Now they think my father did actually have a stroke. They’re supposed to have taken him in for doppler tests today to determine if there are any blockages in the carotid arter(ies). If there are, he must decide whether he wants them to surgically clean them, which would mean having to go to Buffalo for the surgery (110 miles from where he lives). He hated that hospital when he was there last month for his hernia surgery. I think the odds are good that he’ll refuse the surgery just because he hated the hospital.
I spoke with Li last night (my “stepmother”) and she said he was pretty damned nasty all day long. Of course, they told him that it was likely that he wasn’t going to see much improvement in his condition other than what has manifested itself thus far. Which means that he’ll be confined to a wheelchair or, at best, a walker. This is a man who, in his entire life, refused to be strapped down to any one or any thing. Always go, go, go, go, go — and always on his terms.
Monday he was begging for help in quitting smoking, Tuesday he was screaming and cursing at everyone that he wanted to go outside for a smoke. I guess he figures if he’s going to be an invalid, he might as well not worry about smoking if it wasn’t going to net him what he wants. Mobility. Independence. Freedom.
My prediction for 2006 is that we’ll be burying my father. For Li’s sake, I’m hoping it’ll be after February — that’s when she gets her green card. Otherwise, I’m afraid she might have to go back to Brazil. She doesn’t want that, nor do we as we’ve all gotten quite attached to her.