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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.