THE SECOND WHAMMY

After we moved to Vero Beach my father seemed well on his way to recovery. We both loved our new home. The house had been built in 1987. ( The year my mother died.) Yet many of the appliances looked like they were from the Eisenhower administration. During the official inspection, Dad was in the hospital having surgery. I've always suspected someone took advantage.

The refrigerator was so loud even a visiting neighbor commented. From where I sat, it competed with the television. I constantly told my father we should have it checked. Eventually, he bellowed, to just forget it! There's nothing wrong with that refrigerator!

Only a month later, the compressor went. Water covered our kitchen floor. I carried food to unfamiliar neighbors so it wouldn't spoil. And I never once said, I TOLD YOU SO, to my father.  But I should have! Because I was loudly berated for buying too much food. Dad declared, "Our refrigerator should never be that full!" -- He should see it now that I'm alone! You'd never guess that I am trim.

My father replaced it with a USED one. I was angry. We weren't poor and you just don't skimp on a major appliance. Shortly after, THAT refrigerator broke down, too! Again, he was verbally flogging me for buying too much food. I was exasperated!

As for Avis, she was moved to Vero Beach. Dad found a place not far from us. He said it was surrounded by an 8 ft. wall. We doubted she would make any more escape attempts.

My father's health seemed to be quickly improving. We had lived in Vero Beach for nearly a year and a half now. I thought he was starting to resemble his former self. I pictured him fully recovering.

Around 5:00 AM one Tuesday, I was startled awake by a loud crash. I got up to investigate. My father was on the floor struggling to rise. He muttered that part of his body had gone numb. Dad was too heavy for me to lift. I wanted to call 911. He was afraid they would take him to the hospital. We argued. I called 911 anyway. While I was on the phone, he walked into the room. Paramedics were dispatched. They came, checked him out and left.

During breakfast, my father related a dream he had right before he awoke. He said an Angel came into his room. She told him he would not be needing his body soon. My father was NOT religious.

Dad's speech began to slur. I asked if he was OK? Coffee cup in hand, he rose. He lurched forward and staggered. His feet gave out beneath him. He collapsed! His favorite coffee cup smashed on the floor! The paramedics returned. This time Dad was taken to the hospital.

Through therapy, and professional lessons, I recently had gotten my driver's license. But Vero was a strange city. Navigating it was a challenge. Plus I'm terrible with directions. My new next door neighbor, got in the car with me. She directed me to the hospital. After that, I drove there every day.

My father had suffered a stroke. One arm, and one side of his face would be paralyzed for the short remainder of his life. He would be in the hospital for a month. This was early June.

My first night alone, the phone rang at 3:00 AM! I felt my heart stop. I thought my father had died. --There was no one at the other end of the line!

After being released, Dad was sent to a rehabilitation center for another 2 months. It was located just down the street from the hospital. The place was called Healthsouth. My father called it Hellsouth! He was miserable and desperately wanted to come home. I, on the other hand, found my time alone peaceful, even enjoyable. I felt guilty. This was the summer of 2000.

Avis's new residence phoned. She had climbed their wall and took off. Remember, she was only around 5 feet, 2 inches. Anyway, they found her. But she cut her hand in the process and had to be taken to a doctor. They wanted me to pick her up and drive her back. I refused!

Toward the end of summer, Healthsouth arranged a one day home visit for Dad. First, I had to learn how to dismantle and reassemble a wheel chair. I arrived Sunday at 9:00 AM to pick him up. I walked into his room with a big smile, only to find him snarling angry at me.

"What took you so long!" he demanded to know, "I've been waiting since 7:00 AM!"

I thought 9:00 AM was plenty early. Besides, I needed to get ready. -- I began to dread the day ahead.

Shortly after, my father was released in my care. All my time would now be devoted to him. He was more helpless than before. This time a long recovery period was the diagnosis. He couldn't even take himself to the bathroom. Often, he had accidents. Also I had to bathe him. Soon we both got over our embarrassment. He was like a giant infant. He required constant care. Every week, he had doctor's appointments, I drove him.

The only time I had to myself now was breakfast. My father got up late and I rose early. I'd prepare myself a big morning meal. This was my quiet, private time. Once a week, I rose at 5:30 AM to grocery shop and be home before Dad awoke.

For a while, my father had physical therapists come to the house. They would exercise and instruct him. One of his exercises was in front of the dishwasher. It started getting serious dents. I knew I'd better say something before he found a way to blame me. I phrased my words carefully. I asked if he noticed the dents. He snapped that I would have to be more careful with the vacuum cleaner! Immediately, I showed him why it couldn't be the vacuum. He said nothing. But he was red-faced and angry.

I am only relating a few instances out of many. My father was so irritable and critical of everything, I was almost afraid to do anything! He grew worse as he aged. Now that he was sick, he was worst of all. Nearly a day didn't go by when I wasn't yelled at or called "Stupid". I was back to tip-toeing on glass just like in the Avis days. And like her, he was now a tantrum-thrower!

Dad took frequent tumbles. It's a wonder he didn't break any bones! I would struggle unsuccessfully to lift him. I kept wanting to call 911.-- By this time it was taking a toll on my back. He refused to allow it! I would phone neighbors and get answering machines. Then I'd go out knocking on doors, pleading, " Please help me lift Dad, he's fallen again."

However, my father was making some progress. In time, we expected him to slowly recover from his stroke, or at least adjust.

Late one morning, he complained of excruciating stomach pains. Wasting no time, I drove him to the Emergency Room! We had no idea this would be the beginning of the end.