Notes lose some data.
List HLK phase data of heart, liver and kidney has a lot of historical data.
Even though he has lost coherence, my father is still trying to confirm that he has lost his ability to repair some data repeatedly when writing this memo and other memos later in the same year. I am surprised to find that he still maintains the thinking mode of a clinician and organizes his thoughts as a doctor who has been practicing medicine for many years.
Lucinda gave me another memo, which once again deepened our impression. Although he knew that he was a patient, his father did not stop looking at his situation from the doctor’s point of view.
Despite all kinds of obstacles, I am still trying to perform my duties to help the local people. In other words, I have nothing to do but continue to observe and test. I wonder if other institutions are doing the same thing. I think he means whether Massachusetts General Hospital is doing the same thing. Today, I will try to make sure again.
Father regards the sanatorium as a hospital where he should do his duty, and it is not the first time that he has said this. He has written many symbols and instructions to test BP blood pressure accurately. P The patient is sitting very quietly at the moment and has no pain, so he can give advice on whether to relieve the uncertainty.
In other brief notes, my father seems to record the discomfort that sanatorium patients often feel disappointed from noon to dusk in a very subtle way.
I think in a memo at the end of January, my father wrote that we feel more sensitive in the afternoon than at this moment, and we have referred to several samples separately.
My father was 93 years old on August th, 1999. Although my mother has tried her best to visit him in the past three years, this time she felt uncomfortable driving here. Lucinda has been working in other nursing homes at night, and she happened to be here because of business, so Sylvia planned to celebrate her father’s birthday with me, but I also brought a naughty boy.
Sylvia brought a chocolate cake with lemon frosting that said Happy Birthday to Harry. The blackberry in the back garden is ripe. I picked two small boxes and took them to the birthday party.
Naughty was certainly more excited when the cake was taken to the box, so Sylvia picked up the first cake in the paper tray and put it on the floor. Father got the second cake, and his appetite was as good as ever. When he finished the third piece, I brought the blackberry to him, and he held one in his finger and looked at it admiringly for a while before putting it into his mouth.
Delicious, he said, reaching for it, and then he probably ate more than a dozen.
Those blackberries are ripe, shiny, full, tender and juicy, and most of them are very delicious. Scampy is also looking for blackberries to eat in the garden bushes. At this moment, he suddenly becomes alert and sits in front of his father, staring at him unblinkingly, making a series of louder and louder grunts as usual, even though he knows he won’t turn a blind eye, and then he gently woos.
He picked one of the biggest blackberries and held it in front of it. It immediately swallowed it and stared at him. It seemed that he wanted more, so he teased him to hold the other blackberry just to his nose. When it stuck out its tongue and came together, he raised it a little higher, so that it could climb to his body. His father was moved to put the blackberry into his mouth.
As usual, Sylvia or Alejandro’s father must be well shaved and dressed. Sylvia usually dresses him in loose denim pants or corduroy pants with a dark blue shirt and a handsome tie. Finally, she chooses one of his good coats. When the weather is cold, she will choose a slightly old but still beautiful tweed coat, some of which have leather elbow pads. In summer, she often chooses that light blue crepe striped thin coat.
Blackberry juice dripped down his father’s lips. Sylvia quickly found a napkin to wipe off his shirt stained by the juice. Then he leaned back in the sofa comfortably, and Scampy curled up on the carpet at his feet.
It was a warm night, crickets were singing, and my father looked around and seemed very satisfied with everything.
Of course, every night is not equally quiet, and some potential worries will invade his calm mind. He will worry about my mother inexplicably. One day in the early autumn of that year, he suddenly looked up at me and asked if your mother was really sleeping in the gutter.
No, I said she was sleeping in her own bed.
Where does she live? He asked.
I replied in the old apartment.
Is she okay?
she’s fine
I’m glad to hear that, my father said
A few days later, he spent a long time trying to repeat that I said a certain word but it could pronounce a similar sound.
I asked him if you would be angry if he couldn’t find the word he wanted to say.
Of course, he said
It’s like something is playing a trick on you.
Yes, he replied
He stretched out a hand and drew a semicircle in the middle.
It’s like then he stammered, but finally he tried to think of a statement, like a cycle of things.
I know this sentence never stops expressing his thoughts.
Is that a word?
No, it’s not
That’s a sphere.
He raise his hand and pointed a fin as if my horse were about to guess that answer.
hemisphere
Yes, he said
But the letter disappeared quickly, and I’m not sure if I really guessed the word. When talking about brain function, he often noticed that the word was either hemisphere or lobe.
From then on, I found that my father occasionally talked about self-expression, and the first person knew that he should have used the singular word, knowing that the word was not you, but he finally chose the word.
He misses you very much, and he may say this to me when I go to see him after a long time.
Once when answering a question, he said that he couldn’t seem to remember.