Grandparents

I'm really trying to keep up with this blog, but at times I feel like Debbie Downer so I don't want to spread my malcontent, but in the interest of writing more often, "enjoy".

Sunday pretty much sucked. I had plans - get my nails done, wash my hair (yes, that is something I plan), go to Wegman's, iron some clothes to wear to work this week (preferably without getting my hand stuck in the ironing board again) and then do nothing. They weren't exciting plans, but you do what you can.

The day started off well - got up, had breakfast and headed over to try out an (old) new nail place to get a new set. Right before I started to get polished, my mother calls telling me that my grandmother, who has Alzheimer's, has some swelling near her ear and that she and my sister were taking her to the hospital. I decided to head over once my nails were dry to see what was going on. That was at 11:30 in the morning.

I got to the hospital, and things seemed OK. Grandmom was in good spirits despite being in pain and I was optimistic that we'd be out of there and on our way home by 2 or 3. HA!

It seemed to me that the day went down hill. Grandmom would go in and out - she'd be cool, in a good mood and aware of what was going on, then she'd get disoriented and agitated, then she'd be cool again. OK, I thought, this is what a sick person with Alzheimer's is like. The doctor came in, gave us the diagnosis, or at least what he thought it was, and said they'd be keeping her in the hospital for a few days, which she seemed cool with, even happy about it.

Sidebar here, I'm a drama queen, and there is a part of me that actually enjoys being an in-patient in the hospital. First of all, it's all about me. Honestly, when isn't it? But, when you're in the hospital, you aren't allowed to do a darn thing, so I get to do what I do best and just chill, watch TV, and if I'm lucky get a kick-ass painkiller. I am not a good well person in a hospital. I don't like seeing people I love in pain.

Anyhow, we had to wait what seemed like an eternity for a room for my grandmother, and as we waited she got progressively more out of it. Asking the same question over and over again (I likened it to one of my friends as being with a drunk 2 year old, not that I've ever been with one, but I imagine that's what it's like). Layer in the general chaos of an ER and my head just about exploded. By 8:00 (for those of you keeping score that's roughly 8 hours after I got there) we got her into a room. My 8:30 or so she was settled and we were kicked out.

The good part of all of this, if there is any, is that hopefully my grandfather will get the help he needs and that we've been trying to get him. He's been doing a great job, but there is only so much one person can do, especially an 89 year old with a bum knee and congestive heart failure. We've been trying to get him to accept help, but he refuses. I'm hopeful the social worker won't give him a choice.
I'm going to be honest that I'm pretty depressed. My mother is mourning and I can't help. The grandmother I remember is for all intents and purposes gone. I can't do as much as I'd like because of work and frankly my fear that I'm ineffective. I feel like I've lost part of my family. Please keep us in your prayers as we muddle through this sucky new world.