And Now... For the Rest of the Story

Ok, via yesterday’s post, you now know Pop had this dream I got pregnant, but not by his son. His dream had me having an affair and I got preggo. Yeah, lovely. He had another dream too, while in rehab. He had a dream that Ma didn’t really die, but was hiding from him and we all knew the secret but refused to let him in on it. There is more and I can do all sorts of psycho analysis on this one dream, but will spare you and my blog. Let us just say, that to those who know him, we all KNOW what is fueling his dream with Ma.

Pop has always been an egocentric, slightly depressed, kinda sorta mentally ill person. And it has gotten worse. I’ve been preaching to him about the fact he is suffering from depression for years, but he doesn’t want to listen or help himself, because… OK, this is for real… he LIKES feeling like that. He LOVES crying to people and getting sympathy. LOVES IT. And if he has a new audience, that has made his frickin’ day! Ring the bell, Drinks around for everyone, ain’t life grand! Yeah, I’m a bitch about it. I’ve been living this for 16 years. We’re all over it. But it is the truth. Where as I just as soon crawl in a hole and die rather than cry in front of my husband, my father in law looks forward to crying in front of complete strangers so he can garnish great sympathy and attention.

So flash forward two days from the day he has declared his dreams to me. The staff at rehab calls the clinical psychiatrist on board because Pop is exhibiting signs of depression. The guy comes in and seeing a new audience Pop plays it to the hilt, admitting crap he would NEVER have admitted to before.

“Are you depressed?” is answered with a vehement, “Oh yes! And it runs in my family! My Mom had it, my grandmother had it!” and on and on he went. Has he ever said to us he is? No, only when we’re on his case. “Leave me alone! I’m depressed! Can’t you see it?! What are you doing to me?” It is a weapon and a tool only used when it suits him. Ahhh, but this psychiatrist is a new audience and so he goes on and on, even answering yes to questions to stuff that wasn’t true… like… “Do you see things? Do you hallucinate?” and Pop… he frickin’ answered YES, even though the answer was NO. He was on a damn roll, getting sympathy and compassion from this stranger. So the clown doctor who consults NO ONE on this, not his family, not his frickin’ internist, NO ONE, doesn’t look at anything, case history what drugs he’s on, says to him, “Don’t you worry one bit. We all hallucinate some. (Wha???? I’ve never had a non drug induced hallucination! WTF was he talking about ‘we all hallucinate some…’. Jerk.) I’ll take care of that for you right away.” And… that… he… did.

Being a psychiatrist and KNOWING that we can cure all problems with the gift of the all mighty pills, instead of getting this man counseling which we have been trying to do FOR YEARS, he gives him an anti-hallucinatory drug. No kidding. He prescribes a drug that is given to schizophrenics.

Well, Pop was also on percaset or darvacet or some sort of ‘cet’ and we were trying to wean him off this dependency at the same time, which clown doctor never bothered to see in his charts. So this schizo drug combined with all these other drugs, put Pop on this weird ‘trip’.

Being agitated and now really NO KIDDING hallucinating, the staff calls the doc and he… prescribes something else! Adavan! It was supposed calm him. But it made it worse. So they gave another dosage. Now the man is completely gorked out of his mind. There are not real words that are strong enough for what was happening to him… quiet one minute, insane the next, seeing stuff… a whole other world, that did not exist. Past, present and future, melded into his mind. The blackest of black nights descended upon this old man… and finally, when the staff realized they had to get him to an ER, they called my husband at work to meet them there.

Meanwhile, we had NO IDEA any of this had transpired. I had been the last person Pop had really talked to. I spoke to him on Tuesday by myself, about the dreams, I missed seeing him on Wednesday, they gorked him out on Thursday. (He got plenty of visitors, it is not as if my not making it on Wednesday meant nobody saw him.)

Anyway, this is where some of it gets funny and most of it gets worse. I get a call from my spouse and I start the calling chain, which you will read more about on Wednesday, and I start filling family in and they start making the trek to the hospital, while I get a sitter. Déjà vu. (Wait for Wednesday’s post.) While talking to my bro in law on the phone while he was making the 1 hour haul North to the hospital, I tell him about the strange dreams.

They get to the hospital… and remember that dream from the first paragraph where Ma hasn’t died, but is hiding? Well that has become reality. It was truly the most horrible thing I have ever witnessed, watching this man not realize his wife has been dead for 4 years, watching him start to regrieve all over again. It was gut wrenching. Over and over, my husband and his bro would say, ‘No Dad, Mom’s not in the next bed hiding from you. Dad, she’s dead. She’s been dead for over 4 years.’

I finally get to the hospital, not knowing that the dream of Ma has become a reality. My bro in law sees me coming in and looks up in horror. I look at him quizzically and mouth, “What’s up?” But it is too late and Pop sees me and he starts ranting at me as to whether I have picked up the mail. For two hours I hold his hand while he yells at me about the mail or “Quick! D! Grab the damn wheel! You’re going to crash into that wall!!! Press the break, turn the wheel!” No clue where that came from. It was sporadic, but our holding his hands through it seemed to provide comfort. He didn’t feel so alone.

But the funny part was, my bro in law was horrified because for an hour they were telling Pop that Ma really was dead and I walk in and all my bro in law could think of was that other dream… that dream where I am pregnant with someone else’s child and my bro in law, in that instant he saw me thought, “Dear God, please don’t let him yell, “D! You whore! You cheat on my son and are pregnant with another man’s child!”” Heh. That would have been humiliating, but incredibly priceless.

And Pop is fine now. Always looking for a new audience. 48 hours of detox, my husband not really ever leaving his side, and he was better than before… all that crap was out of his body, the percaset or darvaset or whatever it was, too. And in case you are wondering, we took care of all these problems, insuring they would NOT happen again. Loud and vocal to any and all does not begin to describe the ensuing days…