Just posted this "elephant in the room", the topic of physician-assisted suicide. My post
read: "It's the elephant in the room. Oregon has had it since 1994, Vermont since May of this year, but in 46 states and the District of Columbia it's a crime."
Dad brought it up today, see the bold red at the top of this blog post.
Excellent trip to the bank in Greenville (now I see why dad went all that way all those years ... they are incredibly helpful), Pathmark, and then Bachetti's. Even in the rain, the drive up Centreville Road past those estates, that windy, serpentine, narrow road with its foreboding, large trees growing right alongside the roadway and then at the close, before the turn for the upscale shopping center and Wells Fargo, as you drive by A. I. du Pont High School.
Racheal Conaway, Wells Fargo banker, with the biblical spelling of her first name and the additional "a" for the more common name Conway, was the person who helped me after I waited for a few minutes. Kwaku Boateng was in another office, but Racheal was amazing. She got my checks ordered and told me that the other set of checks were for an account that had been closed. Checks had been purchased but she ordered a new set, starting at #520. If we find the other set, just shred them like she did for the checks that I brought.
It's 6 p.m and the NewsHour is starting on the television, dad is lying on the bed, which I made a few minutes ago (he always says I do a superlative, perfect job of making the bed), but to continue my shopping trip, I got extra paper towels and toilet paper, which was on special at Pathmark, where I also got my statin prescription.
When I got home, Skeesha, was backed into the driveway and ready to leave the house. She'd brought the essential connector for the plastic tubing of dad's breathing line to his oxygen concentrator, which I upped to 3 1/2 liters. First thing I did was extend his breathing line with the connector. It made movement a little easier.
I await a phone call from a possible sitter volunteer from Delaware Hospice. I got his name from Melody but have forgotten it. Still, hope he calls. I met him, Dennis, as I went outside to walk Dancer on this rainy, chilly, dark night. He was on the sidewalk, umbrella overhead, and called out: "Mr. Nyhoff". He would turn out to be a godsend.
Tonight I will be attending the Rainbow Chorale: Concert in the sanctuary and Memorial Hall of First & Central Presbyterian at 1101 Market Street, right across from the DuPont Hotel near Rodney Square. I will meet Linda there and take her home from the concert. Where to park will be interesting but I think there is a parking garage right by the church. Parked there years ago when we attended a play, I believe, at the hotel.
The concert was wonderful. Kristen Tosh-Morelli and her partner were there. She use to sing in the group and sang with other alumni at the close of the concert. I wrote a fairly detailed critique, mostly positive, on a response card that was enclosed in the program and put it in the box, which resembled a ballot container, but I left WITHOUT MY CELL PHONE still hiding under a program on my pew. Did not realize it till Linda, who can take steps like an athlete, and I made it to the car on the 2nd level of the car park off Orange Street near the Hotel du Pont. It was a short walk from the church, but holy cow, no cell phone, we drove back to the church and I illegally parked, she turned on the flashers and I found it, thankfully, where I was sitting, hiding under the program. WHEWWWW!!!!
Don't know how I can forget something so vital.
Called Dennis Strunk to find that dad had wandered downstairs and that the DH volunteer of 3 years, an organic chemist, who lives close by, had managed to walk him back upstairs and back into bed. A remarkable achievement for someone who did not know my father from Adam ... I thanked him profusely and after he left, went upstairs to reattach the nasal cannula, which had come lose in my father's perambulation. He objected a little but did not reawaken. That would happen later in the morning and as I type, suffused with 3 cups of coffee, I wonder how sleep deficit I am an undergoing.
He had two accidents during the night and as a result, two pajama bottoms rest in the washer at present and require movement to the dryer. Doug, in a phone call from my Credo phone, which I think I'm going to change to in the coming days, said that "we" should look into adult Depends. I will, today.
A call to Delaware Hospice yielded an amazing conversation with Lucy Mealey, RN, who left a detailed message and whom I called back to learn so much more about her and her family and her association with dad and the fact that she is married to the owner of Mealey Funeral Home, Charles "Chick" Mealey.
The world is a small place of inter-connectivity.
Rudy Nyhoff It was on the old course Robin, not far from the old clubhouse (think it's a grill now), and I have no idea what type fox but my guess is toward muted and grey. No, Susan, I spotted it and don't believe Dancer had a clue but she was on the leash at the time.
