March 7 -- Spent the night and day battling the same stomach virus that landed my dad in the hospital. So did, apparently, my sister. And my mom. But somehow she got herself to the hospital anyway. My father is not doing well at all. Completely unfamiliar with his surroundings, scared and exhausted from lack of sleep, he is sliding further and further into a deeper state of dementia.
Today, he started to do what has been my mom's lifelong fear -- he spoke only in Polish, his native language. None of us can understand a word he is saying.
Tomorrow I hope I will feel better, well enough to go back to the hospital and be with him. If he is discharged, my mother is not strong enough to pick him up if he falls. And right now, he can't walk. He is so weak, and with the Alzheimer's, he has forgotten how to walk. If he goes to rehab, it will be more of the same. More disorientation, more fear, more stress on his mind. I have no idea where this is heading, but it doesn't look good.
But we have no choice. It is all part of the journey.
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