How did I get named MPOA again??
Got a call this afternoon, “Your grandmother is not doing well, do you want her to go to the hospital?” Insert string of unprintable language here.
Push for a slightly more comprehensive version of “not doing well” and the symptoms line up perfectly with her aneurysm finally rupturing/leaking, which is something that we certainly saw coming. Doctor is talking 24 hours. Hospice nurse called in. Discover upon having the paperwork faxed to me that of course, the care center doesn’t use the hospice services that are in the building they share. (Of course not, that would make sense.) Regardless, she will not be going to the hospital - her wishes have been made exceptionally clear over the years.
Booked a flight for tomorrow. Sharyn is a bona fide wreck - she doesn’t want to admit at all that this could be the aneurysm, and keeps insisting that it’s not that bad. (While not even remotely arguing with my coming out west less than a week after I left, so it ain’t good.)
So, I’m flashing back to this time last year where I was headed out to PHX on 24 hours notice with two versions of what is going on, with reality likely falling somewhere smack in the middle of things.
So, tomorrow I head out and probably move her to the hospice center just down the hallway and wait. Now, knowing my grandmother, I’ll probably walk in and she’ll be sitting up in bed asking, “Why the hell is everyone hovering over me?”
Originally posted at CafeChatNoir.net.
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