clinging to life
Some imagery may not be appropriate for underage llama-blog readers.
Dad and I arrived in LI on Wednesday. After haggling with the cab driver over the fare out to the island (turns out the book rate for 5 Towns is about twice the "meter plus" rate), we arrived without ceremony. We stayed at my aunt's long enough to drop off our bags, get a glass of water and retrieve my weeping grandmother, whom we bundled into my uncle's Camry to take to the hospital.
Hospital zoning is fascinating. A clue to the hospital's age is that a)it's a rather dungeon-like brick structure b) completely surrounded by a residential suburban neighborhood. Makes parking impossible, but is rather picturesque. They try to spruce up the inside with pictures from a photo contest (I like everything involving baby birds) and impressionistic watercolors in Caribbean hues of boats and beaches and sanddunes and gardens. There are also fanciful murals on the walls, which is also how I'm learning to navigate my way around the hospital (it's not very big).
Zeide is...clinging to life. When we went to see him Wednesday, he had moment of alertness, then would fall back asleep. He recognized me (but thought I was my sister at first, which is completely understandable). He looks pale and drawn, and his arms are a mess from the infiltrated IV's, but he still looks like himself. He wanted his teeth back (his denture plate) and they won't let him do to aspiration hazards (he can't swallow). We stayed for several hours on Wed, and Zeide would wake up for a minute or two, say something (sometimes intelligible, sometimes not) and fall back asleep. Dad and I are pretty sure he's time travelling, dreaming, ala Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. I was telling Zeide about my job, working with data for the Museum, hanging out in the Map Library. He told me sometime later, during another period of wakefulness, "You'll make a great librarian." He's listening :)
Thursday, when we went back to the hospital, he asked us to bring back a lb of bread, one of the times he woke up. I asked him if he was hungry (they had to remove his IV). He said "no". My dad concluded he was just thinking about food, maybe he was dreaming of a shopping list? He kept reaching for my waterbottle, I know he was thirsty since they took out his arm IV. I kept having to hide it from him, since he's not allowed anything by mouth. Broke my heart, but I'm glad I was able to understand him.
Last night, they put in a central iv-line into his neck. My Bubbe was incredibly freaking out about the entire prospect. She freaks out about everything. in some ways, she's in worse shape than Zeide (Weird, isn't it, since she's walking around and eating and talking?) Every time that the doctor (who looks like she could be Tami W's older sister) talks about any kind of procedure, Bubbe start wailing "Why should he suffer like this? He's a good man!..." She's conflating in her mind the kvetching level of Zeide's roommate (who keeps yelling at the nurses to "Go away! Leave me alone!") with the amount of discomfort my Zeide is experiencing. Zeide is not a kvetch. He really isn't, never has been. He's pretty calm about the whole experience, especially since he's the one being poked and prodded. (Dad also pointed out that Bubbe may be conflating stuff from last week, when Zeide had a lot more energy and kept trying to escape from his bed.)
But Bubbe is the reason I'm here. My job is to keep her distracted. While my repertoire is limited, she made excuses to take me down to the hospital coffee shop to get coffee and later to get ice cream. She's also time traveling, reminiscing about her youth with Zeide (half of which I'm sure has been fictionalized in the rosy hues of nostalgia, but so it goes...)
Bubbe goes to pieces from the slightest provocations (which in some ways in understandable) but makes me want to bop her. When we told her that they were putting a central IV line in Zeide's neck, she must have had visions of some weird spidery behemoth of tubes and needles, because she refused to go into the room Thursday night when we came back to visit. She hung back in the hallway at the front of the ward, refusing to go any closer to the room. I finally got her into a chair at the nurses station where she sat sobbing and cowering until my father got back from parking the car. So i went in to check on Zeide myself...and he was great! He was more alert than he had been all day, he recognized me and we had a pretty good conversation. Dad and I turned the TV on for him and helped him flip channels with the remote. When he got to "Friends", Zeide's face lit up. "I know this show!" he said. My Zeide really likes TV. I remember being younger and watching "Jerry Springer" and "Oprah" with him in my grandparents kitchen.
We were finally able to coax Bubbe into see Zeide, who was starting to tire out, and show her the central line IV catheter wasn't really all that scary.
But last night, I was at the end of my tether. I was exhausted, but I knew I would not be able to sleep. I told my aunt I was getting into her liquor cabinet...where I found a bottle of Jim Beam. I'm not the world's biggest bourbon fan, but it was okay mixed with soda. Definitely took the edge off. The problem was getting the bottle back into the cabinet without letting my Bubbe see it. (I think she had a few impressions of young ladies that do not involve partaking of hard liquor). I waited for her to go to bed before getting it out in the first place, but like an eight-year old, Bubbe kept getting out of bed to do stuff. Finally, I mustered, enough stealth to sneak the bottle back to the liquor cabinet in the living room (right next to the guest room). my dad found my machinations amusing, "Why didn't you just offer her some?" he laughed. I'm not giving her anything mind altering, especially if it will affect the efficacy of her other medication, the kind that keeps her from flying completely to pieces. i'm keeping the bourbon to myself!
I know I will not be in touch over Shabbat, have a lovely weekend all and I may not be able to contact you before I return home on Sunday (which in the current game plan).
Dad and I arrived in LI on Wednesday. After haggling with the cab driver over the fare out to the island (turns out the book rate for 5 Towns is about twice the "meter plus" rate), we arrived without ceremony. We stayed at my aunt's long enough to drop off our bags, get a glass of water and retrieve my weeping grandmother, whom we bundled into my uncle's Camry to take to the hospital.
Hospital zoning is fascinating. A clue to the hospital's age is that a)it's a rather dungeon-like brick structure b) completely surrounded by a residential suburban neighborhood. Makes parking impossible, but is rather picturesque. They try to spruce up the inside with pictures from a photo contest (I like everything involving baby birds) and impressionistic watercolors in Caribbean hues of boats and beaches and sanddunes and gardens. There are also fanciful murals on the walls, which is also how I'm learning to navigate my way around the hospital (it's not very big).
Zeide is...clinging to life. When we went to see him Wednesday, he had moment of alertness, then would fall back asleep. He recognized me (but thought I was my sister at first, which is completely understandable). He looks pale and drawn, and his arms are a mess from the infiltrated IV's, but he still looks like himself. He wanted his teeth back (his denture plate) and they won't let him do to aspiration hazards (he can't swallow). We stayed for several hours on Wed, and Zeide would wake up for a minute or two, say something (sometimes intelligible, sometimes not) and fall back asleep. Dad and I are pretty sure he's time travelling, dreaming, ala Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. I was telling Zeide about my job, working with data for the Museum, hanging out in the Map Library. He told me sometime later, during another period of wakefulness, "You'll make a great librarian." He's listening :)
Thursday, when we went back to the hospital, he asked us to bring back a lb of bread, one of the times he woke up. I asked him if he was hungry (they had to remove his IV). He said "no". My dad concluded he was just thinking about food, maybe he was dreaming of a shopping list? He kept reaching for my waterbottle, I know he was thirsty since they took out his arm IV. I kept having to hide it from him, since he's not allowed anything by mouth. Broke my heart, but I'm glad I was able to understand him.
Last night, they put in a central iv-line into his neck. My Bubbe was incredibly freaking out about the entire prospect. She freaks out about everything. in some ways, she's in worse shape than Zeide (Weird, isn't it, since she's walking around and eating and talking?) Every time that the doctor (who looks like she could be Tami W's older sister) talks about any kind of procedure, Bubbe start wailing "Why should he suffer like this? He's a good man!..." She's conflating in her mind the kvetching level of Zeide's roommate (who keeps yelling at the nurses to "Go away! Leave me alone!") with the amount of discomfort my Zeide is experiencing. Zeide is not a kvetch. He really isn't, never has been. He's pretty calm about the whole experience, especially since he's the one being poked and prodded. (Dad also pointed out that Bubbe may be conflating stuff from last week, when Zeide had a lot more energy and kept trying to escape from his bed.)
But Bubbe is the reason I'm here. My job is to keep her distracted. While my repertoire is limited, she made excuses to take me down to the hospital coffee shop to get coffee and later to get ice cream. She's also time traveling, reminiscing about her youth with Zeide (half of which I'm sure has been fictionalized in the rosy hues of nostalgia, but so it goes...)
Bubbe goes to pieces from the slightest provocations (which in some ways in understandable) but makes me want to bop her. When we told her that they were putting a central IV line in Zeide's neck, she must have had visions of some weird spidery behemoth of tubes and needles, because she refused to go into the room Thursday night when we came back to visit. She hung back in the hallway at the front of the ward, refusing to go any closer to the room. I finally got her into a chair at the nurses station where she sat sobbing and cowering until my father got back from parking the car. So i went in to check on Zeide myself...and he was great! He was more alert than he had been all day, he recognized me and we had a pretty good conversation. Dad and I turned the TV on for him and helped him flip channels with the remote. When he got to "Friends", Zeide's face lit up. "I know this show!" he said. My Zeide really likes TV. I remember being younger and watching "Jerry Springer" and "Oprah" with him in my grandparents kitchen.
We were finally able to coax Bubbe into see Zeide, who was starting to tire out, and show her the central line IV catheter wasn't really all that scary.
But last night, I was at the end of my tether. I was exhausted, but I knew I would not be able to sleep. I told my aunt I was getting into her liquor cabinet...where I found a bottle of Jim Beam. I'm not the world's biggest bourbon fan, but it was okay mixed with soda. Definitely took the edge off. The problem was getting the bottle back into the cabinet without letting my Bubbe see it. (I think she had a few impressions of young ladies that do not involve partaking of hard liquor). I waited for her to go to bed before getting it out in the first place, but like an eight-year old, Bubbe kept getting out of bed to do stuff. Finally, I mustered, enough stealth to sneak the bottle back to the liquor cabinet in the living room (right next to the guest room). my dad found my machinations amusing, "Why didn't you just offer her some?" he laughed. I'm not giving her anything mind altering, especially if it will affect the efficacy of her other medication, the kind that keeps her from flying completely to pieces. i'm keeping the bourbon to myself!
I know I will not be in touch over Shabbat, have a lovely weekend all and I may not be able to contact you before I return home on Sunday (which in the current game plan).