My Grandmother used to say two quotes when times became stressful: “Oh boy” (when she was in pain or scared) and “Man oh Man” (when there was a serious event).
I often think of her in terms of: WWGD, or What Would Grandma Do….Would she “Man oh Man” at this? Would she support the decisions? Would she be satisfied with how we’ve handled it as a family? Or would she… “Oh boy”?
I'm a swimmer, so I compare mostly everything to water, as that's my home. As the tide rips in from the dangerous Medicare waters and throws you tolerable yet uncontrollable solution…The solution carries a wake to follow. The wake can be defined as the rough part after a wave in the water And… If you catch this wake at the right time (okay and let's be honest, with a proper catch, that's the coach in me); you can ride it in all the way and then draft off of it to carry you forward in order to gain an advantage, hence saving energy. This energy source if not tapped too early during the tide that follows has three stages: 1) a release, 2) a calm, and 3) a crash… This is the part where you explode any and all efforts hoping they weren’t wasted… Followed by sighting into the distance planting your next move efficiently as possible to straightly move forward.
Note: This whole time you’re in the water, you’re holding your breath, waiting to exhale the old used oxygen, and inhale the new fresh oxygen.
Can I get an “Oh Boy”? I'll end the bumper sticker talk....You get the 'draft'.
What does this have to do with my Grandfather…? No…He does not desire to be an open water swimmer or body surfer at the age of 93. No…He doesn’t want to sail the Pacific in search of a new island.
He’s finding a new calm…yet a bit anxious for the final crash. The unanswered questions come from a few years of avoidance from an internal and timid fear that we all face... The questions that happen during any change…Like… So what’s next?
As I indicated in my very first blog post, where I learned that aged skin doesn’t heal or break the same as 30 year old skin…? Well….Today from an IV that was changed, the tape being pulled (the wrong kind of tape mind you) pulled off some skin, there was no blood; but as my father sitting there during the changing of the line (or wave approaching the shore), holding his breath through the wave waiting for the tide to pass... The tide carried with it a few other unanswered questions…Is the infection spreading? Is he healing? Or are we waiting on a crash? Is this an “Oh boy” or an “Man oh Man”? WWGD? Or can we ingest some finality in it all and look forward to new traditions? Then the suppressed question and one that is avoided: How long?
I’m not sure where this will lead, since it’s now been 4 nights and 5 days of officially being admitted and in hospital care. I hope to say: “Man oh Man” tomorrow and the Grandfather who's been waiting to swim out of the Medicare waters will come out of the wave rejuvenated with a sense of calm, and moving forward efficiently as possible with a feeling of: I don’t have to feel alone anymore.
Until then………. “Oh boy-Oh boy-Oh boy” (in my Grandma voice).
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Change
The inevitable did indeed happen. It took nearly two weeks, but infection did ensue, but low and behold Grandpa did have the smarts to call his doctor. He was admitted into the ER on Friday night, and on an IV drip to kill the infection that erupted after the last wound from a fall getting the morning paper. My fear of asking a 93 year old man to clean a wound that requires scrubbing, dressing changes, and first-aid skills happened.
What’s the outcome? Well he’s finally giving assisted living a shot, after a few talks with the physician, some prompting from my father (for whom I’m extremely proud of by the way), and a bit of encouragement from a few dear friends.
What’s the big deal of going into assisted living? Well for some elders it’s simple. Avoidance is now disabled, change from what you’ve known can no longer be denied.
I’ve learned four things recently: aging is a process, acceptance of that process is difficult, family is a virtue and comes in many forms, and accepting change never gets easier.
Imagine yourself 93 years young, losing your partner for whom you’ve been attached to for over 60 years, and one day life as you know it changes. Walking becomes difficult, getting the morning paper…Not so easy….Balance, well that’s a memory…and a memory, well that’s something else you’re feeling disappear. Life as you have ‘known’ it simply becomes unfamiliar. Losing familiarity is one of the scariest things we face as we get older.
Christmas will become a new tradition this year, where instead of picking up the lone Patriarch of the family and the one and only surviving Grandparent for the usual 2 hour meal and annual television viewing of ELF…It will consist of a visit and dinner from the retirement village.
Change can hurt sometimes, it’s uncomfortable, it’s anxious, and it’s real. The reality is life does not stop for us to get ‘comfortable’ with the impending changes that may erupt.
Life is short, so eat, pray, and simple: Love.
What’s the outcome? Well he’s finally giving assisted living a shot, after a few talks with the physician, some prompting from my father (for whom I’m extremely proud of by the way), and a bit of encouragement from a few dear friends.
What’s the big deal of going into assisted living? Well for some elders it’s simple. Avoidance is now disabled, change from what you’ve known can no longer be denied.
I’ve learned four things recently: aging is a process, acceptance of that process is difficult, family is a virtue and comes in many forms, and accepting change never gets easier.
Imagine yourself 93 years young, losing your partner for whom you’ve been attached to for over 60 years, and one day life as you know it changes. Walking becomes difficult, getting the morning paper…Not so easy….Balance, well that’s a memory…and a memory, well that’s something else you’re feeling disappear. Life as you have ‘known’ it simply becomes unfamiliar. Losing familiarity is one of the scariest things we face as we get older.
Christmas will become a new tradition this year, where instead of picking up the lone Patriarch of the family and the one and only surviving Grandparent for the usual 2 hour meal and annual television viewing of ELF…It will consist of a visit and dinner from the retirement village.
Change can hurt sometimes, it’s uncomfortable, it’s anxious, and it’s real. The reality is life does not stop for us to get ‘comfortable’ with the impending changes that may erupt.
Life is short, so eat, pray, and simple: Love.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Tis the season'
The Holidays for 2010-2011 should be a new awakening or rebirth for us all full of new beginnings with loved ones. Before attempting to describe Thanksgiving, let's start with the last breakfast with Grandpa, as we had our 2010 Thanksgiving with Grandpa which can be for another post. You may be wondering what the result was after the last visit.
Well…The news my Grandfather shared that day during the Jim Dandy soggy toast, limp bacon and overcooked eggs meeting, went a little like this:
Me: “So…how did you scratch your glasses, and what happened to your face?”
Grandpa: “It’s just all happened so fast…”
Me: “Okay, what’s happened so fast, have you talked to my Dad about any of this?”
Grandpa: “No…No…I figured you could just tell them since you were coming up anyways.”
Me: “Ah…gee…thanks Grandpa, but you realize Dad is going to call you, and this puts me in a very awkward position right now.”
Grandpa: “Well……I wrecked my car on Monday, and fell at the bank on Tuesday, that’s how I got all these bruises”
Me: “Oh….Grandpa….Well have you been to the doctor”
Grandpa: “Oh yes, they took me in a ambulance”
Me: “WHAT!?”
So the conversation continues little by little. I ask questions, he answers them. Information volunteered is at a minimum, but we get to the bottom of it by the end of the soggy toast. Upon returning to the house however, he wants to show me one last thing. With my keys in hand, purse on my arm, and coat on ready to leave, quickly they come off as he shows me the results of one last fall that apparently occurred right before I arrived.
A bloody bandage on the bottom of his left arm appeared, as it had bled through his shirt. Had it not we may never have known about this second fall in one week after one wreck and a very damaging fall prior to that. The first test question I ask, Grandpa, “Have you cleaned this, it could get infected.” “Oh yeah, it’s kinda itchy, I put Benydryl on it.” I replied, “Grandpa, that’s for rashes, what disinfectant do you have for cuts?”
We went through his entire medicine cabinet, he had some Bactine from 1970 which I quickly thought was not going to do the trick. In the car we go, and attend the nearby “Medicine Shoppe’ where they have marked up products but a “friendly” face. Thirty-dollars later, we return back to the house to dress the wounds.
My last first-aid class was in 2007, thank goodness for my bike wreck in 2010 otherwise I wouldn’t have known how to properly clean out wounds that had NO SKIN left and were the size of a kiwi. This was … elderly wound care at its finest. Pulling away layers of a band-aid that stuck to the 93 year old fragile remnants of a wound that took a large amount of skin away, I nearly negotiated for an ER visit. However, I knew that would never go over so I cleaned up the battle scene as best I could, and dressed it for a hopeful visit by another doctor later that week.
After that visit was complete, wounds dressed, house in check, groceries, check, bathroom supplies inspected, check…It was time to leave to go meet up with some family that was found by accident and by choice, the Wieland’s.
The Holidays should be full of surprises. The idea of assisted living certainly isn’t becoming anymore popular….But….Have you been outside…See the ice?
Well…The news my Grandfather shared that day during the Jim Dandy soggy toast, limp bacon and overcooked eggs meeting, went a little like this:
Me: “So…how did you scratch your glasses, and what happened to your face?”
Grandpa: “It’s just all happened so fast…”
Me: “Okay, what’s happened so fast, have you talked to my Dad about any of this?”
Grandpa: “No…No…I figured you could just tell them since you were coming up anyways.”
Me: “Ah…gee…thanks Grandpa, but you realize Dad is going to call you, and this puts me in a very awkward position right now.”
Grandpa: “Well……I wrecked my car on Monday, and fell at the bank on Tuesday, that’s how I got all these bruises”
Me: “Oh….Grandpa….Well have you been to the doctor”
Grandpa: “Oh yes, they took me in a ambulance”
Me: “WHAT!?”
So the conversation continues little by little. I ask questions, he answers them. Information volunteered is at a minimum, but we get to the bottom of it by the end of the soggy toast. Upon returning to the house however, he wants to show me one last thing. With my keys in hand, purse on my arm, and coat on ready to leave, quickly they come off as he shows me the results of one last fall that apparently occurred right before I arrived.
A bloody bandage on the bottom of his left arm appeared, as it had bled through his shirt. Had it not we may never have known about this second fall in one week after one wreck and a very damaging fall prior to that. The first test question I ask, Grandpa, “Have you cleaned this, it could get infected.” “Oh yeah, it’s kinda itchy, I put Benydryl on it.” I replied, “Grandpa, that’s for rashes, what disinfectant do you have for cuts?”
We went through his entire medicine cabinet, he had some Bactine from 1970 which I quickly thought was not going to do the trick. In the car we go, and attend the nearby “Medicine Shoppe’ where they have marked up products but a “friendly” face. Thirty-dollars later, we return back to the house to dress the wounds.
My last first-aid class was in 2007, thank goodness for my bike wreck in 2010 otherwise I wouldn’t have known how to properly clean out wounds that had NO SKIN left and were the size of a kiwi. This was … elderly wound care at its finest. Pulling away layers of a band-aid that stuck to the 93 year old fragile remnants of a wound that took a large amount of skin away, I nearly negotiated for an ER visit. However, I knew that would never go over so I cleaned up the battle scene as best I could, and dressed it for a hopeful visit by another doctor later that week.
After that visit was complete, wounds dressed, house in check, groceries, check, bathroom supplies inspected, check…It was time to leave to go meet up with some family that was found by accident and by choice, the Wieland’s.
The Holidays should be full of surprises. The idea of assisted living certainly isn’t becoming anymore popular….But….Have you been outside…See the ice?
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Being the Only
Breakfast with Grandpa
The first of many blog posts to come to describe the history and journey of a family tradition for the last five years.
After my paternal grandmother passed away in 2005, my grandfather living alone after living with his life partner since 1944 was a concern for my family. Striking a balance between living our own lives yet protecting Grandpa’s life has been difficult, and a struggle that is quickly uncovering other hidden secrets of the Jim Dandy brotherhood.
I should include what that family consists of: my mother, my father, and me. My father is an only child, I’m an only child, and my mother has 1 sister that’s a state away. So when it comes to family responsibilities and caring for each other, it’s a team effort that rests solely on us. A responsibility that recently I’ve learned can change you forever. Here’s my story.
Breakfast with Grandpa starts out a little like this, my father and I committed to try to see Grandpa every to every other Saturday at the breakfast place of choice: “Jim Dandy’s”. This every to every other Saturday has had some gaps, and single attendance, as my Saturdays became consumed with other commitments placing the original commitment to my Grandpa…well…second in priority. So I put it my father to handle for a while.
Jim Dandy’s is the place “that everyone knows your name”, when Grandpa walks in he has his own social network without a FaceBook profile, since he doesn’t know how to use the Internet really. Seating himself, talking across the restaurant to anyone familiar, and if they aren’t familiar, they soon will be. Stories begin with biblical references and quick references from a few years ago that seem fresh in his head, and any Reader’s Digest jokes that he can remember from his last issue.
The conversation typically starts out by asking routine questions that he knows are normal to ask, “How’s work” (he knows I work), how’s school (he knows I’m still in school), when are they done (classes), and how much is “Jimmy” playing his horn…. These questions are usually answered by the time the waitress brings the first cup of coffee, a bowl of creamers, and takes an order from the menu of item #2, that is chosen which consists of two soggy pieces of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, two dry eggs.
How hard is it really to just drive an hour plus at 6am just to sit through two hours of meaningless conversation and eat some soggy bacon? Well it’s not. It’s a commitment, and an obligation, but one that quickly changed recently. Recently, I went alone without the “Pops”, a bit nervous as I made the “Breakfast with Grandpa” appointment out intuition much like I did in 2004 to check up on my Grandma prior to my her dying.
Pulling up to the condo, I make the warning phone call, which gives Grandpa enough to put on his shirt, get his coat, and walk to the front door (about 30 minutes). Differently this time however he wanted me to drive this time, and rushed out to my car. Well upon opening the door, I see scratched glasses, green-black-and red bruises all down his face.
Stunned and shocked and alone, I ask…What happened Grandpa, are you okay? He says, “Get in the car, I’ll tell you at breakfast…I have a lot to tell you.”
What he says completely changed me.
Breakfasts with Grandpa…will never be “dull” again.
The first of many blog posts to come to describe the history and journey of a family tradition for the last five years.
After my paternal grandmother passed away in 2005, my grandfather living alone after living with his life partner since 1944 was a concern for my family. Striking a balance between living our own lives yet protecting Grandpa’s life has been difficult, and a struggle that is quickly uncovering other hidden secrets of the Jim Dandy brotherhood.
I should include what that family consists of: my mother, my father, and me. My father is an only child, I’m an only child, and my mother has 1 sister that’s a state away. So when it comes to family responsibilities and caring for each other, it’s a team effort that rests solely on us. A responsibility that recently I’ve learned can change you forever. Here’s my story.
Breakfast with Grandpa starts out a little like this, my father and I committed to try to see Grandpa every to every other Saturday at the breakfast place of choice: “Jim Dandy’s”. This every to every other Saturday has had some gaps, and single attendance, as my Saturdays became consumed with other commitments placing the original commitment to my Grandpa…well…second in priority. So I put it my father to handle for a while.
Jim Dandy’s is the place “that everyone knows your name”, when Grandpa walks in he has his own social network without a FaceBook profile, since he doesn’t know how to use the Internet really. Seating himself, talking across the restaurant to anyone familiar, and if they aren’t familiar, they soon will be. Stories begin with biblical references and quick references from a few years ago that seem fresh in his head, and any Reader’s Digest jokes that he can remember from his last issue.
The conversation typically starts out by asking routine questions that he knows are normal to ask, “How’s work” (he knows I work), how’s school (he knows I’m still in school), when are they done (classes), and how much is “Jimmy” playing his horn…. These questions are usually answered by the time the waitress brings the first cup of coffee, a bowl of creamers, and takes an order from the menu of item #2, that is chosen which consists of two soggy pieces of bacon, 4 pieces of toast, two dry eggs.
How hard is it really to just drive an hour plus at 6am just to sit through two hours of meaningless conversation and eat some soggy bacon? Well it’s not. It’s a commitment, and an obligation, but one that quickly changed recently. Recently, I went alone without the “Pops”, a bit nervous as I made the “Breakfast with Grandpa” appointment out intuition much like I did in 2004 to check up on my Grandma prior to my her dying.
Pulling up to the condo, I make the warning phone call, which gives Grandpa enough to put on his shirt, get his coat, and walk to the front door (about 30 minutes). Differently this time however he wanted me to drive this time, and rushed out to my car. Well upon opening the door, I see scratched glasses, green-black-and red bruises all down his face.
Stunned and shocked and alone, I ask…What happened Grandpa, are you okay? He says, “Get in the car, I’ll tell you at breakfast…I have a lot to tell you.”
What he says completely changed me.
Breakfasts with Grandpa…will never be “dull” again.
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