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And again.

Dad is in a rehab center. We found one in Coney Island, close to where my mother lives, so she can get there easily. It's nice... not thrilling... but nice. The people seem to be caring enough. I am going to be keeping a close watch on him just the same.

All of our preferred locations turned my father down due to his weight. Who knew that it is so tough to get a heavy-set man a room? We finally did though. His room has four beds, but he is the only one in there. Let's hope it stays that way. Due to it being a special room dedicated for larger folks, it is also on the long-term care floor, as opposed to a short-term floor. That has the potential to get depressing, so we are outfitting his room with a radio, TV, phone, and a daily newspaper delivery. So he can have his own nice oasis.

I'm flat out fucking exhausted.


Aug. 16th, 2006 01:18 am (UTC)
Good Job.
Good good Job.

Take heart that getting him somewhere that is used to larger sized people means that he will get better care. If they need to move him, if issues come up, they will be more prepared to move him and deal with transportation issues that may arrise. Or even really simple things like helping him safely get from bed to chair until he has healed a little bit.

This kinda family shit is hard. You're doing great. Keep breathing. You are a good and reliable son.