Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Digging a Hole
Haven't posted in a while because the stories are so crazy I can't remember the details long enough to write them down. Bompa's mind is going 100 mph and what comes out makes no sense at all. The theme fr allof today's interactions has been digging a hole. When I went in at 9 am to get him up and have his breakfast, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over the seat of the wheelchair, covering the seat with both hands. He was also counting out loud...1 1000, 2 1000, 3 1000. I asked him what he was doing and he said you need to dig a whole right here. I said "why do you need a hole right here in the seat of the wheelchair?" "I just do," he said. I told him we needed to eat breakfast before we could dig any holes. He went to the bathroom, and came out to eat. He asked me how I was was. I said, "I'm fine." He asked how the bullet hole was healing. I said, "um I don't recall being shot so I guess it's fine?" He told me he shot me in the shoulder and the bullet was gold plated so I should dig it out and melt it down and inside I would find the diamonds I wore on my wedding day. I said, "ok, here, eat your banana." Then I went to do the laundry. When I checked on him later, he was asleep in his wheelchair but was bent over clearly digging a hole in his sleep. I gently woke him and asked what he was doing. He said, "I'm digging a hole." I asked, "why?" He said because the Dr told him to dig the hole. I said, "well, why don't you take a break and watch tv for a while." He said, "you better check my blood sugar, I've been working for a while now." I said, "I think you'll be fine, especially if you have an ice cream." He said, "oh boy, that sounds good." So he had an ice cream and immediately fell back to sleep. I wish there was some kind of rhyme or reason or pattern to the chaos in his mind. But in the meantime, I'm just gonna hide the shovels.