The Power in Our Hands
Nonchalance

Vernon’s water obsession has returned. This isn’t brand new, its been building for awhile. I did call the doctor about it today though, so hopefully there will be some sort of solution, even if it’s short-term.  When I offered him the usual piece of chocolate to cover up the taste of his medicinal oil, he still insisted he preferred water. Nothing brand new here, either. Since we were at Mesa Verde, instead of dialysis, I was able to fetch him a cup of ice chips, something they seem to approve of. If I’ve not mentioned it yet, his speech therapy was discontinued about two weeks ago as he wasn’t able to be revived fully in time for pre-dialysis sessions, nor was he retaining enough of the activity memory to make the sessions worthwhile. (His therapy benefits/hours are limited, so it seemed best not to squander them—in the words of the therapist.)

He has now decided that he must not be given water because he is ‘in prison.’ This is slightly more dramatic than the ‘school for naughties’ that just the other day he was convinced he’d been put in. He does try to make sense of things, and surely at times this is what he feels like. But he still shows his survival smarts. He took the cup of ice chips and stirred it with the green watercolor stick he’d been given to make artwork until the ice had slightly melted. He was making water! Who care’s if its green, right?

Of course he choked badly even on that little drop. Days like these, he’s so agitated and angry that he can’t be guided, and giving him a little ice is just as dangerous as a full cup of water. It’s heartbreaking, but that little freedom, that little rebellion, seems to provide more comfort to him than my visiting presence does.

Vernon did agree to do a little artwork, regardless. I’d brought him a new medium, watercolor sticks (a glorified colored pencil.) He took to them pretty well, once he got himself in the mood. Here is a peek (complete with coughing and other background banter.)

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The following was even more interesting as Vernon started with a fish in it’s environment and then added ‘our home.’ My therapist will have a lot to say on this one, I’m sure. (She’s suggested I ask Vernon to draw a house…so now I’m extra fascinated.) It looks more like a shark to me, but what do I know what was going through his head. That’s art for you!

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Today’s post doesn’t feel very fresh, this is all so much what we’ve seen before. I suppose that is the nature of this kind of condition…it goes on and on in ever decreasing/increasing cycles. That’s why I like involving artwork. At least the output will be new.

He made one new (to me) statement that I thought was worth sharing. When it was time to leave, and I had to put Vernon back to bed (if only temporarily) I told him he could just take a little rest, he said: “It’s not resting. It’s being left alone. And that’s against the law.”

Well, its not illegal. But I get his point.

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Hopefully the doctor and nurses will help him get on top of his thirst. Like with everything, its little steps. Little shuffling steps.

 

 

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The Power in Our Hands
Nonchalance