The day before I left for Camp Keisel, the assisted living place called telling me he had fallen getting out of bed, and would I authorize them to get medical help for him. I gave them the obvious answer. My sister called that night to yell at me because he had been taken to the ER and why hadn’t I called her. I explained that I didn’t know that’s what they did. When I returned on Saturday, April told me he was in bad shape, and had been moved to the ICU. He can’t swallow, and his lungs are clogged phlegm. The hospital stabilized him, and Sunday he was transfer out of the ICU. I spent the day with him. He is afraid that if he stays in there, he will die. So he spends the day trying to pull out IVs and oxygen tubes, or getting out of bed. I asked if he could have something to calm him down, but the doctor didn’t authorize anything.
Today I found out the nurses had to move him to a room across from the nurses station because he kept trying to get up. I don’t want to say I told you so, but I did.