Update on Grandma

I have some good news on my Grandma.  She's got a new aide and she's one of my older friends, Alex.  My Mom says that Alex is really good with her, and I'm glad.  Alex is the kind of person who would find my Grandma's antics and attitude more funny than awful, and I suspect that no matter what happens now, Alex will understand intimately what my family has been going through. 
My Mom did need confuse Alex with Kris, another old friend.  Kris loved trees, and anytime she saw a tree she really liked (which was frequently) she would go up and hug it.  About ten years ago we were walking along the river on campus, and she was hugging nearly every tree we passed.  When I walk down that path, I think about her, remembering how excited she was for these trees. 

Christmas Miracle

We got a good call today.  One of the places where we were thinking of putting my Grandma after she gets out of the hospital called and said they would take her.  This is really good news because the other places we wanted to put her wouldn't take her and because the one other option has gotten her sick there before. 
The place comes with people to make sure my Grandma takes her medicine and people to help her with all the daily things that most people do on their own without incident.  And they have activities, which hopefully means she'll participate and make some friends.
I'm calling this our family's Christmas miracle, even though it's the day after Christmas. 

Christmas Eve

I did go out with my friends last night, but I had trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve's Eve.  I get up at eight every day, normally, and I think my brain is still trying to get me up at that time.  In addition to that, the neighbor's got this really awful dog.  My parents refer to these dogs as yippers, and I probably don't have to tell you what it is about this dog that was waking me up twice in the early morning. 
I shouldn't make excuses as to why I was so grumpy.  I was trying really hard not to be, but I get depressed at Christmas.  Without fail.  I can't remember a Christmas after my middle childhood that didn't get me sad somehow. 
I tried to get some things done, and then my Mom and sister wanted to go to the hospital to visit my Grandma.  I wanted to go too, so I came along. 
My Mom and sister decided they needed to go to a craft store, so I got dragged along.  While we were in the parking lot, I saw someone I went to school with years ago.  I don't think he saw me, thankfully.  I don't know what he's doing, and I luckily am not half the loser some of our fellow students have become, but I hate to rely on gloating.  Even if we could argue I deserve it. 
My Mom and sister spent a long time looking at frames and posters.  I think they originally went in just to exchange something and turned into a redecorating of the bathroom.  This happens a lot when they shop and I've learned over the year to keep myself entertained.  This time I wandered around a bit, focusing on candles.  Candles are one of those things I would use if someone else bought them for me.  I am loathe to spend the money myself.  I am even more loathe to spend my time sticking my nose in a bunch of dusty jars filled with colorful wax. 
I realized as they were checking out that it was 1:30 in the afternoon and I still hadn't had anything to eat.  I tried to remember my last meal.  Madison and I had split a basket of sweet potato fries at the bar last night.  That was it.  That was my last "meal."  I eyed the rootbeer-flavored candies.  They were appealing. 
We finally got to the hospital.  My Grandma was in the room, trying to sleep.  She was awake, but she refused to open her eyes, a normal tactic she likes to use.  We tried to get her to at least talk to us.
A few weeks ago, Faith had given me one of those headbands with reindeer ears on it.  I wore it at a Christmas party, and now I put it on in the hospital.  Even though my mood was souring, I was trying not to get upset. 
When my Grandma finally opened her eyes for more than a minute, she said "What the hell is that on your head?"
That's what she's like.  On a good day. 
She then decided she didn't want to open her eyes.  Then she was moaning for us to give her water to drink.  She's recently taken to ordering us to give her water, even though she can get it herself.  She also started ordering me around to wipe her face.  We're trying to get her out of the hospital and she won't do anything to help herself, since they try to determine if she can take of herself to place her in the appropriate kind of home. 
I went to the cafeteria to try to find something to eat.  I wandered around and saw nothing I wanted.  I have had so much sugar lately just the thought made me sick. 
I went back to my Grandma's room.  They were trying again to wake her.  She wasn't cooperating.  I suggested maybe splashing a little water in her face, which my Mom did.  My sister and I tickled her toes.  This mostly didn't work. 
She has a tv in her room, and I started looking around.  I found Criminal Minds, and this cheered me up disproportionately.  I squealed.  The sound wasn't that loud, but it scared my Grandma enough that she kept her eyes open for five minutes. 

I have recently taking to calling my love, Matthew Gray Gubler, the hottness.  Obviously if you've seen him, you don't need me to explain why I call him this.  My parents have started teasing me, because they think it's ridiculous. 
I tried to watch my show.  Nate texted me, saying Merry Christmas.  I was a little surprised, since Nate is Jewish, but I considered that maybe his family did secular Christmas celebrations.  We chatted a little via text messaging.  He said that his family was having tacos for dinner, which made me laugh and made me realize they really weren't doing anything special.  (Which is fine, because really, they don't have to.) 
Because Nate is part of a particular group of friends, I started thinking about those people.  I really wished I was celebrating Christmas with one (or more) of them instead of being stuck in this hospital, trying to bring Christmas cheer to my Grandma who not only was rudely ignoring us but not even trying to take care of herself enough to get out of the hospital. 
I texted Paul.  I almost called Paul to tell him that I missed him and explain this recent episode of my life.  He puts up with a lot from me. 
But I hesitated to call.  Paul's got family too, probably lucky enough to have the unselfish kind, and interrupting their Christmas celebrations is unfair.  I texted him "Merry Christmas."  Maybe if I was lucky he'd call me?  If not it meant he was probably busy. 
In the meantime, my family was in and out of the room, taking care of things for my Grandma.  I was left in there to watch her.  A nurse came in and started measuring her vitals.  My Grandma opened her eyes long enough to insult the woman's hair, which was tied back in a ponytail with a headband.  It looked absolutely fine, but my Grandma does this all the time, and this is part of the reason we have a hard time getting her help: no one wants to do something extra for an old woman who showers abuse on people.  I berated her for saying that. 
Then someone else came in to change her diaper and she peed all over the bed while all the sheets were gone. 

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

I went to see my Grandma.  She seems relatively okay.  We basically hung out and watched some tv.  She's not suppose to do much else without supervision from nurses.  (She does a little reading, but it's of those soap opera magazines.  I bought her two of them and gave them to her.) 

We watched the beginning of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, one of the early Basil Rathbone depictions of the famed detective.  I wasn't sure if she would like it, but she does like old movies in general so I thought I would put it on. 
I couldn't help but compare this older movie with the latest one that came out recently, titled Sherlock Holmes.  The thing that struck me was that Professor Moriarty was such a big part of this movie.  In Sherlock Holmes, he was a unseen, evil presence.  I think I like Moriarty better in the new movie because he doesn't seem so farcical.  It's hard to imagine that Holmes even found Moriarty to be much of a challenge in this older film, he just seems like an ordinary man who's a little OCD about his plants. 

The Next Place

We tried another place for my Grandma, just because it seemed silly not to consider several options.  We walked into a place where there was a little alcove and a bunch of small cafe tables.  We signed in.  As we walked past, I noticed they had a drink dispenser just like the one the had at the caf at school.  I suddenly felt oddly homesick.  I missed school.  It was an odd thing to remind me of school, I guess, but it did.
We walked down long hallways decorated with green and yellow carpets.  Again, there was a lot of fancy decorating that reminded me of old homes.  We went through a large room that had a cross on the wall.
We came to a receptionist and asked for a tour.  She asked us to fill out a form.  My Mom started, then she was getting a call of her cell phone. 
One of the things I find that I hate about hanging with my Mom is that she is always getting calls from people.  Sometimes they are work related, but their mostly just women who call every day just to talk.  Sometimes I'd like to remind people that my Mom is very busy, and doesn't really have time to just talk.  My Mom passed me the clipboard, and I began to write other things out. 
When it came to my Grandma's conditions, my mind went blank.  I knew what was wrong with her, I could explain it, and yet the names of the conditions were just at the tip of my brain.  I knew that was a sign that I was tired.  I tried to fill it out as best as I could.
When my Mom got off the phone, she looked at my work.  "I wouldn't draw attention to this," she said.  Then she softened.  "But otherwise good job."  I wasn't really interested in what she had to say about it, one way or another.
The Program Director came to see us.  She was young, looking not that much older than me (which made me wonder).  She had long dark brown hair and freckles.  She was wearing a purple blouse with a big chunky necklace.  She took us around.
She reminded us, almost immediately, that they were a Catholic community.  They had mass once a week, as well as rosary once a month and other activities.
She took us into a room to see.  She showed us the bed, that a tv already came with the room.  She asked if my Grandma was on oxygen.  Usually she wasn't, but then my Mom mentioned she might be.
My heart fell a little.  No one had mentioned she was going to go on oxygen, though it made sense.  She had trouble moving, was tired all the time, and was having respiratory problems.  Oxygen made a lot of sense, though I find myself more worried the less she can do for herself.  The director showed us how the room was set up to conceal her oxygen tank in a wall fixture.
Every room was private, and every room came with a full bathroom.  That scared me a little.  My Grandma shouldn't be showering on her own, and she's lazy enough that she doesn't try, but I could see a resident who lacked that to try and shower on their own and then slip and fall. 
The director explained that my Grandma's drugs would generally be in her room, because they didn't like pushing a cart around like in a hospital. 
"Is there anyone on call at night?" my Mom asked. 
"I don't know," she answered.
That didn't sound so good to me either. 

Sold

My Mom and I were running errands. 
First, I got to see a new dermatologist about my acne.  My Mother is very particular about what I look like.  I was having a really bad day, acne-wise.  The dermatologist looked me over, suggested I try one thing and told me to keep using something I already was and then left. 
After we got done there, we began our search for places for my Grandma's rehab.  She has to go, again, it turns out, after getting out of rehab less than three months ago.  Since the last place didn't really do her much good (as she's going back again), we decided to look around at other places. 
The first place looked a little like a dentist office from the outside.  Windows with curtains drawn, simple brick side.  We went inside and requested a tour.
A woman in her early thirties showed us around.  She walked us first through the long-term care, which was were my Grandma wasn't going to go since she would hopefully only be there for a few weeks.  The walls were decorated with fancy wallpaper that made me think of fancy old homes.  The long term ward was decorated in an off-white wallpaper, but the floor my Grandma would be on, one for short-term stays, would be green.
The woman showed us in a sample room.  One old woman was laying down in a bed.  She looked like she was just about to fall asleep.  The set up of the room was two people per room, with a curtain to draw if you wanted a little privacy.
"What about a tv?" my Mom asked.
"We provide that if you pay 3.50." 
"And internet?"
"Sorry, we don't have any access to that here." 
I could tell that my Mom was trying to piece together a way for her to be with my Grandma a lot without completely forgetting her work.  A lot of the paperwork my Mom does is online, which is what she does when she spend days and days over at my Grandma's place.  She's there to watch her in case something happens, but she has a job to do too.  Without internet access, it was going to be hard for her to stay as long.  It also meant I and my sister might have to pick up the slack, which is fine. 
The woman also showed us the rehab rooms.  There were all the usual things that I had come to expect there, like stairs to practice walking on, and a fake kitchen for occupational therapy, and those big bouncy balls, and bikes and fake beds to practice getting in and out of.  There were therapists and patients milling about.  The walls were all painted pale yellow and green, and there were words of encouragement on the walls.  There was a table on the side with lemonade on it, and I wanted to try some myself, just because I hadn't had anything to eat in so long. 
The woman showed us a conference room, and said that every patient had a weekly conference with the doctors, nurses, therapists and family members. 
"Sold," I thought.  This was one of the many things that had made my Mom so mad about the last time my Grandma was in therapy.  Inside, one of these conferences looked like it was going on right now.  The woman led us away, back to the front offices. 

Priority Number One

My Mom is out of town.  This of course means that my Grandma got so sick we had to put her in the hospital. 
I got a call from my Mom asking that my sister and I go to see her.  My sister decided that she didn't want to go because she wanted to go see her boyfriend.  She took the car.  On the phone, I snapped at my Mom, yelling "I already told you!  I can't go!"  I was about to yell more things when she hung up on me.  Then I was even more angry because my Mom hung up on me. 
It made me so angry to see my sister, in her usual scrubs, watching tv.  That's all she does when she's at home, other than the occasional homework.  She's taking what she calls an easy summer class, and she can't be bothered to see her Grandma in the hospital because she needs to see her boyfriend.  Not work on her homework.  Her boyfriend.  Priority number one. 
There are a lot of reasons this upsets me.  First off, my sister has not been to see my Grandma the entire five days or so she's been in the hospital, but I've been in several times.  Secondly, she decided the boyfriend was more important.  And lastly, she'll probably get away with it.
Sometimes I suspect my sister is given more leeway because of this boyfriend.  When we're on trips, she always gets to talk on the phone for him to hours.  I don't.  I don't have a long term boyfriend, and I don't usually tell my Mom about my trysts because I don't consider them her business (also, because they immediately become the gossip of everyone who comes into our house for the next six months).  My sister is allowed to bring him to family events, is allowed to hang out with him instead of doing stuff like helping with my Grandma.  My family holds this hetero-centric, monogamy-centric ideal so high that it allows my sister to take advantage of it.  It gets me angry sometimes.  Like now, when it's my Grandma's birthday, and I can't see her because my sister has the car to visit her boyfriend and I'm stranded alone at home.
After my sister left, I went outside for a little, trying to work off my anger.  It didn't really work.  All I could think of is how selfish she is and how nobody seems to notice and how she takes advantage of this.
When she got home, my Mom made another upset call, this time to my Dad (who had finally come home) about moving my Grandma out of the hospital.  At that point, it looked like my Grandma was going to be released the next day.  She was apparently going to need some help getting home and then someone was going to have to stay with her for the night.  I volunteered to help with both, though a second person would be needed to help with the moving her back to her apartment.  When my Dad asked her about it, she said, sitting there, in front of the tv, again, that she was going to the park the next day and wouldn't help. 
"Well, I can't do it," my Dad said.  "I'm working." 
My sister just repeated that she wouldn't do it.
Watching her, again, in terrible clothes, watching tv after coming home from seeing her boyfriend for five hours, too lazy to take harder classes, too lazy to do something with her life other than an occupation that she doesn't really care for and that is easier than others, too lazy to contribute all week when she's been asked to do so, made my blood boil.  I wanted to punch her. 
"Well, than we'll take care of it," I said, meaning my Father and I.  Because apparently she wouldn't.  I started walking out of the room.  This conversation wasn't going anywhere. 
My sister said something nasty in reply, but I was so angry, I can't remember what it was.

Dinner at Jimmy's

I stood in Jimmy's room, trying to ignore all the signs of life that I would normally find interesting.  I was on the phone with my Dad.
"Can I come home a little later?" I asked.  I figured the answer would be no, because my Grandma was in the hospital, again.  And to some degree, rightly so.
"Why?"
"I got invited to a brunch with some friends."
"Okay."
I was relieved.  I wanted to squeeze out every last drop of goodness from this trip, especially since it looked like I wouldn't be coming home to anything good.  I had a bunch of business to attend to immediately coming home. 
This trip ended up being far more stressful than I thought it would be, mostly because the problems that I had last semester (my Grandma being sick, friends needing support, my various boy problems) all flared up again.  Mostly, it made me think that for all my trying to move on, nothing has really changed yet.  It's been a disappointment, to be honest.  I steeled myself to go back out to everyone.
Luckily, no one asked what the phone call was about.  Maybe, given what they know about me, they could have already guessed. 
Paul was working on shredding cheese for our meal.  Jimmy was cutting up onions.  There was nothing for me to do (though I offered to pay for my bit of the meal), so I watched.
"That's some great cutting," I told Jimmy.  It looked like the moves you see on one of those cooking programs. 
Jimmy didn't say anything, as usual.
"Jimmy won't take a compliment," I explained to Ben, who was sitting at Jimmy's computer in the living room area.  Ben laughed.  "I'm working on him."
Ben, meanwhile, was watching YouTube videos, everyone's favorite way to blow off time.  He told us he really liked Old Spice commercials, which sort of baffles me, because there's something gross and sleazy about so many of them.  We found one featuring everyone's favorite child star, Neil Patrick Harris.



Then Paul got on my political hero, Robert Byrd.  After looking awhile, we found what I consider his best speech, where he tells people he's older.  Ben watched it and said it was a really good speech.



Once Jimmy finished the dinner, we ate.  It was delicious.  Everyone fell silent as we ate.  Jimmy said that was a huge compliment in itself.  I'd be happy to have Jimmy cook for me all the time. 

Ben, it turns out, is a fan of Doctor Who.  Perhaps someone tipped him off to my love about it, because we got talking about it.  He was telling me he had just watched "The Lodger."
"That's the episode right before the two episode season finale."  Don't be surprised by this recall of mine.  I often am the one correcting people's knowledge of the show.
They were apparently showing that first episode of the finale, which I told him was good.  He was all baffled by my geekiness.  Get used to it, I thought.
We then started on the dishes.

Update on Grandma

Went to see my Grandma.  She seems to be doing alright.  She's more confused than she's been in the past.  I left her for about an hour while she was eating lunch and when I came back, she forgot that I had been there. 
For a while she also had this scary mark on her arm.  It looked like someone had tried to give her a shot and did such a bad job that it was a major black bruise.  It seems to have mostly healed up.
But now she has some new open wound.  My Mom put a huge bandage over it.  When one problem stops, another appears.  
Her leg is also bothering her, making her even more reluctant to walk for us.  We had a physical therapist working with her for six weeks, and she didn't once mention anything wrong with it.  Some physical therapist. 

Souring

On the way home this afternoon from visiting my Grandma, my Mom carried on and on about her busy week and how I need to help her.  I don't know why, but I'm already bored to tears listening about her plans for this week, and it's only Tuesday.  I just wanted to listen to some dance music and think.  Maybe it was my strange dream last night, but I guess I've been irritable and less than patient with everyone today.
Maybe everyone else around me sensed my bad mood, because I've been left alone for the last few hours as I work on some writing and blogging like this.

The Doctor's Again

In keeping with his recent theme of telling me what to do, my father felt the need to get me up today. I had gotten up early and gone out for a walk with Jennifer, and then went back to bed. I was planning on going down to see my Grandma and take her to the doctor's. I was annoyed that my father felt the need to wake me up because I know what the plan was and was going to get myself up. Also, I set my alarm, because, you know, I planned ahead.
When we got to see my Grandma, he was a pain in the ass. We found her outside her room, working at her beloved puzzle. We had to make sure she went to the bathroom and change her clothing and then get her into the car and then drive to the Doctor's office. With a normal person, this would be easy, but my Grandma is stubborn, can't move well, is slow, and needs lots of help. Because she wasn't in her room and takes ten minutes to waddle to what for most people would be a two minute trip, I was trying to be conscientious of time and not waste any of it. I asked my Dad to walk back to the room and get something.
"Don't tell me what to do," he said.
I almost burst at him right there. I'm so sick of listening to him, I'm so sick of hearing him. Every time I do anything in front of him, he takes it as an opportunity to tell me what to do. And not in a helpful way. In a patronizing, annoying, nosy, rude way. I'm so sick of listening to him. I'm so sick of him being completely unhelpful and then having the gall to make it about me telling him what to to do. He hasn't done anything to help Grandma since she came back from rehab, and he was more concerned with whether or not he was going to go get something a two minute walk away to conserve time and prevent an old lady from getting winded. God. I can't believe him.
I texted my Mom, telling her that how much I hated dealing with her "asshole husband."
Luckily, he made himself scarce. That's what he does when he doesn't want to do something at home: he disappears. He figures someone else will do it, and sadly, that's often the case. So I did everything myself.
My Grandma was being particularly stubborn. She weighs at least twice what I do, so I can't make her do things. She first gave me a hard time about the bathroom. Then about going to the doctor, whining the entire time about it. Then she wouldn't change into proper clothes.
Finally we got her ready. And then we drove to the Doctor's.
My Grandma has this thing where she will look at things as we drive past and make the same couple of comments. Usually, she notes how small the windows on people's houses are and how big the trees are.
For some reason, my father decided to talk to her about where we were going, asking her if she knew the way. Friday, she didn't even recognize her own daughter, so this was a stupid, and, as far as he was concerned, a rhetoric question. My Grandma always said she didn't know where we were going, as she always answers. After my father said something about it the third time, I was really annoyed about it, because it seems like a vicious way of causing her undue stress. She gets upset when these things happen. If it's necessary to ask her a question like that, sure. But if you already (apparently) know the answer and continue to badger her, then you're just being a jerk.
I'm so embarrassed by what a terrible human being my father is.