Some days my life is truly more bizarre than fiction. Truly. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. And believe me, I’ve tried. The latest is another story in the ongoing saga with my father who is in failing health. He has Parkinsons, dementia, and really, really hates actually doing anything for himself. He especially dislikes doing anything that requires physical or mental exertion. Unfortunately for him, I seem to live my life plotting ways to make him more miserable with different exercises, therapies, and other nonsense to torture him. I also hire caregivers who participate in these nefarious plans of mine. It’s really quite the torture scam on our part.
So, my dad devised a strategy to get himself out of having to do any physical therapy this week. Since complaining about being in excruciating pain every time he has to do something isn’t working so well, he apparently decided to be a bit more dramatic about it.
Monday morning, I got a call from my dad’s caregiver that he had fallen, and they had to call EMS to pick Dad back up. No, I didn’t need to meet them at the hospital. Okay. Problem solved. Or so I thought.
Dad had an appointment that day with the speech therapist, and she asked him what he did that weekend. He said he spent the weekend planning his fall for Monday morning, figuring out the timing, and the location. And why did he decide to fall? Oh, so he wouldn’t have to do physical therapy. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
How do I motivate someone to do what they need to do for their own survival? That is the question that haunts me. Of course, I do frequently ask the question, “Why me?” but somehow never seem to get an answer to that one.
