Denise told us about the pear juice saga today. Apparently it was decided that dad would only ever be able to use the toilet again if he was to drink some. A nurse found some but it was in a big can. Nambour Hospital does not have a can opener. More about this later.
I decided that mum was not getting enough exercise. I dragged her out of the flat at 5:50 today and we walked into Caloundra along the beach path.
I am amazed by how rude the bike riders are here. For some reason, they believe the path is solely for their benefit and use and that pedestrians are an inconvenience useful for slalom practice. There is a perfectly good road; there is grass either side of the path; they are very similar in Farnham Park.
It’s not really a problem when it comes to me. I’m big enough and ugly enough to deck them as they pootle by me but there is a lot of older people staggering around the path, getting very important exercise every day. They will fall over just from the shrillness of the bell (not that they all have bells). Apart from these people being rude and inconsiderate, it’s also just not fair. Pedestrians seem to be the bottom of the pile wherever they may go. Which is odd. Since we’re all pedestrians at some stage.
Anyway, we made it safely to the cafe at the beginning of the boardwalk and I let mum have a rest with her latte. Here she is, posing under sufferance.
Mum relaxing after her marathon walk
We managed to get back to the flat, shower and get around to a duplex we were checking out for a possible new home for mum and dad. You see, the doctors refuse to let dad come home to a flat with stairs. The Cook family, therefore, is engaged in finding adequate accommodation.
We needn’t have bothered looking at this place today as Tracey had decided it was rubbish. Tomorrow we have an appointment for a place that should prove a lot better suited for our purposes. So we went shopping instead, since we’re a lot better at that.
We bought a huge can of pear juice (mum has a can opener at the flat) and two bottles of flavoured milk. We also bought lots of other stuff including the ingredients for Brazilian fish, which I’m making for her tomorrow night.
Before Audrey collected us for the trip to the ward, I managed to drink the flavoured milk and opened the can of pear juice. After vigorously washing the leftover lactose from the plastic bottles, I filled one with pear juice. It was tricky but I managed without spilling any of it. I could have used a funnel but where’s the fun in that?
Dad wasn’t the best when we arrived today. He was quite bloated. He hasn’t been to the toilet for…actually none of us can remember, least of all dad. The nurses have tried lots of different concoctions but nothing has worked. So, today, out came the catheter. Or, rather, in went the catheter. He also drank half the plastic bottle of pear juice.
What a difference! Just over a litre later, he brightened up, his tummy vanished and he was tap dancing around the ward. Sadly the cricket didn’t cheer him up. Actually the only person of my acquaintance that was cheered by the cricket was in a very different time zone and unable to gloat until well into the afternoon.
Surrounded by his whole immediate family, dad seemed to cheer up a bit later in the day and we left him to sleep the sleep of the pear filled innocent.
An ex-milk container used for pear juice
