By
Sherry Churchill
By 6:30 am, grandma was up. My
written instructions said I was to feed her, get her coffee with
Karo syrup in it and sugar. I combed her hair and struggled with her
robe and slippers. Being a childless woman, I wasn’t very good at
dressing others. After the messy breakfast, we made a bathroom trip.
Her diaper needed changing, as I hadn’t thought to take her the
night before and she hadn’t indicated anything to make me think of
it. I almost reeled from the odor of it, and had trouble prying
apart her legs to make the change. I kept apologizing to her for the
embarrassment of it, and my clumsiness, while she merely laughed.
This was my very own Grandma and it wasn’t proper for me to see her
undressed - that part was hard for me to handle. Soon, however, I
didn’t even notice and my clumsiness improved. I didn’t forget the
bathroom anymore and we only had one other accident that week.
Aunt Sally mentioned that
Grandma was long overdue for a bowel movement, and so I was to give
her Citrucel. Well, Grandma didn’t like Citrucel and anything I put
it in was cruelly rejected. Nevertheless, Grandma had a bowel
movement on Tuesday - I was very happy and noticed that, for a
caregiver, a bowel movement can be the highlight of the day! I
developed a new appreciation for my Aunt Sally. Especially when I
was faced with cleaning up Grandma after the big event. It was
mentally and physically exhausting to just get through each day with
grandma and her pacing. She took a couple spills, a bad one where I
was fortunate to catch her in time, and another minor fall onto her
bottom. Lifting her back up was another story. As each day wore on,
my arms and wrists hurt more and more. I was popping Tylenol for the
pain to my newfound muscles! Up and down, up and down, Grandma’s
exercise was walking from room to room and sitting down and getting
back up. That is, until my cousin and I took Grandma to the Mall. I
was thrilled to be getting out, but didn’t realize that wheelchairs
don’t always fit in between the racks of clothing. I could never
step away long to look at something for fear Grandma would attempt
to climb out of the wheelchair. My cousin had her own hands full
with two toddlers and, of course, her unborn child who was, at this
time, hyperactive in the womb. We made quite a picture: A pregnant
blond lady with two wild Indians, and a harried, clumsy middle-aged
brunette with grandma in a wheelchair. Lunch was strange. Aunt Sally
said Grandma eats hamburgers, so I bought her one. Grandma ate the
whole thing, much to my surprise. However, about four, that’s four
hours later grandma announced, “Have to spit”. I put a paper towel
under her mouth and she politely spit up what looked like the whole
burger. This was not “processed” hamburger, mind you, this appeared
to be an un-swallowed version. I couldn’t fathom anyone but a
chipmunk storing an entire hamburger in their cheeks for four hours.
Grandma was ruling my life. She
set the pace, the timing and the rules. My once-per-day calls to my
office back home were always dotted with, “No, grandma, sit here
grandma, what do you need, grandma?”. I had no personal time
whatsoever. I had to try to time my showers precisely 15 minutes
after her 10 am nap began - sometimes it worked, sometimes it
didn’t. There were moments I wanted to run screaming from the house.
I could never complete a one hour newscast or a talk show, or a
telephone call. I couldn’t be careless to leave a door open or
something sitting out on a table. I only dared to run to the corner
store while grandma slept, fearing she would wake and fall. Thoughts
of my aunt suffering this for the last 10 years were sobering,
indeed, a shame unto us all. By the end of the week, Grandma was on
her worst behavior. She discovered what room I disappeared into (you
know, to sleep, dress, etc.) and she began entering that room every
time I was in there (it didn’t have a lock). I first put up chairs
as a barricade - she moved the chairs. Then I had to put a 19” TV in
front of it to keep her from coming in. Later, she decided she was
going in there anyway, whether I was in there or not, even with the
door shut. I could tell when she was deciding to go in there when
she was standing in the kitchen - she eyed the door from across the
room, about 25 feet away. I would say, “No, grandma” and she would
take off 90 miles an hour for that door. So fast, I couldn’t catch
her until she was already in the room. This was no feeble
98-year-old lady! She was greased lightning when she wanted to be!
Well, anyway, to make matters worse, the last time I stopped her
from getting into the room, she turned around and her false teeth
were hanging out - she looked like a walking skeleton! I said,
“Eeek! Grandma, put your teeth back in!” She just walked around,
with those things hanging out.
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