My dad had his assessment yesterday for his admittance to Wesleyan Village. What this means is that an RN from the Village came to his house and asked him some questions and gave him a couple of simple cognition tests. I thought he did pretty well. He certainly knew what day of the week it was, what year it was, and what state he lived in, anyway. There may be cobwebs in the corners, but he still does his own laundry, showers every day, and heats up the food Bill and I bring him. All good things.
When the conversation turned to his daily medication, however, the tone took a turn for the weird, as it so often does with my dad. Yes, he told her in answer to her question, he takes his medication every day, because he paid for it, but once he is finished with what he has, he doesn't want to take it anymore. The young lady looked up from her notes and focused her bright blue eyes on him. "Are you saying you would refuse to take your prescribed medication?" I looked up from my knitting at that point, pretty sure that Dad was on the verge of messing up all we had accomplished to that point. "I want to try to get along without it, once I am moved in," he replied. "That seems reasonable," I said, looking right at her. Yes, she agreed, that seemed reasonable. Whew.
I got a call from Roni, our incredible liason, later that day, and to my relief, she said the assessment had gone well, and we could think about setting up a move-in date. At that point, she and I laughed about my dad's comment, but for a minute there, it wasn't all that funny. What a relief it will be (on so many levels) to have him safely settled.