Chef Boyardee Had a Great Fall

The assisted living nurse called the school to reach me about 10:50. Dad had fallen in his apartment. His aide, found him on the floor with a lot of blood at about 9:30. The nurse was summoned immediately. She checked Dad's vitals and cranium. She cleaned the laceration above his left eye which she said was gaping at least 1/4". Dad was sent to the ER for sutures or skin glue. Dad didn't know when or how he fell.


I went into the jam-packed teacher workroom to send my siblings a quick text message about this episode. When I turned around I bumped a shelf. A teensy glass jelly jar with a red checked lid fell off the shelf and shattered all over the workroom. By the time I swept that up, it was time to get ready for lunch. One child brought a Chef Boyardee Noodle-roni cup--the kind where you remove the red plastic cap, remove the metal pop-tab lid, replace the red plastic cap with vent holes, and nuke for 45 seconds.


Plumppf. Not the usual microwave explosion sound, but I went to look through the microwave door. Chef Boyardee had fallen over on his side and was shooting greasy red goo out the vent holes, spraying the microwave walls and down under the rotating glass tray. As I stared, the lid popped off, and this merry carousel started trailing noodle-roni like a parade of grubworms. Some people watch reality tv. I watch reality Boyardee.

I just called Dad and he was speaking clearly. He said he had no aches or pains, but I was keeping him up. He knew that he had nine stitches and will have a black eye. He said everyone took really good care of him.


I didn't ask any questions about what happened, as I didn't want to flip him into anger mode. We agreed that he would try not to have a repeat adventure tomorrow. I can only pray that Chef Boyardee will agree to the same.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Screenplay of the intermediate place

Not for the first time, I got off the phone with my father and pushed the VHS cassette of "Amadeus" into the VCR. I'm writing another scene in my imaginary screenplay, and F. Murray Abraham is playing the lead role.

Dad fell again today, but wasn't injured. He "screamed bloody murder for a long time, waking people up but getting no help". Eventually he pushed his call button. Once the aide arrived, the nurse had to be called before Dad could be lifted off the floor. Dad seems to have read the riot act to the poor aide about the sorry excuse for an "intermediate place" he was in. For Dad, assisted living probably feels like an intermediate place, a sort of limbo. I can only begin to imagine Dad's internal discussions about his current abilities and ultimate mortality.

The aide took Dad's temp, blood pressure, and pulse. Dad ranted because his socks weren't even a real pair. One sock was a Gold Toe and the other wasn't.

I started to say that the aides can't move him when he falls so they don't aggravate a break. Dad started swearing at me, that yes he understands this. Eventually he told me he was embarrassed now about his reaction and behavior. He is glad they were taking care of him, but it was pretty exasperating at the time.

I'm in the doghouse. I contacted the church to change Dad's mailing address for the pledge statements. Because of that, I "sicced" the visitation minister on him. The minister visited Dad today. They seem to have conversed about postage rates. I pray it was not like the priest's visits to Salieri in the mad house.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Yesterday I took the train to CityPlace Station, and a bus to Preston & Beverly, then walked to work at the library. Left the Buick in Plano. I can't write comments on the Morning News blogs supporting mass transit if I don't ride it. Right?

So, when I walk out of the library at 5:40 the sky is a bit cloudy. By the time I'm walking through the shopping area it is windy and sprinkling. If I'd had any sense I would have waited for the bus outside the Tex-Mex restaurant, but I had time to kill, so I walked up McKinney to the next stop. It's raining, but it feels refreshing. At the stop a sprinkler system or storm sewer has gone haywire and is shooting gallons of water into the air in front of some trendy apartments AND fireworks are exploding in a tree. Lots of fireworks whizzing around, and big dogs running like crazy. So I walk on north up McKinney to where I think the next stop must be. And walking, and walking. My cell phone is ringing. It's Dad. I don't try to answer because the hail is marble size and I'm standing under an awning asking patio bar customers where the bus stop is. They look at me like I'm a crazy homeless bag lady, which I am starting to resemble. So I keep walking north figuring I have to find a bus stop or Mockingbird Station eventually. Once you are soaked to the skin it's not bad once the hail stops. Kind of like running through the sprinkler fully-clothed as a kid. Finally find a bus stop and the bus arrives. I leave a puddle on the bus.

At Mockingbird Station I call Dad back while I'm waiting for the train. He's gotten himself into a panic, calling and calling my sister and I at our various numbers and getting no one, no longer knowing who he is dialing. He says he's got a big problem. I figure he's fallen on the floor again and can't remember to push the call button. No, he got a bill and he wants to write a check, but he can't tell me who the bill is from or for how much. He's all into how the bill had been forwarded in the mail. And he's got to pay it by the 25th of something, but he's not sure what.

So I'm standing there dripping wet, talking loudly into my cell phone about Milk of Magnesia and Rx charges to my father who can't hear. Some people are moving away. Others are coming up to me to ask the time. A train goes by. I try to explain to Dad that this is not the best moment for me and I'll call him when I'm dry, but he's too anxious about the bill. Okay, he can write the check and stamp the envelope. Then I realize he will try to get out of his chair to go find the stamps in the drawer. Sigh. I've got most of the bills coming to me or automatically paid, but this one snuck through.

I stand up on the train all the way home, dripping, so I don't leave a wet seat for some unwary passenger.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Making a list and falling down twice

The weekend my column about fear of falling appeared in the East edition of the Dallas Morning News, my dad fell twice in three days. I spent last night compiling and annotating a list of my father's falls and other incidents over the past two years. Very sad to see the evidence of an average one fall per month, even though most injuries were minor.

The weekend ahead will be difficult as my siblings and I meet with Dad to convince him the time for assisted living has arrived. Dad is frail, depressed, cantankerous, and penny-pinching. He's also a sentimental fool and very funny storyteller. I'm calling up all my memories of that outstanding, ethical, hilarious, inspiring character to form my arguments for assisted living.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder