Back To The Hospital...Again

 

That tweet was only partially tongue-in-cheek.I made it shortly after finding out that my grandmother had been rushed to the hospital. She tripped and fell late Sunday night and her eye was swollen shut. The docs weren't sure exactly what was going on and ran a bunch of tests.

My mother called me early Monday morning to fill me in. She told me that the doctors had provided several different options for how to treat grandma. Sometimes conversations about medical issues are simple. You operate because the patient will die if you don't or you don't operate because the risk is too high.

You'll forgive me for not providing all of the details here. It is not really important for you to know and unless you are a medical expert the details won't make this any more or less interesting. And now back to our story.

Anyhoo, the docs presented my mother with several different options to choose from and reminded her that though they didn't want to pressure her time was of the essence. And so I found myself doing some basic research on surgeons and the procedures we were discussing.

A short time later I called my mother at the hospital and asked how grandma was doing. I knew from my mother's voice that things weren't great. She didn't try to hide it. If you read The Long Goodbye you are aware that dementia is beginning to steal my grandmother. It is not easy for me to see and it certainly isn't easy for my mother.

Until relatively recently grandma had been blessed with excellent health. She was very active physically and mentally so it is really shocking to see the changes. All I have to do is read Passing The Baton- Grandma is 94
and I can't help but shake my head in disbelief.

"Macular degeneration has taken her eyesight and her short term memory is a little rough, but overall she is in really good shape. She told me that she thinks that her age has finally caught up to her. That may or may not be true, but she still exudes quiet strength and she still is among the happiest people I have ever known. If you ask her why she'll laugh and tell you that life is hard and that is why you have to smile. If you press her to provide a less cryptic answer she will, but that is a story for a different day."

That is how I think of my grandmother. She tells you that age has caught up and still has more energy than most people, at least she did. That is just not reality anymore.

My children don't know her like that. They see a different woman than I know. It is life and that is ok, but it makes me a bit sad. I'd write more but it is late so I am going to cut this off here. But before I go I want to share one more excerpt from the post about grandma's 94th birthday.

"When I dropped them off at their home I had to take a moment. They both hugged and kissed me goodbye, and then without any further ado they held hands and walked off towards the entrance. When I tried to follow them in my grandfather stuck his cane out and told me not to interrupt his time with his special girl and with a twinkle in his eye told me to tell the office that they wouldn't make it to dinner tonight."

In a few minutes I'll go to sleep in my own bed while some miles away my grandmother lies in a hospital bed. Tomorrow I'll go back and visit her again and hope that she recognizes me. If she doesn't that is ok, I am a big boy, but I'd be lying if I said that I don't wonder...

The Long Goodbye

My grandmother is dying. She is pushing 96 and has led a very good life. Last August we were privileged to watch her and my grandfather celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary. I watched them dance together one more time and smiled. When they kissed my daughter groaned and asked if all grown ups have to kiss.

While my daughter groaned I smiled and wondered about their good fortune. They have known each other since they were 11, started dating some time after that. Eighty-five years later they are still together, except something is beginning to tear them apart.

You see, my grandmother is suffering from dementia. I hate typing that because it does a disservice to her. It makes her sound less than who she was and in most ways still is. A very intelligent and exceptionally strong woman.

But the intelligent and strong woman is losing bits and pieces of her memory. Chunks of time are just gone without explanation or a formal goodbye. Alongside of the memory loss is a muddying of the waters of time, confusion about where she is and what is going on.

Yesterday she asked my grandfather if he thought that they should get married. Later she told him that she needed to go grocery shopping because her parents and his were coming for dinner. 2010 turned into 1934 into 1956, 1987 and then back to 2010.

My grandfather is beside himself. She is the great love of his life. Several years ago he told me that one of the hardest things to accept about getting old was knowing that he couldn't just pick her up and carry her out the door anymore.

I asked him why he needed to carry her. He told me that it wasn't something that he expected to do, but he was worried that if something happened to her he wouldn't be able to give her the care that she needed.

But this memory loss and confusion is harder on him than that. He fears that one day she won't know who he is anymore and that she'll be lost while she is still here.

He tells me again that in spite of her white hair he still sees the girl he fell in love with. Ensconced in his recliner he holds onto my arm and tells me story after story. I know most of them, but not all. And even though I know some I like hearing them.

With a sly grin he tells me that he never doubted that he would marry grandma, but when you are twenty years old and in love with a good girl getting married sooner than later sounds like a good idea. I smile again, and realize that my grandfather just gave me background about his sex life. Not so sure that I want to hear that, but ok.

Some days grandma is really there and some days less so. I don't tell him that if she forgets who I am I will be upset. I'll be understanding of it, how can I not be. But after 40 years of having grandparents it is hard to accept that one day I won't have any, let alone that one might not know me.

My mother quizzes me about my visits. She understands the situation and recognizes the future, but we never want to say goodbye to our parents. It doesn't matter how old you are, it is nice to have them around.

Goodbyes are hard. I have never liked them. I rarely say it to those I care most about. It is easier to say "see you later." Don't know how much longer we'll have with my grandparents.I hope that it is for quite some time.

I am doing my best to take it all day-by-day, but it is hard not to feel like this is a long goodbye.

75 Years of Marriage- A Life Time of Love

My grandparents are celebrating their 75th Wedding anniversary today. In honor of the occasion I sent out a press release. Here is a copy of it, and yes, the names have been changed.

During an age in which almost half of every marriage ends in divorce there are still people who possess the secret to a life time of love.

On July 27th Daniel and Anne Simpson will celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary. The Simpsons are childhood sweethearts who met at age 11 and now at 95 years old are celebrating a milestone that few couples are capable of matching.

There is a long list of changes that have taken place during their lifetime. They have lived to see 17 different presidents, witnessed two world wars, multiple regional conflicts, the Great Depression, Watergate, the rise and fall of the Soviet Union, the collapse of The Ottoman Empire, the Civil Rights movement and much more.

They witnessed the rise of the automobile, space travel and the moon landing, proliferation of personal computers and cell phones.

It really isn’t an exaggeration to say that the world has undergone tremendous change during their lives, but in spite of it all they managed to raise a family.

When asked to explain the secret to their long lasting marriage and enduring love Mr. Simpson responded that it came down to many things, but the most important component was the ability to compromise.

"People say that marriage takes work and it does, but Daniel never made it feel like work. He was always involved in so many things," explained Anne.

Involved is a good way to describe a man who interviewed Al Capone and hid in a closet so that he could meet Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

"When times were hard we helped keep each other going, Anne deserves a lot of credit for helping to give me the strength to keep going when it was rough. But we have far more good memories than bad," said Daniel.

P.S. Since one day my children will read this blog I am trying to organize posts so that they can follow along. Click on the grandparents link and that will take you to many other posts in which I discussed my grandparents. Or you can sift through the following:

The Bearer of Bad Tidings- One Less Set of Footsteps
Pictures, Videos and Memories
My Grandfather Laid Tefillin
The Challenge of Aging
The World's Fastest 95 Year-Old Man
Passing The Baton- Grandma is 94
Not Quite Goodbye- And Some other Thoughts
And Then He Died
I Talk In My Sleep

And Then He Died

Three years ago I stood in the emergency room of the hospital and listened to the doc explain that my grandfather had died. And then I went to the room in which his body lay and say with him. I wrote about that moment in The Bearer of Bad Tidings- One Less Set of Footsteps.

Two thoughts come to mind about that post. I can't read it without choking up a little. It is raw and it captured the moment so well that three years later I still feel it. But I was and still am very appreciative of the comments. It was one of those moments where I knew without a doubt that the blogosphere is a real community.

It is hard to believe that three years have gone by, especially when I think about all that has happened. Some of the hardest and most challenging moments of my life lie before me and I sorely miss his advice and support. I would have liked to have been able to discuss some of this with him.

He would have listened and shared some thoughts. Chances are he would have told me a story or two. I never got tired of them. Grandpa was a very fine storyteller. He did an excellent job of painting a picture that you could see.

In my mind's eye I have a million images of the Chicago of his youth and the things that he did. It is not hard to imagine what life in the carnival business was like, winters in New Orleans or the things that he did in the army.

He would have taken so much pleasure from his great-grandchildren. It makes me a little sad that the dark haired beauty has completely forgotten him. Sure, she knows his name and recognizes his picture, but she doesn't remember him. She doesn't remember how he came to the hospital the day she was born and held her or how he told me that it was ok to make sure that her boyfriends were afraid of me.

So many good memories and so many stories to tell. He took me to my first Dodger game. Taught me how to throw a punch and told me that if I hit someone to make sure that I was ready to take what came afterwards.

When I was learning how to drive he took me out, had me drive back and forth through Laurel Canyon and around Farmer's Market. There were movies and lunches and so much more.

One of my favorite memories comes from my sister's wedding. I wrote about it in a post, but I can't remember exactly where. I really should find it because it is a great story and it deserves to be told properly.

A handful of years later I find myself visiting my grandfather at the hospital. We're exchanging stories and he is filling me in on his health. He tells me that if he had known that he was going to live so long he would have taken better care of himself. I tell him that I am sure that he is going to be around another twenty years.

He shakes his head and tells me no. He is serious and he looks me in the eye and says that he knows that the finish line can't be that far away. Tells me that he is going to fight for every breath and that if there is a such a thing as the angel of death, he is going to kick the crap out of him.

I laugh and ask him how. He smiles and tells me that he'll punch him in the nose and that when the tears well up in the angel's eyes he'll slip out the door. We both laugh at this and then we are silent.

A few minutes later he closes his eyes to go to sleep and I look around the room. Beeps and whistles and the whirring noises of various machines are all that I can hear. I move closer and am comforted to hear him breathing peacefully.

Not so long afterwards I am alone in a hospital room with him. This time there is no peaceful breathing, no snoring. Although his hands are still warm I know that in a short time they won't be any longer.

For a moment I stare at his body and inside my head I can hear someone say, "and then he died."

You might also be interested in these posts:

Pictures, Videos and Memories
My Grandfather Laid Tefillin
The Challenge of Aging
The World's Fastest 95 Year-Old Man
Passing The Baton- Grandma is 94
Not Quite Goodbye- And Some other Thoughts

I Talk In My Sleep

A bit after midnight I heard noises coming from my son's room and wandered over to check things out. The door was closed, but I could hear him speaking. For a moment I stood still and listened.

Two thoughts were going through my mind:

1) What the hell is he doing up. He'll never be able to wake up for school.
2) If I find a stranger in there I am going to gouge his eyes and dislocate both of his shoulders.

And now a comment about comments that I will probably receive about this. Yes, I know that the gun is the great equalizer, but I also know that shooting someone is not going to be as satisfying as inflicting debilitating pain upon them with my hands. And believe me, if someone breaks into my home I am going to send them out of here in a wheelbarrow.

Raise your hand if you think that I am overprotective. Ok, put your hands down, you look really silly holding your hand up in the air. Besides I can't see you.

All I can tell you is that watching or reading the news late at night is not conducive to dreaming about pink bunnies and rainbows.

As I stood outside the big boy's door I broke into a huge smile. He was calling out for his friends and laughing. He talks in his sleep. That is ok, I do it too. If you ask my parents they'll tell you that I have for as long as they can remember.

To the best of my knowledge it is not something that happens every night. Some nights I entertain everyone with my impression of a chain saw. Most of the time I am told that I speak in fragments that do not necessarily make sense.

I have a very graphic imagination. Usually when I remember a dream the fragment that sticks with me is quite vivid. Sometimes I'll have the occasional nightmare and scream or yell in my sleep.

I understand that last night I punched the pillow and spent a solid two minutes swearing. I can't say that I remember exactly what it was about, but I suspect that I was trapped in cleveland.

My paternal grandfather had his own sleep peculiarities, but the one that sticks out is that sometimes he would fall asleep with his eyes open. As a child it used to crack me up. For a long time I used to wonder if he was trying to play a trick upon me. I used to wave my hands at him or grab various objects and swing them in his direction.

If he didn't respond I knew that he was ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ, especially if he was snoring. That was a really big clue.

But as he got older I have to admit that it began to make me worry a bit that he had died and wasn't really asleep. So I'd creep up to his chair and listen to his breathing and watch his chest rise.

I remember one time he called out to me and asked me to step in front of him so he could see me. As I stepped in front of the chair he gave me a quick wack in the side with his cane and said "I am not dead, stop bothering me."

And then with a soft giggle he went to sleep.

The Challenge of Aging

Just some crap that is circulating through the empty space between my ears. Had to move my grandparents again. They now live in a facility that provides more care. In many ways it has been great. They receive the attention they need and there is a lot less stress upon them and us.

But it is not easy to see them there. It is not quite skilled nursing, but it is not really living on your own. It is a place in between the two, and it is probably the last home they'll ever have.

It is selfish, but I miss their old apartment in Hollywood. I miss driving through Laurel Canyon to go see them. I miss looking at the houses in the hills, peering out to catch the ruins of Houdini's place.

I miss hiking up to the third floor, listening to the echoes of our steps. I miss swimming in their pool and walking down Fairfax to grab an ice cream cone. I miss going down the street to Farmers Market.

I won't tell them, but this place will never be their home to me. When they left the apartment for Leisure Village in Camarillo I was a bit disappointed, but that place had a lot of charm. They had a little two bedroom house on a golf course. We'd head over early Sunday morning and enjoy brunch with them.

I'd take the kids outside and we'd wait for the wild hares to come bounding through. I'd pretend to be a wolf and chase them and the kids would roar with laughter. But eventually it got to be too hard. They were too far away for any of us to get to quickly and they just couldn't do it all on their own. So they moved to a place that was five minutes from my folks.

For a few years it worked out nicely, but as their bodies continued to break down they began to require more and more help. Eventually it became clear that they had to go somewhere that provided more support.

Overall their minds are still there. They may be a bit slow and some memories have faded, but they know what is going on.

My grandfather took me aside again and told me that he lived too long. Told me that he could handle outliving his money, but that not being able to take care of grandma was killing him. It is not the first time he has talked to me about this, but it is hard for both of us.

"Jack, I remember giving your grandmother piggy-back rides. She'd hop on my back and I'd just run."

"You see that old woman and I see the girl I kissed in high school."

He paused and looked away, or maybe I did. Either way it doesn't matter, we both needed a moment.

We shared the silence and I reached over and held his hand. He giggled and asked when my hands got to be so big. I smiled and reminded him that I have been bigger than him since the first Clinton administration. He is a political junkie so he appreciated the remark.

As we sat there I mulled it all over, just took it all in. He gave me some advice about this and that and told me to remember that I have years to accomplish my dreams. Reminded me that he wasn't saying to relax and not try to make them happen now, but to relax and understand that if I work I can make them happen.

And now for a side confession. Throughout my life I have been gifted with physical strength. Those who believe in astrology will say it is because I am a Taurus. I'll say that is good genes and a few hours a day carrying my desk around with me.

The point is that when grandpa said that you don't understand how hard it is when you realize you can't pick your girl up anymore it stuck with me. I can't conceive of that. I just can't conceive of a time when I am so weak that I can't muscle my way through things.

I am not foolish enough to believe that I can outrun the clock forever, but does time have to take everything away. The next time I put together a list of things I am afraid of I can add that to the list.

Isn't it nice to know that the fragile male ego is so helpful.

Anyway, it wasn't easy to see them in there. I am very thankful that at 39 I still have two grandparents. It is my good fortune, it really is. But I'd be lying if I said that the new joint didn't give me a few heebie jeebies.

Speaking of that, the big boy wants to know how you get heebie jeebies. I told him that you can find them at a special store called "The Willies." Guess where he wants me to take him.

Ain't life grand.