My Grandma has had a couple of TIA mini-strokes. Seems to be having a lot of trouble with recent memories and her perception of time. She tried to take her medicine (diabetes stuff and Aricept for dementia/possible earloy Alzheimer’s) twice- eep. She can’t remember being hospitalized. So she needs round-the-clock company to make sure she stays safe. She’s much better now that she’s home, though, as has always been the case through her falls and such. This stay in hospital was only overnight. She really isn’t that much different than before, just a difference in degree.
Given that her family (besides an older sister and out-of-state-ers) includes a daughter (the aunt I write about) and two grandchildren who all are in desperate need of keeping our jobs and/or have crazy toddler life, a nursing home or assisted living apartment is pretty much our only option. While Bu is home during most days, our house is split level and Grandma couldn’t navigate our stairs.
We’ve talked with her and she’s OK with it, but she said that before when she kept falling and breaking bones and then she forgot she’d said she wanted to move and freaked out when her son came in to check out housing & care homes.
I hate this. I hate the idea of taking her out of her home so much. I know she’ll get worse out of her familiar environment; she always does. I don’t know if she’d settle in or what. I just know I feel a heartbreaking amount of guilt that I can’t move her in here or go stay there. I’d love to spend her last years in her home helping and listening and just bathing in her life. Yesterday she was telling me about her amazing love story with my grandfather (who died young) and about life on the farm where she grew up.
I spent Monday with her at the hospital and Tuesday at her house. Molly went with, and it was an adventure. Grandma flooded her kitchen with her washing machine and when I got that sponged and mopped up, I found that the offending laundry had included a maxi pad (or bladder thing or whatever) that shredded white lint all over it all. She usually uses washcloths, like her hippy granddaughter, only not to save the planet. Why she used the sposie kind and then put it in the wash is just a lovely little gift of Chaos. This was balanced out by the heavenly fact that the baby slept through the whole floody mess.
Dunno when A will come in, or when we’ll figure this all out, but I hope it goes OK and we find a situation where she’s happy and safe.