I had my brother moved to the second floor on Friday. That's the floor for "extended care", the "lifers". I had him moved early because he wasn't having any interaction with any of the patients on his floor, there were no activities, and the patients eat in their rooms by themselves. I was a little worried about how it was going to work out. When I went to visit him on Sunday, I found him slumped over in his wheel chair, kind of comatose. I took him out to Denny's for Sunday breakfast and he perked up. Still, I was worried and kept on telling myself that I needed to let go, there were just things that I couldn't control. It wasn't working very well for me.
So I was greatly relieved when I went to visit him Tuesday night. He was sitting up straight and in a dining room with about 7 other patients who obviously were living in the nursing home because of physical disabilities (Illinois is notorious for not providing for group homes for the disabled.) It was a motley crew, but the people seemed nice and very happy to have me in the room to talk to. And I was happy to have more people to have a conversation, I think that I have mentioned that it can often be difficult to keep a conversation going with my brother. My brother was very engaged, interacting, and almost in a jovial mood. I don't know if they have started giving him anti-depressants or not (I kind of doubt it, they never do something the first time you ask for it), but I sure hope this lasts!
It made me reflect on the very long journey we have taken since my brother's best friend died 6 years ago and I realized that I was going to really step up to the plate and manage my brother. (he often refers to me as his "manager" to non-family members as a joke). But that's a long story, I have a cold, I'm tired, and I'm going to go to bed and try to rest so I can go to work tomorrow. (I am a little worried about my brother catching my cold, that's how he landed in the hospital with congestive heart failure just last month.)
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