No, not Paul Harvey. I remember hearing some of those broadcasts, though I don’t recall specifics. Seems to me that some were interesting.
In this case, there have been some amusing stories in the middle of all this Dad mess. Well, as usual, kind of funny-sad.
The nursing home social worker and admissions nurse were the folks that went to Branson to transport Dad back. Dad apparently decided right off that he was not going with them. They almost got caught on the other side of the elevator door when Dad was fighting them and he grabbed the door on the way out to the van, trying to prevent them from taking him. On the way to Cassville, he insisted that they only drive west and – who knows how he knew – threw a fit every time they weren’t going west. Plus, the social worker was only allowed to make left hand turns. The admissions nurse dosed off and Dad lunged forward and tried to grab the wheel when the social worker tried to make a right turn.
It’s kind of funny that while he insists that he has never lived at Red Rose, he knew where his room was. He complained that his money was stolen (the Cheerio container that I keep change in for him to be able to use the vending machine) and when the aide found it, he said he knew where it was all the time. I brought him magazines yesterday and he insisted that he had already read the brand new Country magazine (and hell, they’re all alike anyway) and gave it away to the aide. Or tried to.
He insisted he wasn’t going to stay at Red Rose and then changed to he wasn’t going to stay on the locked unit. He complained that I had gone behind his back to put him in the locked unit. Then insisted that he was there while I talked to the head of the place. We talked with the nurse about what needs to happen for him to move out of the locked unit. Then he insisted we go talk to someone about getting him off that hall. None of us, not me, not the nurses, not the social worker want him to stay on the locked hall. But did I mention that he headed out the front door in his wheelchair after he got back on Thursday? At first we thought he had somehow managed to type the code in, something he hasn’t been able to do in a couple years, but no – the outside doors are now able to be opened by pushing on them for 15 seconds – a fire code thing that seems to screw with the whole purpose of putting a lock on them in the first place.
Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound that funny. Perhaps you had to be there. You also might have had to be there to watch him change to the nice guy when the staff would talk to him and then switch back to the angry monster when he’d turn back to me. I am fortunate that I can find some amusement in that, I think.