Not Today, Thank You

It seems dad will have to spend one more night in hospital. The sheltered home has a stay-over clinic where he has to stay for a couple of days, to receive constant care and assistance from dedicated staff including a doctor and nurses, but they are unable to "absorb" him today - no staff.
Our day was thus planned: I was to bring my mum to hospital around 9 am, drop her off and go to Hertzeliya to her dentist. She had a dental hygienist appointment at 10 am, but she's convinced herself the dentist there (who has been my sister's, her family's, and in the last few years mine as well, quite satisfactorily) is a charlatan, and besides, her old friend Marka's son, oh such a nice boy, so talented, now that's a boy who loves his mother, and he is one of the greatest dentists in history, and it has nothing to do with the big discount she says he gives her, well, she wants him and nobody else to treat her. So I would take over her appointment, and would see Dr. Baer (not his real name) for a check-up. "Don't let him con you into unnecessary work" she warns me, branding the poor man a thief (in the event he says I do not need anything done. Anything to spite my mother). We get up at around 7:30, and as I am preparing breakfast, my dad calls from his hospital bed. A similar conversation to yesterday's follows: Why are we not there yet (he knew last night, as he did the night before, what the plan was, and he was quite happy with it on both occasions). He is lonely, nobody has come yet to put his dentures in, to help him off the bed. Has he rung the bell, button of which is in his hand, easier even than dialling home? No. Did he not promise he would use it, and not at the last moment but as soon as he feels he would need anything later as there would inevitably be some pause till someone arrives? I am a bit miffed. I want to help, do absolutely all that is possible. I had a fight at work with some idiot who wouldn't authorise the time off I requested, I am with him every day, most of the day, or sometimes twice daily. I look after my half crazed mum - and nobody knows what that is like better than him (except Lea, obviously). Now for the second morning he has pulled this trick on a mentally less than stable woman, who, for all her imperfections is fiercely loyal to him and his every whim, and always has been. Now, and not for the first time, she is made to feel as though she is failing him as a wife. How does that help? She has just woken up, groggy and confused. She almost jumps in the air. The usual frantic bouncing of the walls commences. She is breathing heavily, hands wringing, she sits down, gets up, picks something in the kitchen, puts it down. "What do I need breakfast for? I'd rather we left immediately" and such. I tell her no way. She is not going anywhere without some breakfast inside of her. He knows exactly what's going on, and with all the empathy in the world, he is out of line here. Knowing what this does to her, and it renders her far less helpful, he is shooting himself in the foot. I make a small vegetable salad cut in tiny dice the Israeli way, and two toasted cheddar cheese sandwiches. "So salty", she moans (it was just right yesterday). "Welcome to mature Cheddar, mum". She insists it's saltier than before. "Yes, I sprinkled salt on it to ruin it for you, you poor woman".
We get to the hospital at 8:45, earlier than planned, and I go on to the dental appointment. After that I stop at my sister's place. She is at work, but my niece Adi is home, and Lea tells me I shouldn't rush to the hospital. "Pace yourself a bit. Stop at ours and have coffee with Adi". But nobody answers the doorbell, only their mongrel bitch Nala (Adi found her as stray, brought her home and gave her to Lea to love) yaps from the other side of the door. I ring again. Dor, 14, on summer break, opens, half asleep (it's 11!). I apologise for not even intending to apologise - what the hell?! But my visit is cut short - mum wants me there so I suggest Dor goes back to bed and I take my leave.
My dad is being progressively difficult today. He has refused to take his medications this morning, and refused a blood test. He now refuses to be discharged from hospital to the special clinic at the home - it sounds too hospice-like. "I don't need any of this. Any help I need, I have your mother for". "I don't think so dad" I object. "You need someone who can support your body weight in case you trip, for example. You know as well as I do that mum can't provide that kind of care". With his new walker he is certainly showing progress, but the fact remains he has a weak heart, slow reactions, moments of haziness. I can help a lot, but I am not a young man either, and while I can hold him and support him, I am not that experienced, and I've had my own history of back pain, so the harsh reality is that he needs a carer. He succumbs. "but in the morning - I can't wait till 9 or later till you come over. They left me here like a dog this morning". I say: "So tell me when you want someone here, and we'll see to it". "7 am". I suggest it would be me - I'll come over early to help with all the morning stuff, and fetch mum later - "you don't want to kill her with exhaustion, right dad?" He agrees. Now mum has to upset the cart. "Hmm, nice! Only yesterday you couldn't do without your wife by your side" Dad: "Yes, that's true, I prefer mum to come over". "Dad, can you please make up your mind? Besides, I have to come anyway, as I am driving her to hospital" (taxi? Give money to strangers? No chance!). I give up on the two of them for the time being, before I lose you, dear reader...
When I got to the hospital they were about to serve lunch to the patients. Mum breaks with her habit of bumming a main course (or even the whole tray - there's always surplus and nobody minds, though I find it unbearable to witness). I keep him company while he slowly eats. Then we slowly walk back to the room. My mother, by now hungry (although when I offered to take her out to the nearest restaurant - a grill/diner at the hospital gate - she dismissed the idea indignantly), is now clutching her tummy to indicate pain. She can't bring herself to utter the words "I'm hungry" (so humilliating, that I should come to be hungry after what I've been through"), or extracting her from the ward on the 4th floor down to the street. We need to cross over to another building, where they have a small mini mart and canteen. She doesn't stop whining for one second. At crossing the road she says "If I'd known it would be like thid I wouldn't have come". At the canteen she discovers they only serve dairy items - it's a non-meat place. She storms off. We go to the restaurant right out of the hospital gate, a standard Israeli grill type place. En route she goes on: "I've been here all day. You know how much I've had to eat all day. You were gone for a few hours. I don't know what you might have been up to". Her paranoia now makes her imply I may have eaten secretly, while abandoning her. "I am not sitting outside, i want to see what goes on in there if you're making me eat there". OK. "It's so hot in here". Right. "I'll bet they haven't got a thing left, it being so late". I ask her if anything on the board appeals. "Skewers? Not for me,and I don't want this. Not that either. I don't know what this is, I'm not risking it. The chicken will probably be dry". Mum, I am losing patience here. "You have changed. I used to think you loved me once upon a time". Aha. And now? What do you think now? "It's all secreted here, in my heart". Would you like soup? The have 2 types. She dithers, so I order one of each. My mum sits in front of me, and as her soup arrives (actually I get it myself from the counter) she almost lunges into it. A flurry of arms, spoon whizzing through the air between the bowl and her mouth, and the complaining only stops to allow more soup in. It's too hot, it's too spicy. "Is everything alright?" ask a waiter who knows no better.
Soup devoured, despite being "awful", she gets her main course - I selected for her chicken breast steak with rice and brown lentils. That too is found wanting. Too hot, too much, the moaning goes on unabated. "Coming here was a mistake. I should have ordered something in pitta pocket and taken it back to dad's room. Perhaps they can do it for me now? The rice is so dry, as is the chicken I knew it. No, I don't want to try some of your schnitzel. Quite crunchy, I must say. But dry. Your mash is made fresh. The hodpital's tastes like instant mash. This is too much, I can't finish it all. I am not leaving anything behind for them. They can wrap the leftovers for me to take away. Oh look, they have chicken livers on skewers, why didn't I ask for that instead of this. No, I only want plain water. Here it is. Do you think it's safe to drink tap water here? How long must we stay here, dad is all alone up there".
We are back at the flat now. "You're telling me I am not going back to see dad this evening?" My sister is planning to stay there till chucking out time. She agreed to let me pick her up tomorrow at 7 am. We are to go to hospital, and start the discharge process. We want to get him out of there as early as possible. For now, all I want is to finish this outpouring, take a shower, and have a cold Goldstar!