtained area she was telling the nurse that graham crackers were severely under-rated. "People always think...oh, it's just a plain graham cracker, it's no good....but they're really very tasty!" When my dad saw her he was very relieved. He walked over to her and held her hand and rubbed her arm and asked her how she was feeling. Considering that my father was never very affectionate or compassionate before he got Alzheimer's, I was very touched. Plus, he and my mother had quite a lovely conversation at this point. It went something like this:

Dad: How are you feeling? Is your arm all better? (Keep in mind that she had surgery on her eye and was wearing a big eye patch)

Mom: Yes. Much better. When can I mow the lawn?

Dad: (pointing to the IV bag) That's an antenna. Now you can talk into the box.

Mom: I did. We are going home in a big SUV.

Dad: How is your arm? (Rubbing her arm and holding her hand) I better go get the house ready.

Mom: Want a graham cracker?

Dad: I'm glad you're ok. Where are we?

Mom: Carolyn drove us here. We'll all go home together.

Dad: I need the keys. When are you coming home?

Mom: Right now! I didn't have any coffee today.

I tell you, it was the best conversation they've had in 7 years! My mom didn't get frustrated with my dad and my dad didn't get agitated because she didn't understand what he was talking about. I just sat there grinning, watching my children play Nintendo, oblivious to what was going on while my parents had a truly tender moment. Too bad neither of them remember it...