My brother and I went to Mt. Forest last Saturday to visit our parents. Upon
arrival at Birmingham Lodge, we were informed that Mum and Dad were at the
hospital. We found Dad there, resting on a gurney. He’d had a battery of tests
and x-rays, and while he waited, he suggested we three (Mum and Pat and I)
ought to go and have lunch. Maybe he was concerned about our appetites, but
more likely, he wanted an hour to rest, free of Mum and her annoying Alzheimer's. He was all done his
assessment, and sitting in the waiting room when we returned.
Back at the lodge again, 95-year-old Dad was exhausted and barely made
it to the couch before collapsing. He was having great difficulty catching his
breath. He used his puffer and aero chamber a couple of times, but when his
condition didn’t seem to improve, Pat inspected the instrument. He found it was
clogged and totally useless. The plastic cap from the puffer was lodged tightly in the
intake end of the aero chamber. My brother used a jackknife to pry it loose and
restore its function. Subsequent puffs seemed to help Dad breathe a little
easier. My poor father had been using it, without effect, for two weeks!
“At least I know what’s wrong with me now,” Dad said later.
“The doctor says I have pulmonary
fibrosis. He says my lungs have scars on them. I wonder what would cause
that.”
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