September 17
 
 

I brought Angelo to the hospital yesterday afternoon after two rough days.  I knew he would bottom out very rapidly, but we were sort of unprepared for how quickly it happened.  I realized that my grandmother would no longer be able to take care of him (he's not sleeping nights, at all.  He wanders around the house, opening closets and doors and dressers and talking aloud to people and things who aren't there) and keep herself safe.  I told her "Listen, I'm not going to let HIM kill YOU.  That's just bullshit."

One of the benefits of working where I work is that I know a lot of doctors, and if you've ever had dealings with a hospital, you'll know that knowing people is really important.  When we rolled up to the ER yesterday afternoon, they took Angelo immediately, thanks to a well worded phone call from my boss.  The rest of the evening was a waiting game.  We wanted him admitted.  The catch is and was that there is really, physically nothing wrong with him.  His CT scan showed no sign of stroke.  He doesn't have a fever or an infection.  He doesn't have any heart disease.  We stressed, over and over again how the last two days showed a acute decline in his abilities.  They ran every test they could think of--ANYTHING to have him admitted.

I have no idea what it was that finally did get him in, but he's there at the hospital now, in a bed, completely confused as to why he's there or really, where THERE is.  He doesn't know.  We don't know, either.

I guess the reason to have him admitted was to force my grandmother's hand.  He needs to be in a home before he kills her and hurts himself or some combinatio thereof.  He wandered off a couple of weeks back.  He just up and left and my grandmother didn't realize he was gone for at least a half hour.  He wouldn't have returned home on his own because he doesn't KNOW where home is.  Finally, he was spotted way the hell across the street (a four lane, two direction street) shuffling around a parking lot, and my grandmother had to send a guy who was working on the house at the time to go fetch him.   When he got back, my grandmother yelled "WHY DID YOU LEAVE??"  He looked at her blankly and said "I have no idea".

There's some part of my grandmother that can not believe he isn't doing it all on purpose.  No matter how many times we explain that it's a DISEASE he has and that he would be MORTIFIED to know how he is acting if he was the Angelo of 15 or 10 years ago, she doesn't buy it.  It makes her angry and it makes her fight with him over simple little things.  He will say something nonsensical and she reacts badly, every single time.  It's exhausting and i don't even live there.

Anyhow, he was admitted.  It's good and bad.  It means that very likely, he won't ever go home again, that his discharge will be to a nursing home of some sort and it breaks my heart.  In between the nonsense and the paranoia and the wandering off, he will say something utterly lucid and I'm right back to feeling that I've made a horrible mistake he won't walk away from.
 
 
 
 
 

I'm going to Atlantic City on Sunday with a bunch of friends.  The shitty couple of weeks I've had should really mean I win something huge, right?  Yeah, I don't think so either.  Only people like J Lo's mother ever win big.  That seems fair.
 
 
 
 

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