Who are the Grands?





They are 90 and 93, and they live each day like there is no tomorrow. Because there may not be. Their minds are not what they used to be and their bodies are breaking down bit by bit, but inside those old minds and bodies they are the same independent-minded young people that forged their own way in this world and made a good life for themselves. This is both a blessing and a challenge, as you'll see in the posts below. Welcome to our journey!


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Monday, March 24, 2014

The Grands will be Just Fine - When Caregivers Go on Vacation


Steve and I have had a trip planned to Tucson for months, but now that it's here I have a host of emotions about leaving the Grands for the week. They have been doing okay - not great, not terrible - and they have a wide safety net of people to help. But that didn't change the initial anxiety in me about being so far away. What if something happens while we're gone? I bought the trip insurance, but still. What if?

Everyone told me we need to go, I need to get away for a few days and not have the responsibilities always on my shoulders. But how do I let them go? How can I let go of the sweet faces that greet me when I open their door and smile? How do I let go when I know that little things happen all the time - they need something, Grandpa fell out of his chair, Grandma forgot to use her walker again and stumbled.

But God is good, and He gave me a wonderful team of people to be there for the Grands while I'm gone. Nita, my second mother, is there to stay with Lliam, and as an RN with a lifetime of experience in nursing I can't think of anyone better. She's undoubtedly better than me at coaching the Grands through the problems that occur. Then there is the staff at Bickford. Amazing people, amazing care. I couldn't possibly ask for more.

The best part of the Grands' care team is that Grandma and Grandpa know it, too. They did not have an ounce of anxiety about me leaving. They are so comfortable at Bickford and so confident in the care they receive that they were just fine. Flashback to nine months ago when I left for a few days, and it's a very different story. Grandma was extremely anxious when I left. She marked when I was coming back on her calendar, asking again and again what was going on. But not this time. That is a thrill for me, because it indicates to me that she knows that she has the help she needs. She feels secure and loved right where she's at. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!

So now I am sitting in sunny Arizona, the morning sun is already warm and inviting. My only responsibility now is to let go of the burden on my shoulders and relax. The Grands are going to be just fine while I'm gone.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Victory!! The Grands Battle the Insurance Company and Win!


In 1990 the Grands purchased long-term care policies from a friend of theirs who worked for Union Bankers Insurance. The policies were for nursing home coverage because back then nursing homes were the only facilities that provided actual nursing care. Well, the evolution of nursing care has been vast and extensive, and today there are far more options available to seniors than institutionalized care at the glorified hospitals called nursing homes. Most companies, Union Bankers included, have broad enough definitions to cover assisted living facilities, too.

When the Grands moved into Bickford House last June, this was one of the first things I wanted to know from Union Bankers. The young woman I spoke with assured me that Union Bankers covered assisted living, too. Great! I scheduled a nurse to come out and assess the Grands for their insurance claim. Everything went swimmingly, and the nurse recommended that they needed care to the company. Great! I was told by a manager at Union Bankers that the Grands were approved for care. Great again!

Not so great. A week later I received another call from the same manager telling me that the facility did not qualify because it was not under the supervision of a doctor. Never mind that Bickford has a collaborative agreement with a nurse practitioner and that there is round-the-clock supervision by the RNs. Never mind that Union Bankers very loosely defines "doctor" in the contract as a "licensed healthcare practitioner" which could mean a nurse, nurse practitioner, or physician. Union Bankers had just decided on its own that Bickford didn't qualify.


I was shocked but I was also absolutely certain that this was not the end of the discussion. By this time, the Grands had been at Bickford for two months and were comfortable and getting settled. The manager callously informed me that I could move them to another facility. She suggested that I move them to a 'real' nursing home. So, I said, let me understand, you want them to give up their quality of life at Bickford and enter an institutionalized setting because of Union Banker's unjust assessment? I asked her if she had any idea what it was like to move elderly people, how difficult and psychologically traumatizing it was. She responded only by telling me that I would have to talk to the claims department.

This woman showed no humanity, no compassion, and no care. To her, these were just names on a piece of paper. How wrong, how wrong she was. The Grands are real people with real lives, real feelings, and real love in their hearts. These are my grandparents who raised me, gave me the only stability I ever knew, and loved me since the day I was born. My heart told me, how dare she treat them like names on a page? At the same time, my head told me that this was the way of the world.

That day I resolved that I would fight this company until the very end, until there was no fight left. That day began an eight month battle as I sent letters, made phone calls, sent more letters, resent letters that they "lost," followed up on phone calls, followed up again because they told they hadn't processed the appeal yet, followed up again and again and again. I quoted the policy to the company to show them that Bickford qualified. I involved the director of Bickford who made multiple phone calls and sent letters, too.

Finally, I was told no again and I filed a complaint with the Department of Insurance. Union Bankers persisted. They even gave the Department of Insurance the run-around. But that didn't last too long, because finally the Grands and I, the little fish in the big pond, had some muscle. If you are an insurance company, it's best not to mess with the Department of Insurance.


Still, more weeks passed. I felt like that little red fish, holding on for dear life and not knowing quite what the point was. I was feeling pretty despondent. Every day, Grandma asked about the insurance. Did you call them today?, she'd ask. Every single day.  I couldn't blame her - we were talking about a lot of money. Lots and lots of money that would really help them pay for their place. I knew how much it meant to all of us. I tried to be patient. I think I succeeded for the most part.

But I was tired, weary of the whole thing. This wasn't the only thing on my plate. I remained confident that we would win in the end, but I knew that it might last a lot longer. I knew that I might need to hire a lawyer and sue the company. I didn't want to do that, but I would if I had to. I had already talked to a lawyer here in town. I just wanted it to be over. I prayed, as I had prayed throughout this time. But this time I just it gave it up to God. I handed it all to Him. I knew that I was at the end of myself because I was just too weary. That was Wednesday.

Then, out of the blue, as these things always happen, I got the call. It was Friday afternoon. I answered the phone. At first, I had no idea who it was or what she wanted, but after a minute or so it became clear that this was a manager from the Grands' long-term care insurance company. It was the very same manager that had callously told me to put them in a nursing home. She was calling to inform me that the company had approved the Grands' claims. She repeated it several times in a tone of voice that said she couldn't believe it herself. She told me Union Bankers would start cutting the checks immediately. Immediately!!

Relief and joy and gratitude washed over me. Relief that I no longer bore the burden of this battle, joy that the Grands had experienced justice, and gratitude to God for all He has and is and will do for us. Woo hoo!!!

I went over to the Grands that night. I had them sit beside each other so I could tell them the amazing news! Grandma's jaw hit the ground and then she smiled. Then she laughed. She laughed and giggled in joy. Grandpa nodded his head and said, "Thank you, Lara. Thank you." Grandma sang "Thank you, God" and "Count your Blessings." The fight was over. And we won! We won!

Victory!!!! We did it! Grandma was once a Rosie the Riveter, so this seems appropriate:

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Why Caregivers Do What They Do


The last few weeks with the Grands have not been pretty. These weeks have been exhausting, depressing, irritating, and, well, you get the idea. I am at the point of caregiving where there is nothing left of me to give yet I keep giving. So I give from a space that I didn't know existed.

For the past few weeks, if it hasn't been one thing it has been another. Between Grandpa's symptoms and Grandma's dementia, I have had my hands very very full. It has brought me to the point where I cringe every time I think about all the things I have to do for them. Yet I am driven to continue to do these things by an insane hamster on a wheel inside my head. That hamster has been the only thing keeping me going, but some days I have been seriously considering having him assassinated.

Today, for instance, was a day when I had hoped to have some rest from the wearying tasks that are laid before me. But the hamster told me I had a job to do. I needed to make Grandpa some boxer shorts. Grandpa's waistline continues to expand because the toxins are building up in the spaces between his cells as his liver can no longer do its job properly. This symptom is called third spacing. It has caused Grandpa's waistline to go from a 40 to a 46 in four weeks while he loses weight everywhere else. His face is becoming more gaunt and his legs and arms are pencils, but his waist is ginormous.

There are no shorts big enough to fit him that can also be adjusted for his expanding midsection. So I went to the fabric store, picked out a pattern, found some material, bought the notions, and came home. And today I made him fully adjustable shorts.



I am proud to say that they are the perfect waist size, 46 inches, and they will expand out to 50 inches with the snaps I put on them. Even better, when we took them over to the Grands, they were thrilled. Grandpa said that he was going to show everyone his new shorts tomorrow (he was joking, of course). Steve said Grandpa might want to go to dinner in just his boxers tomorrow (hahaha).

But the proof will be in the pudding. I just hope they are easy for him to use and that they are comfortable. The snaps are snug so now I'm worried that he won't be able to get them undone. I'm worried that they won't fit him right. I only made him one pair just in case there's a problem.

But for now, for today, the Grands are thrilled that I made him that pair of shorts. Grandma was impressed with my handiwork. She may be blind in one eye so that she can't see all my mistakes, but it still means so much to me to hear her praise. Grandpa said he's going to get a special tag for them that say, "Made in America." Seeing them smile and knowing I've pleased them during this incredibly difficult time of their lives is the reason that hamster keeps on living.

Friday, February 28, 2014

Learning as I Go - Persistence, Patience, and Wisdom

If you have read any of my posts, you know that my grandpa has terminal cancer. He currently has cancer of the prostate, spine, colon, bladder, liver, and just recently it has spread to his brain. For the record, he also has a non-lethal skin cancer on his head. That's why he always wears a hat, no matter where he is. In this picture, we were at the Nutcracker ballet at the Coronado Theater in December. He was already sick, but none of us knew it.



Hospice stopped treatment on his head a few weeks ago because it was excruciatingly painful and it was not going to heal before he passes. Really, the sores on his head are the least of his problems. 

Over the past few days, however, my grandma has decided that his head needed to be treated again. She has kept telling me, "It's getting worse, it's getting worse." I reply, "Yes, the sores are bigger but that cancer cannot really hurt him." She would just shake her head at me in irritation and continue talking about how great his head was doing before we got hospice. Every day for the past week, Grandma has told me again how much better his head was doing before hospice, when the other wound care nurse was helping with it. And every day for the past week, I have told Grandma that we stopped treating his head because it was extremely painful and it wasn't going to be cured. And every day, she would say the same thing to me again. The Bickford nurses and the hospice nurse have all told her the same thing. But Grandma has persisted, complaining that no one listens to her. 

After being ignored for almost a week, Grandma took matters into her own hands. She has no medication for his head in their apartment, but she had large bandages that she began putting on his head. I noticed the first pad Wednesday morning. I asked Grandma, and she claimed the nurse had done it. I said that it was going to be incredibly painful to take it off. She claimed that it would be fine if they just used some vaseline on it. Well, that afternoon the hospice nurse had to pull it off and it was excruciatingly painful, as predicted. We talked to Grandma about it. Grandma was very angry and claimed that he needed to have his head treated and it didn't hurt that much if they did it right. 



The next day, Thursday, there was another pad. The Bickford nurse told me that she had pulled one off and that when she had come in a few hours later Grandma had already put another pad on his head. We left it on until Friday because no one wanted to be the bad guy and pull it off. 

Today Lydia, brave Lydia, took on the challenge on Friday. She went in with the intent of taking the pad off Grandpa's head, convincing Grandma to accept that his head could not be treated, and taking all of the pads out of the room. She spent an hour in there talking with them, and by the end Grandma had accepted it. She let Lydia take the pads out even though she was very nervous about it. 

By this evening, Grandma was already complaining again that no one listens to her. She had forgotten most of what Lydia had told her. All she remembered was that no one had done it her way. She told me she doesn't like hospice because they won't listen to her. She told me that she knows best because she's the one with Grandpa all the time. She believes that she knows better than all the doctors and nurses combined because Grandpa belongs to her. The complaining hasn't ceased, but at least I know Grandpa's head won't hurt anymore. 

Monday, February 24, 2014

What My Dog Taught Me about Joys and Disappointments

You've all heard about Benny/Denny/Quinnie, my little dachshund/spaniel mix that the Grands adore. He has three names because I named him Quinnie but the Grands can't remember that. Grandma calls him Benny and Grandpa calls him Denny. He answers to all of it, thankfully.


It is a mutual affection because Benny/Denny/Quinnie loves them, too. He dances by the door each time I get ready to leave in hopes that I will take him to see the Grands. The whole time that he's there, he sits on their laps, entertains them with his toys, and growls protectively at anyone who comes to the door. Grandma takes him for walks around the building.

These days, I call and make sure that Grandpa is having a good day before I bring Quinnie over to see them. Well, today Grandpa was having a good day and I thought all was well. At 1 PM I told Quinnie that he was going to get to go to Grandma and Grandpa's house. He was sooo excited he tore around the house and danced by the door. He could hardly wait to have his leash put on him!

We got to their building, and Quinnie couldn't contain his joy as he sprinted toward the door, tugging at the end of the leash. We got to the apartment, opened the door . . .

 . . . and immediately I knew something had changed. Grandpa was no longer having a good day. Grandpa was leaning back with his eyes closed in obvious pain. Grandma explained that Grandpa had a tummy ache that just started. His lunch didn't agree with him. I let Quinnie go to Grandma but not to Grandpa. Quinnie was clearly a little confused. He wanted to go to Grandpa, too, but Grandma kept him on her lap.

I stayed for a few minutes. Grandma and I took Quinnie on a walk around the building, and Grandma saw one of her friends rolling out streusel in the dining room. Grandma got distracted and wanted to help her friend with the baking, so I realized that I'd have to take Quinnie home. I started to walk out with Quinnie, but my joyful pup wasn't so excited anymore. He trotted along obediently, but his head was down. We got home and Quinnie curled up on the couch with the other dogs and took a nap.


It occurred to me that disappointment was a familiar feeling with Grandpa's illness. Because you never knew what the day would bring, there were many days when things didn't turn out like you'd hoped. But Quinnie was giving me the perfect example of how to cope with disappointment. Be patient, go about life as usual, and wait until the next opportunity.

Just a few days later, Grandpa was feeling better and I took Quinnie over to see them for the afternoon. Quinnie was just as excited as ever. At last, he had the afternoon he'd been wanting.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Don't Lose Heart with People

I think we all lose heart with people sometimes. We hear the news of murders and violence, we look around our communities and see people's rudeness and lack of consideration for others, we see the road rage, and we are tempted to lose heart. But sometimes it's just a matter of where we're putting out attention.

This week I've been reflecting on the truly wonderful people in my grandparents' lives. These are people who love them enough to be there for them, who pray for their welfare, who seek to be a part of their lives in these last precious days and months. People who go out of their way to be there and do things for Grandma and Grandpa in whatever way they can.

Two shining examples are Nick and Debbie Neff. Nick and Debbie came to see the Grands last week, driving all the way from southeastern Michigan to northern Illinois just for a one day visit.


My grandparents have known Nick since he was knee-high. The Grands began going to the same church as his parents, Joe and June Neff, back in the 1950's and they became fast friends. Joe and June had four boys. I believe Nick was in the middle there somewhere.

He and his brothers Christopher, Timothy, and Danny were an energetic bunch compared to my grandparents and their only daughter, my mother Gale Lee, but they had so much fun together. My mother loved running around with the boys and the Grands and the Neffs had a grand time chatting away the hours. They went camping together. The Neffs had a crazy big 16 person tent. That was a wonderful outlet for the energy of four little boys and one hyperactive girl.

The Neffs lived in a large two story house with white pillars out front and red shutters. From my visits with Grandma to the Neffs, I remember those pillars and shutters clearly. I thought they were really bold and beautiful. They were far different from the small brick ranch that the Grands lived in. The Neffs lived on a busy boulevard, but their beautiful house was set back from the road a bit.

My grandpa recalled last week that one day Joe and he were sitting in the dining room of the Neffs' home, and the boys were running around the house in a circle, chasing each other from room to room. Apparently, the chaos was starting to get to Joe. As they paused in their game, Joe said to them, "Why don't you boys go outside and play in the road?" The boys ignored him, but my grandpa got so tickled. Even now, this memory makes Grandpa laugh. What a blessing to see him laugh!

Nick and Debbie drove six hours one way to spend one day with the Grands, but you know what? That effort paid off in the bright smiles on the Grands' faces and in the new memories that Grandma and Grandpa now have. What does it mean to love someone? How much does it matter to spend one day with two little old people in an assisted living home? More than you can imagine...

The next time I think that a few minutes or hours aren't worth spending with someone because it's so little time and so much effort, I'll think of Nick and Debbie's trek across the Midwest to spend one day with the Grands. Thank you, Nick and Debbie, not only for loving the Grands but for being an inspiration to all of us.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Grandma's Wisdom: Treasure Each Precious Day



When Grandma and Grandpa were still living in Dexter, I bought Grandma a devotional book for Christmas called Jesus Calling by Sarah Young. Grandma and I decided to talk each night and share our devotion for the day. It was a beautiful time, just a few minutes where she and I would read, talk, and pray together. Sometimes Grandma would understand the devotion right away and sometimes she needed me to explain it to her. Those moments were so precious that words really do fail to capture them.

Since the Grands came up here last June, we haven't been sharing our devotion as often because we see each other more and we just never got in the habit of it. But more and more we have been reading them together again. Grandma always reads hers at night and tells me how much it meant to her. She asks me if I read mine. Now that she's on the Exelon medicine for her thinking, she usually doesn't need me to explain it. That's a beautiful thing.

So last night I called around 8:45 and we decided to share our devotion. This devotion, written from the perspective of Jesus as if He were talking directly to us, said, "Seek my face more and more. You are really just beginning your journey of intimacy with Me. It is not an easy road, but it is a delightful and privileged way; a treasure hunt. I am the Treasure, and the Glory of My Presence glistens and shimmers along the way. Hardships are part of the journey, too. I mete them out ever so carefully, in just the right dosage, with a tenderness you can hardly imagine. Do not recoil from afflictions, since they are among My most favored gifts. Trust Me and don't be afraid, for I am your Strength and your Song."

After I read this, I said that the part about God meting out hardships was hard to accept. I wasn't even really sure I agreed with that, but then if God is omnipotent He has to allow the afflictions because He could stop them at any time. Really, God is a confusing subject, way bigger than I will ever understand. And I'm perfectly happy with that, because I am far far far from omnipotent or omniscient. But when it comes to ideas like God metes out hardships, I struggle. The childlike part of me thinks, 'Why would God want to do that?' I was thinking of Grandpa and his suffering. I was thinking about all of the suffering I've endured and the suffering I see in others, especially the innocent and vulnerable. Why, Lord?

I know there are complicated theological explanations for all of this, but I think Grandma's was far more amazing than any of them. When I said that it was hard to accept that God has a hand in our afflictions, she got that strong undertone in her voice, that authority that says she knows she's right about something, and she said, "No, Lara, the fact is that the Lord has to take us home some way. We're all going to have something wrong with us so He can take us home. Now that's just common sense. And this thing with Grandpa, well, that's the Lord's way. We all have to go some way. It's just common sense. And I just treasure each day with him. When we are here, just the two of us, it's so peaceful. I'm so content. These are precious days. I want you to do the same thing, Lara. Treasure each day."

Treasure each day. That's Grandma's lesson to me, one that I think is too often lost on me. I have the illusion of time, the belief that there is plenty of time for what I want to do and who I want to spend time with. The idea that there are no guarantees is true, but sometimes it is meaningless to me because of that illusion of time. But I'm learning. I'm learning to treasure the days with my sweet Grands because I know they are so few. I just pray that I can treasure all my days and all those precious moments in life that only happen once. Because truly, nothing ever happens more than once. And there will come a day when my Grands will no longer be here. That day is in the not-too-distant future.

I think about this with my son, too. There will come a day when my son no longer lives in my house. The day has already come when he will never again sit on my lap. I miss those precious moments. I console myself with the thought that there will other treasured moments to take their place, but really that is feeding the illusion of time, too. I can't really know that. Even with my husband, will I someday look back on these times and wish I had treasured them more because they are gone forever?

I think we avoid thinking about things like this because it seems depressing and morbid. We don't like to think about loss, about how brief life really is. But if we don't face the reality of loss, will we ever fully embrace the reality of joy? Can we treasure our days without facing the reality of loss? Or do we remain trapped in the illusion of time?

My grandma has no illusion of time, and it has sweetened each day of her life. My grandma is a very wise woman.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Accepting that It's Going to be Okay



I like to fix things. The Grands like to fix things, too. When things are broken or not going right, we like to do something to make it better.

Maybe that's why we feel the way we do - out of control and sinking fast. I feel like we're on the Titanic in those last few hours when everyone knew it was sinking. We know that Grandma and I are going to end up on the lifeboat but Grandpa isn't. It's devastating to sit here and write this, knowing that he isn't going to survive this.

He's getting worse. His energy fluctuates and his pain is rising and he has intense itching at intervals throughout the day. He throws up a lot. It seems like his symptoms are always a step ahead of us. Last week he was incredibly sleepy, so much so that he couldn't keep his eyes open. It turned out he was being given only oral Benadryl for the itching, because Grandma and he had refused the cream. But I knew that Benadryl in combination with the Norcos he's taking would make him really really tired. So I called and everyone agreed to get him off the oral Benadryl and use the cream. The itching is related to his liver function so the oral and topical should work about the same. At least that's what I was told.

After he got off the oral Benadryl, he wasn't nearly as tired but then he was in excruciating pain. It was terrible. He couldn't stand the pain and the nurse was with someone so it took her a few minutes to get to him. When she came, she gave him another pain pill but it took about half an hour for him to feel better.

Then he started throwing up. He threw up all afternoon and all night. In the morning, I stopped by and he was still sick. So I went to the store and got him some bananas, applesauce, and toast. Most of the BRAT diet. And of course Vernor's ginger ale. He wanted to eat so he had some of the ginger ale and felt better. He wouldn't eat the toast so I ate it. I hadn't eaten all day and by that time it was 1 o'clock.

He had been itching, too. He said that when he rubbed his arm, it felt like sandpaper. That morning the nurse had done a great job helping him stop itch. She had scrubbed his skin wherever it was itching and then she put the topical cream on him. I told him that was wonderful because the sandpapery feel was from the toxins that his body was emitting through his skin. Since his liver isn't processing toxins very well anymore, they are coming out through his skin and his digestive tract. And they are affecting his thinking.

Because he's hallucinating now, too. He was sitting in his recliner and he thought he was driving his car. He kept trying to get the recliner to go. Grandma came out and saw him moving his hands and arms, and she said, "What are you doing?" He said, "I'm trying to get this thing to go. I gotta get to work." Grandma said, "Dad, you're not in a car." Then he could see that he wasn't. He was really upset about that, but he did feel better when I told him that it was related to his cancer. I said, "Grandpa, you're not losing your mind. The toxins are affecting your thinking, too."

But the itching continued. The itching had been bad before and it was getting worse. Grandma thinks this is because he's not getting the oral Benadryl but it's not. It's because the itching is getting worse.

Today Grandma had a complete meltdown because of Grandpa's itching. She was convinced that Grandpa needed oral Benadryl, that that would fix everything, and it was all my fault that he couldn't have it. She said that all the nurses told her that I was the one that wouldn't let him have it. She went completely nuts. It was awful. So I hung up the phone and called the RN coordinator, Lydia, my savior in dealing with Grandma. She went in to talk with her and they calmed down.

In the meantime, I called hospice and Lisa said that there is a medicine that is good for this itching. She would evaluate him on Wednesday and then call in the prescription. At the time, that seemed fine. But after a while, I realized that we probably needed that prescription right away. I called Lydia back and she called in to get that prescription. Hospice got it to her right away, but it was a while before the pharmacy was ready to deliver it. Several times in the evening, I called to see how the Grands were doing and if the medicine had come in. Every time, they were patient and caring with me. And I knew they were with Grandma, too. At 8:30, I learned that the medicine wouldn't be there until 10. I offered to go get it, but do you know the director of Bickford said she'd go get it. She got in her car and went to the pharmacy at 8:30 at night to get Grandpa his medicine.

By now he has it, and maybe he'll rest a little better tonight. We can only hope. Meanwhile, I sit here feeling lost and hurt that Grandma blamed me for his itching. His cancer symptoms are not my fault. Lydia said that sometimes people just need someone to blame. Who do I get to blame?

No one. There's no one to blame for this. It's not going to be okay, and there's really nothing any of us can do to change that.

When I was in high school, we had to take a class called Life and Death. It was a religion class (I went to a Catholic high school). We all called it Death and Dying, because it seemed like that was what it was really about. In that class, I first learned about Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's stages of grief. I know there's been some change to it over the years, but her research is still the foundation of our understanding of how we cope with death. If I remember right, the stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, isolation and acceptance. I may be missing one, but this is most of them. I think it's safe to say that I am past bargaining but I'm not at acceptance. I am having to face that it's never going to get better. But I'm not okay with it.

My grandma still thinks she can control this by raging against her perceived opponents (me and the nurses), demanding that people give him pills, and trying to fix the symptoms. But none of that is going to work, because he isn't going to get better.

As I'm writing this last sentence, I think about Heaven and I realize that nothing could be more false. I realize he's going to be better off than he ever has been before. He's going to be in Heaven where there is no more pain, no more suffering, no more loneliness, and no more sorrow. We won't be there with him just yet, but what is 50 years compared to eternity? I'll be there, too, within a blink of an eye. That's what I think when I think about Heaven.

But then I think about earth and I realize that 50 years is a long time. It's hard to accept that it's okay that he's dying, that it's going to be okay because he's going to Heaven. But I think what's hardest to accept is that I'm going to be okay without him. I've never lived without him, and I just can't imagine what it will be like.

I know I'm a grown woman but he's my grandpa. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents when I was growing up. The Grands were the only ones that provided me with any stability. So now, as I face losing my grandpa, I am losing the only source of stability I ever had as a child. Somewhere inside of me is a little girl who has always known that Grandpa was there. Grandpa would always be there to lean on and take care of things. Grandpa would always know what to say at just the right moment.

Who can I lean on now? I turn my head to the left, and I see my favorite picture of Jesus. I'll lean on Him, and everything will be okay.

Friday, January 24, 2014

A Happy Reprieve

It's been a quiet week for the Grands. Grandpa's been in good spirits since he learned what is wrong with him. When he has bad days where his energy is low or when he wakes up throwing up, he takes it in stride. He knows these are symptoms of his cancer. Grandma has realized that it was a good idea to tell him. I took her to get her hair done Sunday for our family pictures and she talked to me a little bit about it on the way back. As we're driving home, she said, "Your grandpa can just accept things. I don't know how he does that. But he just accepts it." I knew what she was talking about. I think his acceptance has helped her cope more than anything else could have.

We did have our family pictures taken on Sunday. I had called a wonderful photography studio, Kane Photography of Rockford, and they came to Bickford House to take the pictures. Bickford's staff was wonderful, asking us if we needed anything and being open to the photographers moving stuff wherever they wanted. The photographers took their time and really paid attention to details. They watched foot placement, they straightened necklaces, and pushed hair out of faces. The photographer kept having to tell Grandma to put her chin down. She's in a habit of keeping her head up because she thinks she has a double chin. He was sweet and funny about it so that everyone was laughing. There's a pool table down there so the boys started a pool game when it wasn't their turn. What a blessed afternoon.

Grandpa has an interesting effect on men. Steve, my husband, went over to the Grands' apartment because their humidifier wasn't using any water. Grandma kept telling me about it, but I knew Steve would know what to do. When he went over, he fixed up the humidifier and talked to them for a while. When he came home, he said, "You know, Grandpa really likes me. I don't know why, but he does." It's because Steve is a man of integrity. He does what he says he's going to do. That's one of the most important things to my grandpa, Mr. Wallace Bean. Be a man of your word.

Another moment sticks out in my mind from this week. Yesterday I was talking to Grandma about how one of Lliam's friends doesn't have her driver's license yet. Grandma said, "You know how I learned to drive? My mother took me out in a field." I said, "Well, that explains a lot." I laughed and she gave me that look. THAT look. Grandpa was in his wheelchair, going to the bathroom and I told him what I'd said (he hadn't been listening). I said, "That explains why she never paid attention to the road." Grandpa laughed, too, but Grandma still didn't think it was funny. I told Grandpa, "I got her good." Grandpa wheeled past us and took my hand and Grandma's and gave them a little squeeze. "My girls," he said, "My two favorite girls. I love you both."

Grandpa doesn't say much, but what he says means a lot.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Grandpa Learns He Has Cancer

You'd think that with a doctor standing over you while you're lying in a hospital bed, that you'd hear her tell you the bad news. But Grandpa was in intensive care, he was on morphine and he'd been in a lot of pain so the fact was that he didn't hear a word she said.



At the time, we thought that was a good thing because his frame of mind was so fragile. But once he got home and settled into his routine, we thought he ought to know why he was so tired, why he wasn't recovering from his symptoms, and why he was in more pain. At least, most of us thought so. The key person who thought Grandpa should remain in the dark was Grandma. I don't understand it, and it was a true frustration to all of us (all of us being the nurses at Bickford, the hospice team, the rest of the family, and me), but that woman was absolutely militant about not telling Grandpa that he had cancer. She didn't seem to notice that throughout the week, his anxiety about his symptoms was worsening. His mood was dark and almost frantic. He asked everyone why he was so tired and why he couldn't do the things he wanted to do. He criticized himself, saying, "I'm just a big baby. I need to stop this." Well, he could no more stop than he could jump off the roof and expect to fly.

So after a lot of prayer and a lot of conversations with hospice, with family, and with Bickford's staff, we planned a meeting to tell Grandma that he had to be told. The plan was that we would explain everything to her, why he needed to know, why this had to happen, and then give her the choice of telling him herself or letting me or a nurse tell him.

I'm not going to go into the details of that meeting, but suffice it to say that Grandma may have the tiniest feet on any grown woman in America, but when she digs in those heels you're in for a rough ride.

The night before the meeting, I had been talking to the social worker from hospice and I told her we needed to plan for Grandma absolutely refusing to tell him. She told me very respectfully but directly not to catastrophize. I do catastrophize sometimes . . .



But this time? Hmmm. After the meeting, I smiled and shook my head, trying to see the humor in the situation. I asked the social worker, "So do you still think I was catastrophizing?" She slowly shook her head with wide eyes. No. I wasn't.

But at least the meeting ended with the necessary result. Grandma said, "Well, I can see I'm not going to win this. What do you want me to do?" Lydia told Grandma she needed to tell Wally soon. Deb the director told her she needed to tell him by the weekend. Grandma agreed.

Somehow, with as bad as that was, Grandma was able to pull herself together, out of her mad, and she shined with the grace and integrity I know her to have. She asked me to have dinner with them at their table. That was fun, talking with everyone and seeing them smile. Grandpa was really tired and he didn't eat much, but he smiled at me now and then. He was happy I was there. Grandma was, too. She wanted to hear all about the boys (Steve and Lliam) and what they'd been doing and what I'd been doing.

We headed back to the room after dinner. Grandpa managed to get into his lazyboy, and he leaned back. He wasn't comfortable. He was exhausted and he was really upset. He started to cry, saying, "I don't know why I'm so tired. I'm just a big baby." I said, "No, you're not. You're doing really well, Grandpa. Really well, considering everything."

Grandma heard us talking and she hustled over, tottering all the way, and knelt at his knee. I don't know if she was afraid I'd spill the beans or if she'd made up her mind that this was a good time, but right there, with no more to do, she said, "Dad, you have cancer." Grandpa said, "What?" Grandma said, "You have cancer, Dad, that's why you're so tired." Grandpa asked, "Who told you?" Grandma said, "Lara did."

I chimed in, "The doctor did. The doctor did." Me?!? Not me. I can't diagnose cancer. But they went on as if I hadn't said anything. Grandma continued, "That's why you can't get your energy back and why your belly hurts."

Grandpa took a second to think about this. He started to cry again. I took his hand and Grandma kissed his knee and held his other hand. I cried, too. Grandma hid her tears by turning her face away. I told him that it was okay with us, we'd be okay. I told him that he was the best man I'd ever know. I told him that he was the standard by which I judge every other man I meet. Grandma told him no one could be better. Grandma said, "I can't imagine life without you, Dad. But you remember how we sat with my mother and kept talking to her, keeping her with us when she needed to go? Well . . . all I want is that you don't suffer. You tell me any time you need a pain pill or you need anything, and I'll call one of the nurses in here to help you."

I asked Grandpa, "Are you glad we told you?" Grandpa said, "Well, yeah," like that was the most obvious thing in the world. Grandma said, "What? You're glad?" Grandpa said, "Yes. Certainly."

We sat together like that for about ten more minutes, just touching hands and crying together. Grandma laid her head on Grandpa's knee. Grandpa patted her head. I talked about stuff. I don't know what I said. Something about how Grandma had been the best wife in the world and how good a life they'd had. How they'd be together again soon after this was over. I remembered what I'd read about John and Abigail Adams in the biography by David McCullough, that when Abigail died John said that they had been apart for four years when he was a diplomat in Europe and that this couldn't be any longer a separation than that. So I used that to encourage Grandpa because I could tell that he was sad because he knows that he is going to be leaving us soon. I said, "You and Grandma were apart when you were at war in World War II. That was two years, wasn't it? Well, you won't apart much this time either. Remember how good Grandma did while you were gone? She was Rosie the Riveter and she made friends and waited for you. This won't be far different."

I don't know if all my babbling helped or not. But when I left that night, Grandpa was particularly tender. He told he loved me. He said that he was willing to go through all of this for Grandma and I, but there was nothing else in the world that could make it worth it.

When I came to visit the next time, their mood had lightened considerably. Grandpa was calmer, more at peace. Grandma was happier, more confident. She told me herself that Grandpa had said he was glad he knows.

Certainly he is. People need to know what's happening to them. I'm glad I fought so hard to help that happen, but most of all I'm so grateful that God interceded to help them find peace with the information and to help Grandma accept what she had to do. I keep reminding myself, this is the worst time of her entire life. She is losing her love of 76 years. They have had a wonderful life together, but it is ending.

Death is inevitable, but all this has made me think about how grateful I am that we can have confidence in our life in Christ and in our continued life together after we all join Him in heaven.



I honestly don't know how people manage to cope with death when they don't have the love of God in their hearts and the confidence that they will see one another again someday in Heaven. How horrible, how frightening, to live without that confidence and love. How wonderful, how merciful is God's grace that we all have the opportunity to accept Him.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Super-Grandma Goes to the Courthouse




Friday was one of those days when I had a lot planned and a lot of obligations, but I thought I had plenty of time to do everything. I had a doctor's appointment for Grandma at 11, then lunch with her, then take her to Walmart. I didn't have any other appointments until 4 PM when I had to be in court for one of my CASA cases. No problem, I thought. There's five hours between her doctor's appointment and court.

Famous last words. Grandma ended up taking two hours in Walmart. Her Walmart shopping trips work like this: I drop her off in front of Walmart and get her a cart and she toodles around the store with her cart until she's ready. Then she calls me on her cell phone to come pick her up. Usually she's there an hour. But the thing is, we haven't been to Walmart in weeks because of the holidays, and Grandma needed to peruse the vast and various night cream section of the store.

All that is to say that suddenly it was 3:15 and I hadn't heard from Grandma. Not only that, it was pouring down rain, and in January in northern Illinois that means icy roads and flooding. Might I add, it takes 30 minutes to get her home and 20 minutes to get to court. Even if she called right then, I wouldn't have enough time to get to court by 4 PM. And of course I was in front of a new judge. Great first impression, I thought.

Finally, at 3:20 she called. I immediately picked her up but I told her my dilemma. Well, my able-bodied and Wonder-Woman Grandma said, "I'll just go to court with you." I fussed over that but she said, "There's nothing else we can do. You have to get to court." I reluctantly agreed. She's been to the courthouse before, but the weather was a lot better and Grandpa wasn't sick. I was worried about Grandpa being alone that long. But we called Bickford House (their senior living home) and they let us know that he was doing fine so off we went to the courthouse.

We got there and of course there was no convenient parking. I figured the parking structure would be easiest. I'm not so sure that was the best choice in retrospect, but once I had that little ticket in my hand I was committed. So up the structure we went. The only spots were ones on the third floor with large inclines for Grandma to climb to get to the elevator. Arggh. So I dropped her off by the elevator doors, parked, and joined her. We took the elevator down and then it was a long walk through the icy structure to the street. Both of us were slipping a little, but we went trooping along. When we got to the sidewalk, people on the street were warning us that it was very icy. But we had no choice but to keep moving.

We kind of needed to hurry at this point because it was already 3:55. But how do you hurry a 90-year-old woman with a walker along an icy sidewalk? Answer: you don't. We headed out into the street after avoiding several melting snowbanks. The icy street was a challenge in itself, and I had worn my black boots with no tread. Perfect. Then there was an enormous puddle of running water  at the edge of the sidewalk. Grandma had to walk right through it, her little white Reeboks covered in fast-moving water.

Finally, we made it inside. The policewoman at the metal detector wanted Grandma to walk through without her walker. So I'm trying to get my bags on the conveyor belt and help Grandma at the same time. I directed her walker through but then there she was, wobbling along with no walker. So we both went through the detector together which really threw the poor policewoman for a loop. The other policeman knew me, though, so he just waved us through.

We got settled outside the courtroom. There were a few truancy officers and a few parent-child pairs waiting on the hard wooden benches. I informed the other people sitting there that my grandma was here because she hadn't been attending school. Everyone chuckled.

As it turned out, all our rushing wasn't needed. We sat there for an hour waiting for my child's case to be called. During that hour, Grandma whispered to me about this and that. She fussed over me. She told me not to pick at my nails. She thought no one could hear her except me, but actually everybody could hear her. When I walked to the garbage and back, she whispered, "You've got a string on your butt." The others  laughed. Grandma was so surprised. "You all can hear me?!"

No dignity, folks. There I was, dressed up like an official court person and my grandma was sitting with me telling me I had a string on my butt. I rolled my eyes and laughed along with them. I gave up on having any dignity at all and let Grandma take the string off. It was about an inch long. "Oh, that's a big thing," I said. "Well," she said, "I didn't say it was big."

I finally got called into court, came out in less than five minutes, got downstairs to the entrance, and then the real fun began. As icy as it was when we got there, it was nothing compared to now. Every cement surface was a solid sheet of ice. People walking by were warning us about the ice. I didn't know what to do, really. I had no clue. I looked around for help but everyone was gone for the day. Finally, I decided to get the car and park it as close as I could to the entrance. It would still be half a block away because of the gated parking but it would be the best I could do. On my way to the car, I almost fell a few times, but I made it.

I wondered what in the world I was going to do to get Grandma to the car. I called the police non-emergency number because the courthouse is right across the street from the police station, but they were so busy with emergencies they didn't answer. I drove down the structure, slid the car sideways into the lot entrance in front of the gate, and then walked carefully to the door, praying that God would help me figure this out.

Thank the Lord, there was a man, one of the bailiffs, and a friend of mine standing with her. Greg the bailiff helped my little grandma out to the car. Grandma said, "Oh, I'm really slipping." She'd take a few steps and then say, "If you weren't hanging onto me, I'd already have fallen." She asked him his name and asked him what he did at the courthouse. He answered her gently and helped her along. When they got to the car, she said, "Don't let go of me yet, not until I get into the car." He said, "Oh I know. I've got you. Don't worry. I do the same thing for my mother."

Greg the bailiff, you're my favorite person at the courthouse. God bless you. Thank you.

From that point, we made it home, two world explorers who had been on a great big adventure to the courthouse. On the ride home, Grandma and I talked about the amazing love of God  It couldn't be an accident, that bailiff stopping to wait with Grandma and my friend who just happened to be right there. It couldn't be an accident that we managed to get where we needed to go safely. It just couldn't. That's too coincidental.

Here we are, small and insignificant compared to the almighty God, and yet He loves every single one of us and looks out for us in all our times of need. Thanks, God. We needed you and you were there.

Monday, January 6, 2014

First Love, Last Love



It's been a relatively quiet day with the grands. Relatively quiet means several hours of phone calls to hospice, nurses, and doctors but no visits, errands, crisis phone calls, or emergencies. In this relative quiet, I've been thinking a lot and feeling overwhelmed with looming responsibilities. Can I really do all this? How am I going to manage all of this? By the grace of God, go I.

I've also been thinking so much of some things that happened Friday morning. That morning, we were not sure if Grandpa was going to improve. He kept saying that he was ready to die. He kept crying, asking why God didn't just take him home. I told him that I didn't know but that I imagined that death was something like birth. It often required a long, painful labor but then there was the joy of new life.

When Grandma realized that he might not make it, she began to accept it and she started talking to him about final things that she wanted to say. She stood by his bedside and took his hand. She said, "No one could have done better than you, Wally. You were always such a good provider. You have done so well through the years. No one could have done better." Then she paused and asked, "Wally, have I been a good wife to you?" Grandpa answered in a voice choked with tears. "The best."

By the afternoon, the danger had passed and Grandpa had improved enough to get transferred out of ICU. Then Grandma started telling stories to the nurses. Let me tell you, everyone loves my grandma's stories. Even the palliative care doctor that visited with Grandma and Grandpa on Friday told me today, "We were happy for him to go home, but we were also a little disappointed that they weren't here. Your grandma has such wonderful stories."

Each time she tells a story, I learn a new detail of it, too. Like the story of when they met 76 years ago. She was telling one of the nurses about it. Grandma said that her friend and she had gone to a box supper. Grandma explained that that was when people bring food in a box and then it gets auctioned. That was a way for the churches to do fund raising. Grandma and her friend didn't bring a box, but they went to the supper to enjoy the games and the fun. One of the games was a cake walk and the prize was a pie. Well, Grandma and Grandpa were partners and then her friend was partners with Grandpa's friend. Their friends won the cake walk so the four of them went out to Grandpa's car to eat it.

Grandma was very impressed that he had a car of his own. Grandpa was impressed, too, because he sent a note to Grandma along with his little sister the next day. Grandma and his little sister, Aunt Ruth, rode the same school bus. Neither of them could remember what the note said, but it must have been nice.

Grandma said that her dad didn't much like Grandpa at first. Grandpa would drive out to see Grandma but that didn't please Great-Grandpa at all. Grandma said that Great-Grandpa couldn't understand what a city boy like Grandpa who had his own car would want with his daughter. Grandpa said, "I knew what. I was in love."

They were married two years later in Piggott, Arkansas on Thanksgiving Day. Again, they had to go against Great-Grandpa's wishes. Grandpa asked Great-Grandpa if he could marry Grandma but Great-Grandpa said no, because she wasn't old enough. Grandma was just 16. Well, you had to have your parent's permission to marry in Missouri but you didn't in Arkansas. So Grandpa and Grandma drove down to Arkansas on Thanksgiving Day and got married. That was November 23, 1939. Grandma says that Great-Grandpa was was upset but that Great-Grandma was relieved that Grandma had married a nice boy with promise. Grandpa says that his dad just shook his head and said, "Just a couple of kids."

After 74 years of marriage, I think it's safe to say that Great-Grandpa's worries were unfounded. In fact, in later years Great-Grandpa came to really love Grandpa.

Saturday, January 4, 2014

Unexpected Surprises

At 90 and 93, surprises are usually not too good. Thursday's surprise was proof of that. I was working on the computer around 4:30 and I got a call from Grandma. Since she had been so upset with me last night, I didn't answer right away. But she called back again, which told me that something was wrong.

Something was. She said Grandpa wasn't feeling well and I'd better come over. So I dropped everything and was there in 15 minutes. Grandpa was having a really weird episode that I still don't understand. He had his eyes closed and he was miserable. He was crying, too, which is really strange. He said that he couldn't understand what was happening because his thinking was in his neck. He kept pointing to his neck, saying, "My thinking is down here" and "Everything is down here." Then his hand moved to his heart when he said these things. It was so strange. Neither Grandma nor I knew what to do or what was going on. I thought maybe it was related to his dementia symptoms, but he also couldn't open his eyes or focus on anything. Could he be having a stroke?

As this weird feeling moved from his neck to his heart, I started to think that it might be some sort of stroke. I told Grandma I needed to get the nurse, but Grandma didn't want any confusion for Grandpa. I told her that I had to at least talk to the nurse. She reluctantly agreed. After I told the nurse, Lydia, what was happening, she said she really needed to come in. So I went back to the room, had Grandma go talk to Lydia. After talking with Lydia, Grandma agreed to have her come in.

This was a very purposeful approach with Grandma. Because it's as much Grandma as Grandpa that can't stand all the confusion anymore. Grandpa was actually fine with the nurse coming in, but Grandma gets anxious about it. She is still very verbally astute but she can't process what's happening around her anymore. She can't understand a lot of things that we take for granted. Grandpa can't either, but he has accepted that he can't. Grandma still thinks she can understand, but then when she can't she just rejects the idea. So I try to work her into understanding what is happening and what needs to be done so that she doesn't feel anxious or upset. I also try to give her as much control as possible without compromising health or safety. Thank the Lord that Bickford's staff is as patient, caring, and responsive to their residents' needs as they are because that's exactly what Grandma needs.

Sometimes I can't give her as much control as she wants, but I try. In this case, I had to go against her will again by talking to the nurse because I could see that Grandpa was in real distress and that it might be really serious. Fortunately, my approach worked (yay!) and I didn't upset Grandma.

I really hate upsetting her because I think it's hard enough to be 90 and 93 and facing end of life issues every day. When they were still in Missouri, Grandma and Grandpa used to say that they knew more people in Dexter's cemetery than they did in town.

And it seems like every week they hear of another friend or relative that they grew up with dying or becoming ill. I can't imagine it from the youthful age of 44, but I try. Each time they hear these stories they wonder when it will be them. Worse still, they fear that they will be the one left behind. What could be harder than Grandma facing the loss of Grandpa after 74 years of marriage?

So Lydia came in and determined that he'd better go to the hospital for possible stroke or mini-stroke symptoms. At the hospital, Grandpa had a great deal of distress from stomach pain. After a catheter, a near-heart failure from shock involving the pain of inserting the catheter, and a lot of pain medicine, Grandpa stabilized.  But then we got the unexpected surprise.

All this time, you probably thought that the surprise was the hospitalization. That was a surprise, but the biggest surprise was that the cat-scan revealed several spots that weren't supposed to be there. It revealed a lesion on his spine, a tumor on his liver, and one on his colon. And his prostate is the size of a tennis ball. So they think that the prostate cancer has metastasized into the three other areas.

Since Grandma and Grandpa decided that chemo and radiation are out of the question for Grandpa, the doctors suggested hospice. I embraced the idea of having hospice now, because as he gets worse they will have all the resources in place and the relationships with the hospice team that they need.

Now I can't be in denial anymore that my grandpa is dying. But I still am. I still can't believe it.


My sweet grandpa. I know he needs to go. He's tired and every day is a struggle. But I'm going to miss him so much.




Wednesday, January 1, 2014

A Day on the Dark Side with the Grands - I Think I Need a Tylenol

For New Years Day, I brought Grandma and Grandpa over to our house. It has been snowing for the last 24 hours, but I didn't let that stop me. I took the Subaru, picked them up, wheeled Grandpa's chair through drifting snow, and struggled with Grandma to take her outdoor walker. We had a nice day, watching the Rose Bowl parade (Grandma's idea), watching the hockey game in Michigan, making homemade pizza. I got them home by 4:30.

The dark side of this is that Grandpa wasn't feeling well today. It's really the reason Grandpa wasn't feeling well that speaks of the dark side. Grandpa has sores on his head that are non-fatal cancer. They are being treated, but they are painful. So the wound care specialist told Grandma to give Grandpa Tylenol. She started doing this, but then she thought it wasn't strong enough and gave him trama-dol, a strong painkiller. I dissuaded her from doing that, but then she started giving him more and more Tylenol. So Grandpa began not feeling well. His stomach hurt, he was woozy. Well, yeah, if you're taking 4000 milligrams of Tylenol, it's going to start eating up your stomach.

She's not even supposed to give him medications because we turned his meds over to the nurses. Two weeks ago, Grandma had a fit when I suggested talking to the nurses, telling me not to tell them. I decided not to tell because she agreed to stop giving him the Trama-dol. But now she has been giving him too much Tylenol. The fun never stops.

In reality, this is scary stuff. She's not supposed to be giving him medication because when we asked the nurses to handle his meds, they take that responsibility and they have to handle all of it because of liability issues. The wound care specialist doesn't know that, but that confused Grandma. Understandably so.

But the tough part is that Grandma really doesn't understand any of this. All she knows is that she's been giving him medications for years and all she remembers is that she has been competent and intelligent for most of her life. It's impossible to explain to her now that she's not. She can't see it.

So two hours after I drop them off, I get a phone call from her. She is screaming at me that I have no right to take the Tylenol and she doesn't care if she ever sees me again. She says I'm taking all of her control away from her, that I'm taking over her whole life because I took the Tylenol, and I can't do that. She starts talking to me like I'm five years old, saying, "We're going to have to have a talk, young lady!"

No, we're not. Because we've already talked about this. She didn't understand it the first time. She couldn't accept it the first time. So why would she accept it now? This is all her fight for control, but I'm not going to participate. I would love for her to be in control. I would like nothing better than for her to take care of everything herself for Grandpa's and her care, but that isn't possible. At least, it's not possible if we're going to avoid accidents, injuries, and unnecessary illnesses.

But I've told her all of this. And in the heat of the moment, with her going on and on angrily, I said, "You know what, I'll talk to you in a few days." She told me she didn't care if she ever talked to me again. So I said that if she really felt that Tylenol was more important than her relationship with me, so be it. And I hung up.

Ugh. Why can't I be more patient? Why can't I be more gentle? I pray every day for more gentleness and more patience. I don't know if I'm improving or not. I just don't know. And in times like this, I feel like I'm not improving at all.

The thing is, I have told them repeatedly, I will not compromise on health or safety. I will compromise on anything else, but if it's related to health or safety, it's going to be done right. I took the Tylenol because the nurses said it had to go. I said I would take it because I thought it would be less jarring and upsetting for her.

I should add that there were six bottles of Tylenol in their one-bedroom apartment. I'm left wondering, where in the world did she get all that Tylenol? Has she been buying it on our weekly shopping trips to Walmart? She toodles around the store on her own and I come and pick her up, so it's entirely possible.

In retrospect, I have no idea if there is anything I could have done to avoid this angry scene. She was yelling at me two weeks ago not to tell the nurses that she was giving him medication. I acquiesced, but now I think I shouldn't have. Then today she's constantly bringing up the Tylenol while she was at my house. She also claimed that the head nurse was mean to her, that she talked mean to her when she was talking with her about the meds. I was there. She didn't talk mean to Grandma. She was very gentle. But in Grandma's mind, she was mean. Mainly because the nurse talked to her like she was an old person. What does Grandma think she is?

I can truly empathize that it must be really hard to be 90. Especially when your mind doesn't work as well as it used to so you don't realize all of the changes that are happening. I wish I could make it easier for her, but I don't think I can. In this continued second guessing of myself, maybe I could have let the nurses take out the Tylenol. But she would still have been mad.

In the end, I couldn't leave her stewing about this all night. I called the staff's number to talk to the nurse. Fortunately, it was their favorite nurse Sara. All of the nurses are wonderful, but Sara has really won Grandma's and Grandpa's hearts so I knew she could help. I told her what had happened and she said she'd talk to them.

An hour after that, Sara called back and told me that Grandma said to her right away that she shouldn't have called me and lost her temper. She felt bad, but she thought she'd let Sara call me instead of her. Sara explained again to Grandma that anything with medication has to legally go through the nurses. In other words, no one is targeting Grandma. Least of all, me.

Sara said Grandma kind of understood, but she also said Grandma kind of didn't understand. She defiantly said that she could just go out and buy another bottle of Tylenol if she wanted. In the next sentence, she said that she knew she had to let the nurses take care of the medication. She wants Sara and I to keep this secret from Lydia, the head nurse. No way, Grandma. Forget it. No more secrets.

So what will she do next? Will she go out and buy another bottle of Tylenol? Well, she'll probably adjust to the change and let the staff take care of the pain relievers. She'll complain that no one trusts her, but she'll do as she's asked. And she'll still be my sweetie. I'll call her in the morning and see how they're doing. I'll try harder to be patient and gentle, but I'll maintain reasonable boundaries and common sense. I'll brave whatever mood they're in. I'll hope it's a good one.

Pass the Tylenol. My head is killing me.