This beautiful letter and award from Dalton Whiteside, of CCNY, arrived a few days ago. I asked that it not be sent to him directly as it might get lost. One day I showed him the plaque during a FaceTime call. I could see that he didn’t have the focus to listen to the letter so I waited for another day and then read it to him. “Isn’t that nice?” I asked. He said . “Yes.” But I wondered how much he got out of my reading. Still, I felt he knew it was something good and he should be proud. I felt proud and very thankful.

Let’s just review.

[Robert is back in the original place, the rehab in a nursing home, after being moved three times since his first fall, November 29th; that led him to an ER stay of three days because there were no rooms, then to this rehab where stayed  about three weeks. He rolled out of bed twice sustaining head injuries and ended up back in the ER, then was sent to a room at the hospital and had lots of tests. The only reason why he got a room this time was because he had been unconscious. They were going to discharge him on January 4th but he tested positive for Covid, (contracted in the original rehab) and ended up in a hospital Covid ward for about two weeks.  Because people still test positive even after they are allegedly not contagious, rehabs do not take patients back: He was shipped to the Bronx to The Hebrew Home where they care for people in that predicament. After two negative Covid tests he was sent been back to the “original place” and has been there for a couple of weeks.]

We have had several FaceTime sessions and he is always happy to hear that I am coming in, digitally, for a visit, however, that is about it. He might say “good to see you,” or call me by a pet name, but it ends there. My work begins, prodding him verbally. He lies in bed and listens to what I am am saying, trying to engage him, but his eyes are always aimed at the television. He is silent. I nudge him with questions, but not too many, lest he respond like someone is pulling out his fingernails. He is, however, appropriately pissed:

Are you reading the newspaper?

If you can call it that. (They only have rag sheets, no The New York Times)

What are you watching on television?

That stupid fu*king Let’s Make A Deal.

At other times, I have awakened him in the afternoon. He has nothing to do, nothing to interest him. He appears to be sleeping. I called the head of recreation and put in my two cents: I am concerned about my husband who I have not seen in person in three months: He has nothing to say. He is always sleeping. He seems disinterested in conversation or talking, in fact he doesn’t want anyone to call him. His little flip phone might be there or might not. He’s been in so many places I would be surprised if he still had it. It hasn’t been charged in over six weeks. Someone needs to rummage through his things, (which were in storage for the six+ weeks he was away, between ER visits and another placement in The Bronx for Covid), and find his phone, see if the charger is around, charge the phone, see what books I brought over so he can read if he wants, look for his glasses. He needs some kind of stimulation. He is a classical music buff and has thousands of CDs: He needs music.

Can he use an iPad, we can lend him one and get him a classical station on it?

I have no idea, he seems to be out of the tech loop.

The gentleman in charge listened carefully and was thoughtful. He said that people bring carts around with games, puzzles; I am not sure about reading materials. Ironically, he wanted to know if he’d like to do the New York Times crossword puzzle (Robert’s own son creates them) but I feel they would be too difficult and frustrating. It may very well be that he refuses to take anything off the cart. Is his dementia so progressed that he is giving up? Is he so depressed that he is giving up?

I tried to engage him with what is happening: the hybrid car has a dead battery, I need dental work, there is water in the basement again, after a huge waterproofing job a few years ago. “With water on the floor, a lot of your school stuff got wet and will be thrown out. There’s no need to keep or have all of this stuff.”

I thought that would get him. No comment.

I was hoping for a response, the usual household-running anxiety, some kind of upset. Fury over the loss of all the stuff he has, (because one day he may “need” it.” He saved everything.)

He continued to watch Let’s Make A Deal. And then:

“You have to roll with the punches,” said the man in bed, who I no longer recognize.

I’ll tell you what: Let’s Make a Deal, Universe, you give me back the young man I once knew, and I’ll roll with the punches.

📌The series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

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