MICHAEL DAVIS WORLD

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Fall Forward…Spring Back. [Sunset Observer #52]

February 27, 2017 Victor El-Khouri 0 Comments

…By Whitney Farmer
@farmer_whitney (Twitter/FLICKR) or farmerwhitney (Instagram) and whitney.farmer.146 (Facebook)
#edcmooc #edcmooc3 #edcmoocrocks #ESL #TESOL #SoCalTESOL
Un Pop Culture

His running shoes with neon yellow laces caught on the corner of the front door as he opened it. He was rushing to get the Cadillac out of the garage for his bride so that she wouldn’t have to walk far. After 61 year of marriage, her hips that she had swiveled in the USO for the troops sometimes would lock up with arthritis.

The sound his body made as it hit the floor shouldn’t have sounded as ordinary as it did. But it was enough for me to wonder and to put my robe back on in the bathroom where I was getting ready for a bath. When I looked over the landing on the second floor, I saw him lying on his back by the front door.

If only he could have done a shoulder roll like Captain Kirk – as one of our neighbors suggested – and deflected the energy of the force of gravity on his brittle frame, he could have jumped to his feet with just a torn uniform. Amen. If only.

The paramedics are familiar to me. Once with Mom, I rode with them in the ambulance. The other time with Dad, I followed. This time, as the emergency crew stood in various places around the first floor, our pet free-range cricket who we let live under our refrigerator in exchange for his song chose that moment in the middle of the day to grace us with a melody. Usually the music comes only at night and haunts the house with the little fellow’s hope for companionship. Two of the paramedics looked at each other with surprise when they heard it. I pretended that I had no idea what was going on.

When he was admitted and brought to his room in the hospital, Dad was thrilled to learn that his nurse had lived in Skagway and had hiked the Chilcutt. And she was pretty. I stood outside his doorway while she changed his bandages as he charmed, complimenting her on her “way with battlefield dressings”. She giggled and said, “No one has ever told me that before.” This didn’t bother me because I knew that Dad has always been faithful to Mom, and I knew also that at the present moment he had an installed catheter and was peeing blood from trauma to his kidneys and would therefore be faithful yet again for another day.

The concussion caused an Incredible Hulk transformation in this polite Canadian from time to time. After he became lucid again, he would have me call the nurses station to apologize on his behalf for his poor behavior. He chuckled at himself and shook his head while rolling his eyes when he remembered that he had decided that the physical therapist was a co-conspirator against him for…what purpose is still a mystery. That she had a muscled silent man come with her while she set up alarms in Dad’s room to keep him from getting out of the bed or chair unsupervised was all the proof he needed. Only later did I realize that the silent muscled man ‘who just stood’ there wasn’t lazy, but was in fact security because it was decided that the staff might need protection. From MY DAD. My patient, literate, peaceful, kind, poetic, Canadian Dad. That got us both laughing later over hospital meatloaf when he was lucid again.

Lucid. What a beautiful word.

He was discharged with bruises as black as…coffee but no longer springing any leaks. My car was newly washed courtesy of the valet service at the hospital in Orange County where hospitals have valet service. I was yet again grateful, this time because I didn’t have to take him home in a dirty car. I did notice that there is oxidation on the paint on the roof from untold moments under automatic carwash brushes. I made a mental note to make sure and take a Sharpie to it to hide the damage.

My car is like my friend Angel who used to work at the Club. He has a history from before I knew him that has given him some premature grey in his black hair. Each year for his birthday, I give Angel a real or virtual black Sharpie for touch-ups, if I remember. For many years, I have assumed that he thought that this joke was as funny as I always have. I’m certain of it.

Dad is home now with his black bruises and a concussion, but has access to Trader Joe’s peanut butter which provides the building blocks for neurons to repair. The doctors are expecting him to spring back entirely, but it may take a few weeks for his memory to reassert itself. Tonight for dinner, I wanted to pick up Chinese food because I am so tired from a few days of bad-to-no-sleep that I don’t trust myself cooking with fire. When I asked everyone for their orders, Dad couldn’t quite recall what was the name of what he wanted. So he asked for “the regional dish of the Gobi Desert”. I interpreted this as being Mongolian Chicken with brown rice.

Success.
Quote of the Blog, from Dad to the nurse from Skagway: “I’m 89 years old. That’s part of the problem.”

Picture of Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, taking a wee tumble.

For the archive of my previous Un Pop Culture blogs, click here.

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Comments

  1. Martha Thomases
    February 28, 2017 - 6:24 am

    My dad went through a sub-dural hemotoma too. Not fun. He made it, and I hope yours does, too.

  2. Whitney Farmer
    February 28, 2017 - 9:17 pm

    M –

    so far / so good…

    My duties now include being Dad’s valet. So I get to pick out his outfits. It’s kind of like having Barbies again. First day home, I put him in a ‘Willie Nelson First Aid’ tshirt with a giant marijuana leaf image and a purple bandanna, and a Newport Beach Yacht Club trucker hat. Performance art.

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