Nurse : “I thought you’d like to know, the bear’s t-shirt is missing because I washed it. It’s hanging on the radiator next to Granny’s bed.”
T42 : “Ah thank you. I’ve washed the pink dog and put it in her bedside cabinet. If you could swap them by the weekend, I’ll take the bear home and wash it. If you can do it overnight hopefully she won’t notice.”
Granny : “No, she never pays attention to anything. She won’t notice.”
Nurse goes off to have giggles fit.
She’s doing well… she called me Granny, Daddy, Mummy and Uncle. We had an argument about whether her ‘Daddy’ was male or female.
We also had a wonderfully playful bickering session about tickling. My argument being that if she tickles me, I’m entitled to tickle her back…
We’re sat in the day room at the orthopaedic rehab place. She’s been talking bollocks for the last ten minutes…
“They’re a weird lot here” she announces, clear as a bell. Several nurses turn around, some amused, some concerned.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she says, pointing at the piano, “there’s a one-a, one-a, two-a, four-a, three-a, two-a. And a six-a, six-a, six-a, six-a, two-a, three. And a forty, forty, forty, forty, two-a, two-a, two-a, one. And that one’s GREEN.”
Yes. Thanks for that wonderful input. Another recent one…
“A ringer, ringer, ringer, dinger, singer, singer, binger, dinger, singer, winger, dinger, dinger, dinger, dinger, binger, singer, finger, binger… BEV!”
“What’s wrong granny?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to say something different…”
Xmas is finally on its way.
I’ve bought pressies for everyone (except Pop) and got things at least partly wrapped. GB’s pressie is wrapped and (according to my grandfather) looks like I’ve gift wrapped a roll of carpet.
The Altzheimer’s society has finally remembered who I am. Unfortunately they’ve sold all their xmas cards in the mean time, so they sent me a cheque as a refund. In an act of pure comedy genius, they forgot to put a stamp on the envelope…
Something just occurred to me.
My father’s death didn’t effect me. It really didn’t. I mirrored other people’s emotions a little, feeling shitty because they did, but I felt very little myself.
The reasons for this are many and varied, but there were two important factors…
Firstly, he and I hadn’t been getting on for some time. A little while before he died I discovered he’d written a will that stated that I’d only get some of his worldly wealth if he and I were on good terms when he died. I believe I reacted to this news by sending him a text saying he could stick his will up his arse. You can imagine how well that went down.
Secondly – he died in France. He pissed off without telling me, spent a week away without me noticing, and basically never came back. I never saw his body. I never saw him going down hill – I just never saw him again. It’s a common enough experience in my life that it doesn’t jar. People I consider close friends (like Scott or Stacy) I just simply don’t speak to for months or years at a time. I’m asocial. I just don’t do interaction. I’m happy when I get into a social situation, but I don’t go looking for it.
Now, remember those two factors. And then look at Granny and Pop. A couple who were the parents I didn’t have. The two I love with all my heart, and I see them both on a regular basis. I watch them failing and falling apart.
I fed granny last night. I had to do the “big aeroplane” thing to get spoonfuls of banana and icecream into her mouth. When I arrived she had her ‘sippy cup’ twisted round by 180 degrees, so that when she tipped it up to get the mouthpiece in her mouth the tea poured out of the vent. They look after her there, but they quite simply can’t do 1 on 1 care there.
Life has been getting interesting recently.
Granny is in hospital after she broke her hip. Every time they put her in a chair for her meals she stands up then falls over. She’s now (I believe) as medically fit as they can get her, but she has to stay there until a rehab position appears for her. This could be 15 minutes from here. It could also be over an hour away.
The problem with rehab is that it need her to behave, to do as the physios tell her and to exercise. She doesn’t do any of these. She spends her time rubbing her wounds and calling out for her mummy, daddy, uncle or baby. When I saw her yesterday she didn’t know who I or TPS were.
Pop has finally started showing signs of his illness. 18 months after he was told he had 3 months to live, he’s started turning yellow. It looks like his pancreas is finally giving in. Equally it could just be that a narrowing had got clogged by slow moving, and the bloody minded git will last another 10 years.
Worryingly, he’s visibly deteriorating since Granny has gone into hospital. It’s quite possible that his bloody mindedness has been there to look after Granny. For the first time ever he told me he thinks she’ll be able to survivie in a hospital without him. That’s not good.
So… I have a funny feeling that within 6 months the family may be down to just me and TPS…