WRITING CULTURE 2012: Film, Food & Beyond

Sunday Morning we began making calls again. The DHH gave me the name of the same nursing home in Carnarsie. I called and they said he was not there but at a different building a few blocks away where they have adult-day programs. They transferred me and the receptionist said he wasn’t there, but she would check to see if he was at the shelter in basement. He was there.
Minutes after speaking with the DHH a nurse called to tell me where my father was, what a coincidence.
When I heard the word “shelter” images from Katrina flashed before my eyes and I wanted to get him out of there. I planned to take him from the shelter to the respite center but when I arrived, I was surprised how pleasant the place was.
A receptionist walked me past the dining room full of adorable seniors slow-dancing to live music. This was one of the fanciest adult centers I have seen. Most are non-profits that have to fight for the small amount of funding they receive every year.
When he saw me he shot straight up in his chair, his eyes got huge. He can’t talk but he laughs. His eyes and his mouth were wide open. I gave him a big hug and he just stared at me, he speaks with his eyes. He always was a nice guy but this illness has made him less inhibited, and more of what he already was.
A lot of people say their dad is the best, but mine really is. The nurses always say he is their favorite resident. Most likely they say that to everyone, but he really is that sweet and lovable so I believe them.
Since he has been in a nursing home he has had countless girlfriends. He loves music, especially country and a beautiful ballad could bring him to tears. He often hums along hitting all the high notes. His memory isn’t what it used to be, but he remembers songs like a living jukebox.
Two caregivers from his nursing home were there and I asked what happened. One woman said the water on the first floor came up to her chest and that the ocean and the bay overflowed and became one body of water. The entire Rockaway peninsula was underwater. The first-floor generators failed because they were submerged. She covered her mouth with her hand and eyes filled with tears when she told me she is living in a shelter with her family. She is taking care of people in a shelter and living in a shelter. I’ve watched these women take care of my father for two years and I want to help them but I don’t know what I can do. The nurses believe everyone will be going back to Rockaway next week when they get the power back.
I had planned to take my father with me and asked about discharging him. I spoke to the manager from the nursing home and she said they did try to call me but couldn’t get through. The week of the storm, my cell phone service was terrible. I’m sure they tried to call. He was taken to Brooklyn Tech, never John Adams. If I chose to discharge him I would have to wait until Tuesday to get approval and new prescriptions. There is a risk that if I take him out, they may not take him back.
Nursing homes don’t want people like my father because he is too young and active, and has dementia. Most are at full capacity and have an evaluation process before they accept a new resident. Two previous nursing homes sent him to the emergency room in an ambulance and made it clear they did not want him back. Once he was so over medicated he had to be placed on a breathing machine. This is the first place where he has had no issues and is well cared for. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk of moving him.
No one could have anticipated how devastating Sandy would be and I’m glad everyone from his residence is safe. I still believe the city did an excellent job considering the circumstances.
I just wish my father could tell me what happened.