When I come in I hear a white woman's voice coming from the dining room. When I reach the top of the stairs I see what looks to be a nurse asking questions with Grandmother and my parents all sitting at the dining room table. This is not the nurse I'm accustomed to seeing. It's another, and that really bugged me.
Is it a yearly assessment? Father telling me to go buy chicken was a red flag that this was not going to be something I would like. My 'Rents' smiling and laughing with the nurse didn't sit well with me either. But when the nurse asked Grandmother to show her around her bedroom, I didn't know what to think.
The nurse dispelled all my doubts. She asked about the TV: "So, you're going to bring that with you?" And it looks like that my old folks were undeterred in throwing her out of the house. This is the strongest move -- probably *the* move -- that puts her in a home.
What the nurse described is, in my opinion, frightening. She said she couldn't bring all the clothes that are in her bedroom now to her (what sounds to be like a) dorm room. And it's going to be smaller than the bedroom. All this while Grandmother was smiling and answering the nurse's questions with, "Yeah," and then punctuating it with a hearty laugh. Grandmother doesn't understand the questions she's asking. And the nurse doesn't care that she doesn't understand, which really pisses me off.
All this happened before my eyes, and I can do nothing to stop it. I hate work, but work is the only thing I can think of that could create a situation where I could, somehow, move to an apartment and bring Grandmother with me. That would be a good situation for her: Living with someone that she not only recognizes but knows is loved by, having the freedom to cook what she wants (within limits) and, more importantly, communicate on the phone to her friends. I know that there are going to be food, cooking and phone-calling limits in the home. And the nurse detailed this living arrangement not unlike the off-campus apartments my friends had after freshman year: A common living room with four or five separate bedrooms. Finally, the nurse said that there are very, very few people there that speak Vietnamese or Chinese; only one nurse during the day, and possibly one other old person in the compound.
Once she realizes how isolated she will be, and facing the fact that she will probably die living like this, she'll go crazy or pop all her sleeping pills or call me every hour every night, pleading with me to take her away from this prison. I know I will have to drive every night to dry her tears, and I'll spend hour upon hour listening to her babble in Chinese about things I don't understand. She will have no one, and my parents don't give a shit. (Just as bad, by the way: This home is in St. Paul, well across the river, many miles away from me, at a time when gas prices are high and rising. Like I say, my parents don't give a shit.)
After the visit, Grandmother said, like she has said constantly, that she has no choice, even though she doesn't like it. But then, as I had to leave the house to exercise, she said she wanted me to take her to my uncle's place in an effort to see if, maybe, she could move in with them. That wouldn't be a bad idea, though Grandmother can be a handful. But I just know that she would crack under unfamiliar situations, and that's what she's facing right now.
I stayed out a long time; wanted to get away, go to a party and maybe get my pee-pee touched. (No, I did not get my pee-pee touched.) When I came back, Grandmother didn't tell me whether my aunt and uncle would consider taking her in. I couldn't understand her, but I don't know if Grandmother even raised the idea to them. It doesn't help that when she needs to help herself, she either doesn't speak up or, worse, goes along cheerfully.
I am numb at what I saw in front of my eyes today. And it's something I can never unsee.
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