How can someone with double vision be so blind?

[mrdreamjeans]

How can someone with double vision be so blind?

My father has recovered. It seems the source of his problems may be from adjusting to his new vision after cataract surgery or perhaps an inner ear problem. I have worried about him nonstop for five days. Now he is well enough to be a pain in the ass again and I am definitely considering homicide:) (Or is that homo-cide:)? LOL!

He has been unable to connect any dots for days, mixing up words, names, medications, arguing as we patiently explain his confusion, being verbally abusive when my mother and I try to make sense out of his babble. It is compounded by constant repetition of questions, constant instruction for tasks we perform for him every day... I liked him better when he was dizzy and had double-vision. He is blind to the impression he is making...according to him, he's totally misunderstood and no one is listening.

Every time I leave the room, I am asked where I'm going. This is not a large home. There are very few destinations. Mom and I fear the beginning of Alzheimer's, but I think with my father it is more about feeling needed and to be the center of attention, albeit negative attention.

Dad just talks to talk. I can't explain how infuriating this is, but I'm afraid it takes a better man than I am today to find the patience to deal with him. If you say anything to him, the first word out of his mouth is no; if you disagree, you're not listening; if you make a gentle correction, you're too critical. I'm fed up...

I can't understand why I care so much about what happens to my Dad.

Example 1: Mom has severe pain in her knee while I am driving them to the eye doctor. Dad - "Hey, look at that short bed Chevy Truck...I've never liked.... Me - "Dad, no one cares about short bed Chevy trucks right now, Mom is in pain." Dad (whining) - "No one ever lets me finish what I'm going to say." Me - "Dad, your wife is in incredible pain, trust me, I do not give a flyin flip what you have to say right now about Chevy pickups... or about anything else, till I figure out how to help Mom."

Example 2: Dad looks at a waitress at dinner tonight and says to my mom, "since you've lost weight you look as good as she does.... except your fat isn't as solid." I thought my mom was going to hit him up side the head. I was rootin' for her to do so.

Example 3: "Jeez, Neil. There sure are a lot of good-looking young waitresses here. Check that one out." Me - "Dad, you check them out. Where are the waiters?" (I love to do that:)

Example 4: After calling doctors and insisting on Dad's being seen; after spending an entire holiday weekend cooking and responding to his every need.... "You know, Jeff is a good son." (This is my younger brother who was 500 miles away all weekend; who lives only 8 miles away and sees him only occasionally and the very same son who went hunting seven weekends in a row last year when I was moving my parents into their new home and didn't help at all.)

I realize that I am ranting, but I've got to process this somehow. Everything from his right-wing politics to his constantly smacking gum (in lieu of his pipe smoking which caused his stroke) is irritating me.

Many of my long time friends have never seen me angry; I am usually level-headed and very open to compromise, but this is difficult. When I'm around here, all of my general good nature and happiness is sucked right out of me.

I know, I know, I ought to be happy I have both parents alive. I am very aware of that fact. Ah, Hell! Maybe I'm just a cranky so and so.... please forgive for the rant....I take responsibility for my participation in this behavior. Oh well - it's just for the summer, right?

Comments

[canadianspud.livejournal.com]

I grew up on a farm in southern Saskatchewan. My father still works eight section of land. I go home to visit the folks every now and then. My "Shriner Dad-Gay Son Survival Trick" is to arrange daily fishing trips to a local lake. A good fisherman is patient, calm and QUIET! Is there a fishing hole near you?

Fishing

[mrdreamjeans.livejournal.com]

My Dad would try to talk the fish out of the water. I'd also have to listen to endless stories of when he went fishing as a boy. My Dad took me trout fishing in Pennsylvania when I was 11 years old as a bonding experience. We got up at 3am. I caught no fish.

To this day, the only way I want to see 3 am is if I'm eating breakfast at an all-night diner with a special beau after a fun night of dancing or on a clock during a second round of love-making in the middle of the night. LOL!

At 11, I was scared to death to be alone with my father. He traveled constantly in his job as a field service engineer. I seldom saw him and knew him even less. He understood even less about his artistic son. (I will give him credit - infuriating or not, he isn't homophobic and has always been supportive of me in this regard.)

By the time we returned to our truck camper at noon that day, I was so upset that I ate 11 hamburgers, a large bag of chips and drank a gallon of milk in one sitting. This record still stands in my family for emotional eating:)

I have never been fishing again. (I let my brother, who does Bass tournaments and whose living room is filled with trophy heads...I call it the dead animals room... handle the huntin'/fishin' duties in the family:)

Thanks for commenting!