Friday, January 9, 2009
Happy Friday ::yawn::
I'm SO tired. I'm even whiny about it. It's been a long week, and I've been very down to be honest with you. I don't know why my husband's absence seems harder than it usually is, especially with the prospect that he is not going to be gone half as long, and when he comes back, it may be some time before he's dispatched again, so that's a good thing, right? I can't seem to overcome this funk, I don't know why. Maybe it's because he was home for an inordinately long time (a lot longer than the usual six days) during the holiday, and I got a taste of the normality that I am so used to... I dunno.
Yesterday, I spent the better part of my day at the hospital with his 84-year-old grandmother. I never had grandparents involved in my life as a child, they'd long since passed away when I was born. I've inherited two grandmas in marrying my husband. Grandma Georgia, the Paternal grandmother is yes, a hellacious pain in the rear, but I do adore her to a point of no return, even if sometimes I feel like I want to sell her to the Arabs. She's a southern lady, strong-headed farmer's daughter with a frankness I can only respect. She has these bright blue eyes, and is just as feisty as feisty can be. The nurses at the hospital kept expressing their wonder at her health, test after test. She's a tough old bird. A 100lb bag of twigs, but still as tough as can be. She does have a blindness to the failings of certain family members, but who wouldn't? Her daughter and live-in caretaker passed away two years ago, and she's been pretty much on her own since.
My husband had assumed the better part of her care before he took the field job. He took her shopping, to get her haircut, ran errands for her... Now that he's gone, his half-brother and sister-in-law have assumed some of those tasks, albeit begrudgingly. They asked me to take her to a day surgery yesterday. I took a day off work to do so, and drove down to pick her up, driving her into the heart of North Portland in order to have a procedure done.
Grandma was really nervous, very hungry, thirsty and grumpy. She also freaked out that I took the freeway... "[Sister-in-law] never takes the freeway, she avoids it like the plague.." she tells me in her Alabama twang. I smiled at her and sigh, letting my foot off the accelerator just a smidge. I forgo passing a massive truck, and am stuck behind it for a while.
The prep for the surgery took HOURS. Poor grandma just wanted food. "I really want a big ol' hamburger.." she told me. I fussed over her, tried to keep her from getting off the bed all the time, packed her things up neatly into plastic bags, managed her hearing aid, eyeglasses and dentures, helped her keep her paper gown closed as we shuffled to the restroom. She was terrified I was going to leave her. I kept assuring her otherwise but she kept asking if I'd be there. I told her I'd wait for her during the surgery; having not eaten anything all day either, I was looking forward to the break to sneak to the cafeteria for a fast meal... She basked in the attention of the really great nurses and then finally, they wheeled her off to surgery.
She was getting a shunt placed from her cranium to her abdomen to drain off some excess fluids that were putting pressure on her brain. I was nervous. She is 84 after all. I hoovered a bad dinner, rushed to my car to move it to the main entrance, and then sat waiting for another hour for the surgery to end. The doc arrived to declare success, and another hour and a half later, she was out of recovery and on her way to an overnight room. The first thing she did when she woke up was to declare her relief at seeing me, calling me a doll. She clutched my hand with her papery digits, and worked through all the discomforts and discoveries of post-op. A shot of morphine got her settled down enough that I could leave; but only under the conditions that I phone her when I arrive safely at home. An hour later, I called her room, and she answered the phone with a measure of clarity that I was surprised by. She really is a tough little thing. She isn't supposed to be this coherent, in fact, I was told her body would likely be slow to process the toxins from the anesthetic because of her age. Oh no, she's quite perky and verbose.
I got home at 10:45 PM. I fed the dogs a late meal, let them out, and then lay in bed trying to convince Simon that no, this wasn't a good time to play Woobie-tug-o-war. He was not happy, and refused to settle down. It took every fibre of my being to peel myself out of bed this morning. I kept hitting snooze for about an hour, giving myself a whopping 15 minutes to get ready. I know, very bad. I will be happy to welcome the end of the day today, that's all I have to say.
Even my office special is muddy and sloppy. :(
I suppose a good thing out of all this, is that the Trader Joe's Pound Plus of Milk Chocolate remains untouched still, plopped unceremoniously on the stove's flat-top, glowering at me. Maybe I deserve to break a little square off tonight, and to melt it on my tongue with my eyes closed. Friday, and Chocolate. Lovely things both.
Happy Friday all.