Grandmother

I needed to see Grandmother.  My last time was the tenth of April -- way too long.  Even if she's gone as batshit crazy as My Father says, I needed to see her.  And is invective towards me over dinner tonight only solidified my resolve.  I could've exercised, and just gone for coffee, but now that he pissed me off, for sure I was going now, severe weather tonight be damned.

But this afternoon I wanted to make sure the coast was clear, so to speak.  I only learned of Grandmother's move to the "M" wing and her possible run-ins with the law secondhand, through My Father, so I knew it could very well be unreliable.  I finally came around to calling the senior living center after I got off of work, which I went into early today because I fell asleep around ten and woke up at 6.

I got the administrator, who was puzzled that I was the only relative of Grandmother's who spoke perfect, fluent English.  I was nervous that she would thus not tell me what's going on with her, but she then proceeded to tell me that health-wise she was OK, it's just that she keeps talking about wanting to come home.  That's stuff I heard from the after-hours nurse, so that's nothing new, thank God.  I was worried that the recent doctor's visit unearthed a new diagnosis of dementia or something.

But then the administrator told me, out of the blue, after she told me they have put her on a litany of anti-anxiety medications to combat all the talk she continues to spew about going home and having no money ... "with the dementia increasing ..."  Shit, is it true?  No, it can't be true.  No, I've been lying to myself all this time.  And her old doctor was wrong in thinking that it wasn't.  It's true.  The most evil of afflictions, time robbing someone of her mind, is happening to a woman I deeply, deeply love.

I didn't know how to question her about the dementia diagnosis.  Is that the reason she was moved to "M" wing?  ("M" stands for "memory care," but the administrator referred to it as the Alzheimer's wing.  I can't call it that because I don't want to believe Grandmother has Alzheimer's.)  So I continued to probe the current living situation with her -- can she see people, is she restricted in her movement, etc.  She asked me about her "boyfriend," who apparently hadn't come around lately but has a brother who has the past couple days.

She then cleared up a situation My Father was frustrated about: Grandmother supposedly being in trouble with the law.  My Father said there are allegations of Medicare fraud surrounding her and her "boyfriend."  In fact (and I trust the administrator completely on this) it is illegal for her son to wire her money.  In living assistance you are to receive only a certain amount through the federal government; anything more will have to be taken by the home, and the fixed income for staying at the nursing home will be adjusted upward.  So that's why, I'm guessing, her son has not and no longer will give her cash.  Too bad I will never be able to explain that to her because 1) I can't say all that in Chinese and 2) she probably wouldn't believe it anyway.

The administrator then floored me when she said, "Instead of sending money to her, he should just save it up for her funeral."  Wait, what?  Is she going that fast?  If she's healthy, what's he doing that for?

I just didn't like her tone.  This might have been the same woman who was so ... what's the word ... fake when she came over to inspect her, her medication and the setup of her bedroom at home when my parents were about to ship her out.  Her attitude over the phone really pisses me off because it's two-faced, neither of which I like.  On the one hand she just decks me with devastating news about her mental state and what I guess is how she sees her residents' life going to end up.  I understand it's difficult, but can you just be a little more optimistic about how her life is?  Do we have to talk about death?  She may be being droll and matter-of-fact, or maybe she's seen this all before, but this is new to me, and I didn't like her attitude.

But then she goes back the other way when I end the conversation by asking if I can come in.  "Sure," she said, "She wants people to see her.  She's a people person!"  And the administrator said with such a cheery, almost juvenile, lilt in her voice that I just wanted to strangle her.  First of all, Grandmother is not a people person, just one who's very clingy.  Second of all, don't be so bright when you just tell me she has dementia and her son has to save up money for her funeral.  Be indifferent or be innocent, don't be both because both are equally insulting to me.

Despite all this, I was resolved to see her.

---

I found her new home, but when I knocked on the door I turned around.  She was standing at the doorway of a neighbor, who was in her bed, being tended to by this African nurse.  Grandmother recognized me but didn't call me by my name, like she usually does.  When I called her late last week she didn't either.  She may have forgotten.  I knew staying away would be bad for her, and for me.

But she knew who I was.  We went to her new room to talk.  Unlike her old room in the "free" wing, there was no mini-fridge or sink; it's just a much smaller room with her TV, drawer and desk, and a bathroom.

The nurse ushered us in and filled me in on how she's doing.  Today, according to her, was a good day.  No scratching the nurse's office all hours of the night, just Grandmother tagging along with the nurse because she had nothing better to do, and the only thing she kept talking about to her was when she was coming home.  The nurse told Grandmother "Soon, about 10:30," and it looked like that she similarly lies to her whenever she has asked her, which is every day.  I don't like the nurse lying to her like that, but she has to take care of her.  She needs Grandmother to stay put, but stringing her along like she's an absentminded child reinforces my image of her stricken with dementia, and I still recoil in horror over that.

But while talking to her, she didn't seem too bad.  I had to repeat that my parents aren't letting her come home, but after I said goodbye to her after an hour she said, "Well, if they're on vacation, maybe then I can come back and visit."  It's not going to happen, but she's still crafty about coming back home when they're not around, and she still remembers that they go to Vegas.  She wanted me to call her son for more money, but at least she can still remember her name.  And although she doesn't believe that her "boyfriend" knows she's moved to a new room (Grandmother doesn't believe my parents know, and I suspect they may have okayed it), she carried on a quick conversation with him after I phoned him on my cell.

The big change I noticed about her -- although her continuing to pick through her purse, which now contains old photos of her, why I don't know -- is her speech and demeanor.  I don't mind that she seemed a tad calmer, although her obsession over money and going home are still there.  But the nurse confirmed that she had already taken the night pills.  She seemed tired, not as lucid (exceptions above) and much more lethargic.  I got the impression, in fact, that they just pumped her full of pills so she would just shut up.  I guess it's understandable if Grandmother is driving them crazy.  But again, I don't know.  Is that even necessary?  Did the doctor really think these anti-anxiety meds are the best way to keep Grandmother healthy, or did he just unilaterally decide that since she's in the mental care wing of the center, she must be already long gone, so just give her the fucking pills?  I don't like that they just seem to shove chemistry in front of Grandmother to take.  What if you just wean her off the pills?  Could she actually function better?  Could she function any worse than she is now?  I don't like this.

I made one grave mistake: I called up my uncle and thought that it'd be good if Grandmother talked to him.  I totally forgot that she had tried to crash at his and my aunt's house permanently a couple weeks ago.  And I don't know why I thought Grandmother continually saying tonight that they would take her in meant that I should call him.  But I did, and I regretted it as soon as I gave Grandmother my cellphone.  I took it back after a couple minutes of what surely was uncle thinking, "Why the fuck am I talking to her?  Will she think she can move in with us?"  That's exactly what Grandmother is saying, so that's why I need to stay away from the nursing home for, oh, a week at least.  And before I left the home I went to the public bathroom, called uncle back up again and apologized profusely for making him talk to her.  Remember, my folks don't know I visited her and don't want me seeing her.  No telling what they'd do if they found out from, for example, my pissed-off uncle.

Tonight, more than ever, I feel Grandmother slipping away from me.