When I got to my parents' in May, my dad could move around slowly with a walker. Which was...good. With his fractures, he might've lost that. 

But he had pain in a part of his back that didn't make sense. Low energy. And he mostly waved food away. Like, ice cream food. 

At a hospital check after a minor fall in the living room, an x-ray showed he'd been living with a "30% compression fracture" of his L-1 vertebra for about a month. (Thankfully nothing was found wrong re living room fall.) 

It explained his pain, and probably appetite. Advice was to do nothing; a brace wouldn't work bc dementia and trouble with balance. So he wore pain patches and took ibuprofen, a long time.

Soon after that check, he had a first appointment at a Parkinson's treatment center. Weighed in at 141. The neurologist diagnosed him with vascular dementia, not Parkinson's, but she and my parents hit it off, and she agreed to be his doctor. 

Toward the end she got in his face. She said, right now, my biggest concern is, you're starving to death. You have to eat, or you'll be dead in a year.

Although my mom and I had been saying this for months without his seeming to hear, I could tell he took it in. And a new vocation was revealed to me, which is still here. Get Dad fatter.

 

Toward the end of the day I drove to Target for diaper cream. But I still don’t know the city well, and this Target turned out to be a small one with less stuff than most, for people who live near the college. 

A very pregnant young woman squinted at the back of a nasal aspirator box before the slapdash children's medicine endcap. She quietly agreed when I whispered shit. Felt terrible for her, knew in my bones we'd both Googled "nearest Target" and raced to the first result. 

Steam seemed to be coming from her...fingernails?...and I tried to think of something reassuring to say. She asked how mine was. Really regretted having to explain my dad has a pressure sore we’re trying to turn around. 

She went back to the box. I couldn't blame her. Seeing no Butt Paste I took Desitin. Said I hoped her kiddo would start to feel better soon. And left for the registers. 

Driving home into a bit of weak setting sun, young couples appeared here and there on the sidewalks, bundled, arm in arm, brows-first into the cold under darkening trees. As the neighborhood receded I sensed some tender voice at my shoulder. 

because you haven't had a living child, 

don’t dismiss continuing the species 

you don’t know 

you don’t know 

you don’t know

No good place to start. 

So. Here. Now.

Alexa got bored of Les Paul pretty fast. Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" is playing and my dad's in his new recliner, about 1/5 of the way to standing, looking at a box of records I gathered from around the place in a panic when he started trying to get out of the chair (he takes awhile to move these days, so I was back before anything too horrible could happen).

He'd said he was gonna go upstairs to look at his records. The thing is, last November he broke his pelvis and some of his back, going upstairs. 

He's come a long way since. But except on a day like today, when he forgot, he's pretty much accepted he's isn't...going upstairs...again.