We got home from Kalamazoo about an hour ago. I've fed and snuggled kitties and taken a shower. The drive home was kind of brutal, but only because of dark, rain, and trucks. Despite that, I'm so very grateful.
When Dad called yesterday to tell me Grandma was in the hospital, I wasn't too concerned. Then he said things like "fluid in her lungs" and "congestive heart failure" and that she was on a ventilator. I got a little scared.
He told me I didn't have to come. I saw her last week, and I could remember her like that. He didn't want me to drive up alone after working all day. I got a little more scared and called Eric. Then I texted my night shift person, who graciously came in an hour early so I could leave. I came home and packed a bag, and as soon as Eric got home, we hit the road.
The mid-drive update wasn't great. She still wasn't awake from the sedative they'd used to put the vent tube down her throat. It was supposed to last about an hour, and it had been two or three at that point. The respiratory therapist had been in a couple times and turned the ventilator to CPAP mode to see if she would breathe on her own. She didn't. I was sure she was already gone. The bard in me whispered that it was the day after Samhain; the veil was still thin. She could slip through and be with Grandpa again.
We got to the hospital about 9:00. Dad met us in the lobby and said Grandma had rallied. She was awake but not terribly coherent. We visited for a little while, then left my aunt (who flatly refused to go home) with instructions to text me if anything changed.
This morning, she was more coherent and kept trying to ask where she was, why she was there, and how long the tube had to stay in. The doctor's first rounds were not encouraging. Her opinion for the best treatment was basically to remove the vent tube and keep her on morphine. She danced around telling us there was no treatment beyond palliative care, but when I asked point blank if she thought Grandma's condition was terminal, she said yes.
Long story short, they took out the vent tube about 2:00 this afternoon. The first thing she said was, "I want to talk." Boy, did she! She had more questions that a toddler: How did I get here? What happened? What hospital am I in? How long do I have to be here? What happened to my voice? Why is it so hoarse? How long is THAT going to last? Why aren't you all at work? Who's paying for all of this? When can I get out of bed? When can I go home? When can I get some food?
The food question stopped her nurse in her tracks. Literally. She stopped and stared and then laughed. They don't normally have to feed ICU patients, but by the time Grandma kicked us out (with instructions to take tomorrow off and relax), they switched her from Nothing By Mouth to Clear Liquids.
German stubbornness for the win!
When I left yesterday, I was scared. Shaking scared. I never expected to laugh as much as I did today. Dad didn't want me to remember her hooked up to machines, but today he said he was glad we'd come and thanked Eric several times for coming with me so I wouldn't have to drive alone. It was worth the drive and expense to be there for my family after so many years of being too far away to be of any use. I'm grateful to be back in the fold.
We're under no illusions that she's going to get better. She's 100, for pity's sake. She might make Thanksgiving or Christmas and I'll be pleasantly surprised, but I'm quite certain she's not going tonight.
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