Just Call Me Ms. Detective

English: Half a dozen home-made cookies. Ingredients: butter, flour, white sugar, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla, soda, salt, and chocolate chips. Français : Demie-douzaine de cookies fait-maison. Ingrédients: beurre, farine, sucre en poudre, œufs, vanille, soda, sel et grain de chocolat. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My feet are on fire!!!! I have Diabetic Neuropathy. I have been taking so much stuff out of my brother’s room. We are switching rooms and bathrooms. His wheel chair will not be able to get into the hall way to his old bedroom and bathroom.

This is very hard work when there is a lot of walking for me. The nerves in my feet become  fire bugs. I have photos I am going to show you of his stuff and his and my rooms. I am waiting on my son to get here. He is going to help move the beds etc from room to room.

I don’t have proof but I think I put all the pieces together about Al not feeling well. I went out to see him. He was just trying to rise from napping. I asked him some questions while trying to get his shoes on. You know Ms. Detective here. I went to raise his leg so I could put the first shoe on and his legs were so stiff when I moved them they didn’t budge.

I am always amazed at how PD(Parkinson’s Disease) works from the inside of Al’s body. You don’t see the damage it is creating. After getting his shoes on he could not stand. I had to get help. I have to admit this worries me some with him coming home. I am hoping that moving more by going to the Day Program will help grease his body a little and loosen it up. If not, I will have to go to plan C, D or E.

Al had fibbed in my opinion. After I wrote you about him not going out because he was sick I thought instantly to a bag of cookies I had baked and taken to him. The detective in me targeted those cookies. Where were they? Where was the bag? How many have you eaten out of the three dozen I brought you? You know they type of questions……..

His reply was that they were lying on top of the trash can and the housekeeper had just came in to clean and picked them up and tossed them in the big trash can. I asked him why he didn’t say anything to her and he said, ” I don’t know.”

I searched the room upside and  under in and out but nothing. I went to the nurse because at that time I had no solid reason not to believe Al. I told her about the cookie deal and that I had actually seen the housekeeper outside Al’s room only minutes earlier.

She hunted the lady down and with gloved hands dug through the trash. She came back with there were no cookies in the trash but there were empty bags. I interrogated Al once again.

I made up a little story to get the truth out. I told him that they may have to take him to the doctor and do tests to see why his stomach is so sore and sick. I said,”If you tell me the truth that you ate all those cookies it will end the search and concerns. You won’t have to go to the doctor then.”

He said “Well maybe I did eat them in the past two days, I don’t really know.” The nurse was standing there and she looked at Al and said,” You made me dig through that trash when you are sitting here lying?” I shot her a dirty look.

I know lying is wrong. I also know that too many professionals have said Al is eating left and right because he is so depressed. So on one hand I hated to bitch at him because of is over eating due to depression.  On the other hand lying is lying.

I explained to him that lying is wrong. I told him to always tell me the truth no matter what, I will understand. He said, “Sorry sis, you make good cookies.”

Oh brother, use that soft crap on me now will you I was thinking. I had him apologize to the nurse. He was in bad shape today not only from the cookie party but his body was in so much pain.

I wheeled him down to the dining room but I don’t think he was going to eat or at least not much. He will feel better after he goes, shall we say number 2? Now if the cookies were borrowed or dumped or eaten or given a way and he is still ill tomorrow, I will investigate further on his health. I am pretty sure that the reason Al felt sick and could not go out is too many cookies.

I imagine he ate them between you and me, but I can’t brow beat him when I have no proof. After all look at all his other things that have been five finger lifted since he has been there.

I will be so glad to get him out of there. The depression does affect his ability to remain strong. Seeing and socializing through day care will do him wonders, if I can just get his room and mine done.

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