Dr. Welby Never Had It Like This

An Angry Dadzilla in a China Shop Hospital Ward

Dadzilla has a new type of appointment. A few times per week he now goes to hydrotherapy in an attempt to help his breathing. One Tuesday he goes to the hospital where they offer the hydrotherapy. I thought the appointment was for the morning, but I guess I could be wrong. He doesn't show up in the early afternoon. I think I hear him enter his room, clunking around. I see no sign of him the rest of the day, not even his van.

It comes to be early evening, and the sun is now setting. Something is not right. Dadzilla never drives at night since he can barely see during the day, nevermind dim light. I find a couple tenants at the picnic table. They tell me that he is at the hospital, that they thought the apartment manager told me. I begin to wonder who was tromping around in the apartment if it wasn't Dadzilla. I come to the realization that the upstairs neighbors must have been so loud that I thought the thumping was coming from inside our apartment!

I head over to the hospital where Dadzilla is supposed to be, the one where his hydrotherapy appointment was. I find out the information about his room number and find him there watching TV. He tells me that he had trouble breathing immediately after his therapy, so they admitted him to the hospital. They haven't found anything yet, and they hold him for observation. Nothing much new for either of us besides the obvious, so I head home, pick up some his toiletries, and drop them off to him. We chit-chat for a little while, then off I go. He thinks he'll be home tomorrow afternoon.

I feel guilty for feeling relieved that I finally have peace for more than an hour or two. I haven't gotten a break from his nonsense in over 5 years when he went to visit my brother for a couple weeks around his birthday. It's nice. I remember the advantages of living alone, or even a roommate or two that isn't him. I don't have to acquiesce to anyone's need to feel in control and superior.

The next day he doesn't come home in the afternoon. I call him, and he tells me they're keeping him for more tests. He sits around watching TV, bored. Sometimes he gets up to walk around a bit to stretch his legs. Funny, that sounds like what he does at home, just with less freedom. He's going stir crazy, goddamnit. At least he thinks he'll at last be home tomorrow. I enjoy an entire day of quiet and freedom to walk around without a shadow, nor an inquisition!

Immediately the next day, 'ding-dong'. Doorbell. The apartment manager is at the door. He wakes me up to tell me that something is horribly wrong. The hospital called and left messages at the office number. They couldn't get a hold of me.

I rush to the phone. We've had wiring trouble with the handset. Cheap garbage. I wiggle some wires on the body of the phone. Somehow, the ringer must also be affected, though I'm at a loss for how. Three messages, all hospital related about Dadzilla.

I call the floor nurse back. Dadzilla wanted to leave last night. He told me he'd see me tomorrow, so I thought all was well. Silly me. An impatient Dadzilla started getting angry and loud. The staff tried to soothe the savage beast. An inconsolable Dadzilla made threats. The staff probably tried to reassure him, but in doing so, put their hands on an enraged Dadzilla. Dadzilla misinterpreted the touch and started waylaying staff with a makeshift weapon in the form of his cane! The staff subdued Dadzilla and put restraints on him, which also tethered him to his bed. Dadzilla wore himself out and is now fast asleep.

The nurse wants to figure out if he might be exhibiting signs of dementia. I relay to her what he has told me, that he's had very little sleep in the past several weeks. I know that can cause cognitive issues. She tells me that all the tests they've done show no new anomalies and nothing to cause new breathing difficulties. He's free to be discharged, but she would like me to wait a couple hours, because a sleeping Dadzilla is a healing Dadzilla that isn't causing mayhem on a hospital ward.

I talk to friends online. I get the feeling they may have thought I was exaggerating the stories about Dadzilla. I tell them the news about bedlam at St. Joseph's. They say they've believed me all along. They're familiar with stubborn, old coots that refuse to listen to any form of reason and act out. I wonder why their elderly relatives don't act this way, why I'm the one with the misfortune.

I actually go to the hospital twice. The first time, no matter what I do, I can't wake him up in a soothing way. I'm not going to stir the pot at the hospital after what they've been through with him, so I went home. Turns out, he woke up very shortly after I left. They released one of his two restraints, and the hospital bed is now on the floor. They tell me they do that if there's a danger of someone falling out of bed. I've never seen such a thing, but it makes sense.

The hospital is actually an interconnected wonder. Just about everything is computerized and/or made electronic. It's a far cry from old shows that portrayed hospitals as a sanitized world of nurses with white caps, gurneys of cold steel, and beds of stiff metal with rigid, cheap mattresses.

This time I bring a neighbor with me. Someone has to drive Dadzilla's van home. The best part is he can say things to him that I can't, lest I cause a temper tantrum for being disrespectful, goddamnit. “Get your ass out of bed, you mean old bastard! Get dressed, or we're leaving your ass in the hospital!” It was said in jest, but if I'd even done that, he'd have flown off the deep end.

The floor nurse has to get discharge papers ready. Meanwhile, Dadzilla tries to get out of bed. An alarm goes off. One of the other nurses rushes in. He's still hooked up to an alarm from his behavior the night before. She makes sure that at least one of us will be there at all times, then disconnects him, and removes the last restraint. Her bedside manner is great. She doesn't show irritation in the least. Much better than what I'd be like. Another break from the old days, when they'd just about put people in straight jackets and keep that grudge for the rest of their stay.

Dadzilla is unsteady, so an orderly has to wheel him out. While we wait for the elevator, he makes comments loud enough for the entire staff at the desk to hear, just in case they haven't registered his disdain. I think they feel sorry for me. They should. They only had to deal with him for a couple days. I've been in hell for years.

The neighbor drives home with him in the passenger seat. I drive for my last few minutes of freedom. When we get home, he settles in, and looks over the mail and his medical papers. I see that we have beer and take one outside with me. Not three minutes go by and I have a shadow in the form of Dadzilla. It begins anew.

<Dadzilla in a Bottle>                                                                         <cont'd in future post>

Dadzilla Threatens to Strike

China Bitch...and Bitch and Bitch

One day, Dadzilla suggests we go out to get Chinese for dinner. We both like Chinese, but I'm apprehensive about going anywhere with him, whether he's driving or a passenger. Who needs the aggravation of a screaming old man at the slightest provocation? Yearning for something different for dinner, I acquiesce, and off we go the couple miles to get Chinese at a chain place.

I avoid as much as possible making left turns with no light in the middle of the day anyway, now I'm extra careful. One false move and there could be an explosion. Driving on egg shells doesn't matter; there's ALWAYS something to complain and yell about. I think back on the rare occasions my mother was in the same vehicle as him, and why they were so infrequent. I repent for being a stupid kid, encouraging her to get in the same vehicle as he was. I guess all kids want their parents together, even as they argue bitterly and they lack any wisdom to see it's much better off that they separate. I wonder what kind of insecure, micromanager I would have become had Dadzilla actually lived in the same house as me past the age of 6.

Uh oh. It's one of those yellow lights you have to brake kind of suddenly for, as there isn't enough time to make it through before it turns red. Three “what the hells”, a “goddamnit”, and a sexist epithet later, and we're back on our way. Is all this worth it for Chinese? He's not shutting up.

Finally, we pull in, place our order, get our order and get out. The second we pull out and get stopped at a light, he continues his spiel about how the lights in Arizona are rigged to the detriment of the drivers. “Wah wah, wah wah wah wah, wah,” on and on and, apparently, on. We get home and he gives me an order. I don't even remember what it was, but I guess it didn't sit right that particular day, already hearing him rambling on almost the entire time driving.

I declare, almost yelling, “Stop giving me orders! You do it all the time!” Dadzilla's eyes widen, as he erupts. “I wasn't telling you what to do, goddamnit!” and “I oughta hit you a good one!” Violence is always the answer, but I won't tolerate it as an adult. “I wish you would hit me, then the judge can ORDER you to go to anger management. You've needed it for YEARS.” I've disputed the authority of Dadzilla. This will not do. He accuses me of being selfish. I don't understand the connection between wanting him to go to anger management and being selfish, but I've already had enough.

I gather up my Chinese food and head to my room. I have to come back out to the kitchen to get a drink. I'm not the only one who forgot my drink. Dadzilla is again cursing because he left his drink somewhere in the restaurant. “Ta hell with it! I'll just go on without it.” Being the selfish person I am, I drive back down to the restaurant alone and bring back his drink. I place it on the table next to his food. He has nothing to say.

<A Little Coffee Pot>                                                            <cont'd in future post>

A Little Coffee Pot Never Hurt Anyone...Except Me

No Sugar Tonight in My Coffee

I feel bad sometimes that Dadzilla and I don't do many things together. I wish it were different, but someone with anger management issues is not fun to be around. I almost always drive if we're going someplace together. And that would be fine except for all the anger, rage, and hostility that he exhibits. At the most mundane things even. OK, everyone might get mad now and then about certain things on the road, and I'm certainly no angel myself. He's a passenger. He shouldn't be concerned with minor things now, or any other time, really. I often wonder how he's made it to his age without having suffered a fatal heart attack brought on by one of these fits. Red lights, slow drivers, fast drivers, drivers who are in any way a minority, buses, tractor trailers – all a part of life driving, all a part of Dadzilla's righteous crusade against what he perceives is a slight against him. And, because it IS a crusade, it doesn't last just a minute or two. He's been known to go on and on ad nauseum about what most people would consider a fact of life.

The fact is, Dadzilla has always been this way, ever since I've known him. As a kid, I was afraid of him and his outbursts. It's not as if my brother and I were hit much at all. I think maybe the old fashioned coffee pot incident might have made him really think twice, but I don't know for sure. That was when he went to smack my brother across the table and he knocked that coffee pot into my face, causing profuse bleeding. Judging by the noise, his yelling, Mom's yelling, my anguished shrieking as blood poured, you'd think a bomb went off. I was whisked away to the hospital for stitches above my right eye. The doctor asked, “Did your Daddy hit you?” I responded, “No, my brudder was being bad. He tried to hit my brudder, but hit the coffee pot by accident” They had a good laugh at that one for years. But I can't help wondering if it was just coincidence I don't remember anymore physicalities beyond this point or if there was fear of Child Protective Services snooping around when they considered it undue corporal punishment.

<Dadzilla Social Security pt2>                                      <cont'd in future post>

Dadzilla on Social Security

The Government Is No Friend of Dadzilla 

I was no stranger to depression and treatment. A couple of doctors think my constant fatigue is a manifestation of the depression that isn't being addressed fully through meds. I think chronic fatigue is a possibility since I had mononucleosis twice. I never have a whole battery of tests done to exclude other things that it can be. When you have State insurance, it's a complicated dance of what you're allowed to do with which doctor at any particular point in time. The whole thing is disheartening and I don't press the issue.

“When are those doctors ever gonna do their jobs and fix what's wrong with you?” It's at least a weekly question, and it's one of those questions that Dadzilla asks all the time precisely because it has no answer. I think he hates silence. “I don't know, Dad. I just keep getting medicine. I don't feel depressed when I take what they give me. I just feel tired all the time.” “When are you gonna hear back from Social Security?” The other question he asks repeatedly. “They denied me, and it's going to the next step in the process. You know how they do.” Dadzilla would be the first one to tell you about how the government makes you jump through hoops. He's gotten all sorts of Social Security for years because of his age and for a variety of disabilities. I'm only in my 30's and seem relatively healthy, so I don't stand a chance. I picture a maniacal bureaucrat with a stamp marked “DENIED” with red ink being slammed down on my application at every point in the appeal process. Then, said government lackey laughs with glee as he gets to deny yet another set of paperwork. And here it is, only shortly after his 8^th break before lunch.

When Dadzilla gets a notion stuck in his craw, it doesn't subside until absolutely all action has been taken, so long as he isn't the one having to take the action. This is why a year or two later, he harps on re-initiating the social security process, this time with a lawyer. I try to make him listen to reason, that I already went through it all up to the step of a hearing before a judge before my final denial.

He wants to hear none of it, “Goddamn it!” After all, he went through the process himself not that long ago, and he had to go through so many steps it would make your head swim. I try to explain to him that a decade plus can make a big difference. We're in a recession now, some laws have tightened the government's grip on their money. Though I'm not sure, I think States can distribute the money, and I know Arizona is not generous when it comes to their resources. Above all, I WAS JUST DENIED NOT THAT LONG AGO. “It doesn't matter, goddamn it. I was...” “wah wah wah wah wah wah wah...” “...and he just saw a lawyer on TV and here is a number and the website address. They're based in Phoenix, but they do Tucson.” I acquiesce, and just do it to shut him up.

I get a toll free number for these people from the internet. Of course, they've been around for 40 years and can win almost all cases big or small. They specialize in Social Security claims. Yada yada yada...and this is just on their webpage. When I talk to a woman on the phone, she gives me the whole spiel. This included what I read on the internet, and then some. Will I accept their service in return for handing them 25% of backpaid money? I agree.

<Early to Bed>                                                <cont'd in future post>

Hi, My Name Is Dadzilla and I have Anger Management Issues

Social Security, Anger Management, Dadzilla, and Me

So, after a year or two at this place, we have our routines down. If it's summer, we stay inside most of the time, I in my room, Dadzilla in the living room. If it's cooler weather, he likes to chat with the neighbors, maybe go for a ride. I stay in my room. I figure I hear everyone's business from Dadzilla. From the way he tells it, I don't want to get to know most of the neighbors anyway. This is fine with me, because I'm so tired all the time. With my meds, I'm not depressed, but I sleep a lot. Any combination of sleep and sleep apnea device doesn't help. Still always tired.

I apply for different forms of Social Security, but after over a year of processing, I'm denied a final time. I can appeal, but it would be before a judge at a hearing. I just drop the case. I'm too young. I'm not sick enough. I can still walk without being in agony. Maybe if I show up in a wheelchair drooling on myself.

Meanwhile, discontent is building in the apartment complex and more people are leaving and are not being replaced quickly enough. Finally, after several months go by with the habitability of the apartments worsening, the place is put up for auction for non-payment and sold. No more John and Joan who Dadzilla was complaining about just about everyday now. One time John made an off-the-cuff remark to Dadzilla, who was sitting down, chatting with a neighbor. He jumped up and threatened to hit John where he stood. Oh, yeah, did I mention Dadzilla has an anger management issue? You probably gathered that already. That is what makes Dadzilla, Dadzilla.

So, John and Joan out, Jeff in. Things are looking up. It seems he actually cares about the complex and addresses many of the problems. He hires one of the neighbors to be kind of a caretaker of the place in exchange for dismissing his rent. The place starts looking nicer than we've ever seen it.

<We Meet in Tucson>                                            <cont'd in future post>