Confessions of a know it all

I love nothing more than someone asking me a question that I simply don't have an answer to. I am one of those freaks who actually finds the task of taking on a challenge of something unfamiliar as a way to stretch my comfort zone. Even more a way to learn. And when I want to learn about something new, I exhaust every effort of research methods to absorb as much as I can. Why do I not mind what others hate? I must confess, I am a know it all. I think my OCD is at such a magnitude that my fear is that I may make an important life changing decision without being fully informed. I am the caregiver and financial "boss" for our family of 7. An informed decision is the only way I can go. Who doesn't want to say that they made the best decision for their loved one?

I thrived on this when we were told that Jake would be legally blind and to accept it. Had I simply done that, he would not be where he is now, at near perfect vision with his corrective lenses that are double digit prescriptions weaker than his first pair of glasses as a baby. I found the therapy of research soothing when Noah was diagnosed with an Autism spectrum disorder. There is comfort in knowing that you're not the only to have experienced certain things, and even more so when you are not blindsided by some new behavior presentation. With so many treatment options out there for just about anything that ails you, it is always good to make an informed decision. However, when it is your child, and you are the person they are counting on to advocate for their best interest, the responsibility of that task can weigh as much as much as a Buick.

I found my know it all status was helpful to my acceptance of what was to come with my Momma's health. Having grown up with Asthma, having had two children with RSV as infants, and a daughter with severe Asthma I was familiar with much of the medication that Momma required. Having been working at a Hospice agency with the resources of coworkers I developed a greater understanding of COPD than I ever needed to know. I was able to know what was to be expected next, and although it was heartbreaking when each step arrived, there was a sense of comfort in having been at least mentally ready. The case was much the same when my Gradad's Alzheimer's declined. Although I wasn't ready for the decline to be so sudden and swift, from a clinical viewpoint, it was all following the same textbook path.

Having survived the year, when the dust settled it was decided that my Dad would be coming to Ohio to live with me and my family. My know it all status was at an all time high. I was knowledgable of Dad's health concerns, and medical history. I knew all of his medications, what they were for, the importance of each one. I knew which doctor's he needed to establish ongoing care with, and started a to do list of of how we were going to get him overhauled and back to optimal shape. Once we got his routine stuff taken care of, it was on to mobility. He was in desperate need of knee replacement. During his pre-surgical physical there was a heart beat irregularity. We got a thorough work up with a Cardiologist the next day and a green light for the surgery. The day of surgery came and his blood wasn't quite ready, we had to come home for a few days with injections to allow his blood to thicken just a bit. None of this seemed odd given his medical history and medications. I was thankful for the precautions of the doctors and hospital. However after surgery came the chaos of the unprepared effects of surgery. There is always risk. What I wasn't expecting was for it to actually all come down around me. Post-op became Hell. Dad's blood pressure dropped, leading to acute renal failure. With his kidneys not working properly he started building up fluids and much of the medication started to build up as well. His blood was dangerously thick and he started to become increasingly lethargic and altered. After this had gone on for days, I demanded a consultation with a neurologist. With his kidney function improving, his mental status remained the same, and on some days was worse. An MRI revealed that Dad had developed at some point prior, Vascular Dementia. Initially, it seemed surreal. Hadn't this man been through enough? How could I, who knows it all, have not seen this? But it all adds up. His behavior prior to surgery and medical history all line up. He has had all the risk factors for developing it. I had attributed so much to other causes, masking it. While they could still be reasons for it, it really doesn't matter. What matters is moving forward. Starting a new normal for my family. Accepting that it is not going to be easy, it is going to be hard work.

I don't know it all, but I am going to make darn sure that I find doctors and therapists willing to teach me. I will find a way to manage a 3 generational household of misfits who each have their own quirks and special needs. I will manage a budget that will look like advanced calculus. But with the knowledge that God always has provided a way, and he will continue. I will research ways to make sure that Dad gets the most of everyday, and do my best to be ready for the next step. Whenever it decides to present itself. I will do this not only because I promised my Momma, but because it is what I want to do. We are called to honor our parents. It is a joy and a privilege to take care of him. He adored my mom, worked hard to provide for his family. He has a kind soul, and a heart for his family. What more do I need to know?