Sick Days

Oh, the irony. Dad is sick with the flu and I'm taking care of him. Mom is out of the country and my brother is of no help (sad but true) so Dad is stuck with me. We make quite the pair, Dad and I. He's been lying on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, coughing and fighting his fever. I keep trying to help but, well, it's not that easy. I can't fetch and carry, I can't cook, and I can't do much of anything. Fine, I can nag him to take his medicine, which I do very well but that's about it.

Thank goodness Missy R. brought food and Tylenol yesterday. See, when Mom left three weeks ago, Dad made a pronouncement that we would "...eat all the food in the house before buying anything new." Yea, that's a good policy. I figure if something has been in the fridge, in the freezer or on a shelf for over four months, chances are it ain't gonna get eaten. Dad had already tired of all the canned soup so the fresh delivery of food was most welcome, even if Dad will never admit his earlier decree was now null and void. He's already finished a huge container of noodle soup, a seafood dish and some rice. I bought him bread while I was out Saturday and he's been polishing that off, all the while telling me to stop buying him food.

It hurts that I can't take care of my Dad. Even the simple task of bringing him a glass of water and Tylenol is out of reach for me. I'm not able to hold the items in my hands and use my walker or wheelchair. Sometimes when my limitations are so glaringly obvious, it's hard for me to acknowledge. Even worse, if my limitations are stopping me from helping someone I love, it's painful to acknowledge and know that I might be a burden. Not only does my Dad have his own health to deal with, he still has to take of me, too.