Diary of A Modern Gran | Granny Does Her Best
Just after writing last week’s column, I received a call from my 99-year-old dad. It was our fourth call of the day even though it was 3pm. He gets very anxious (even though he doesn’t live alone) so my sister and I are in frequent touch.
“I don’t feel very well,” he says.
“What kind of unwell?” I ask alarmed.
“Shivery,” he says.
I speak to his carer who says he thought it might be a reaction to the flu jab. Yet I have a feeling I should make the six hour journey to my dad’s home.
But there is a problem. I’m going into our local hospital myself as we speak, to have my stitches removed. And by the time I come out, I’ll have missed the last train (it’s a six hour journey).
I should add that I’m not a long distance driver. So I spend the time in the waiting room, organising a taxi even though it’s going to cost an arm and a leg.
Then I ring Daddy to tell him.
“Don’t come down,” he insists. “I feel better now.”
But then the following day, his carer rings. He’s very drowsy and confused. The surgery is closed at the weekend so I ring 999. My dad is terrified of hospitals but hopefully the paramedics might examine him and judge whether he can stay at home.
Meanwhile, I know I must get to him. It’s now Saturday and the train strike has started.
My husband offers to drive me but his health isn’t good at the moment and I feel it’s too far for him. So I ring the taxi that I cancelled and they kindly rearranged their rota to take me. I’d packed my bag in five minutes – unheard of for me – rang the children to update them and was in my way.
I’m so glad I made that decision. When I got there, Daddy was lying in a trolley in a curtained off area of a very busy A & E. He looked like a little bony bird with his thin legs sticking out from a hospital gown.
His eyes were closed.
I took his hand and said “It’s Janie, Daddy.” Immediately his eyes shot open. “You’re here,” he said. “Thank God. How did you find me?”
After that, it was a series of confused events with me asking staff what was happening and also requesting blankets (he’s permanently cold even when well) as well as tea. Daddy has been asking for this which I hope is a good sign.
The staff were brilliant – they even found a proper bed mattress for his trolley – but it’s clear they are run off their feet. At 11pm we’re moved into a ward and the doctors say they are treating him for a possible urinary infection which can lead to confusion. Then they kindly tell me I have to leave.
I explain all this to him and he gets upset. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I imagine what it would be like if this is me in forty years’ time with Rose or George looking after me. Luckily I’ve booked a B & B but I don’t sleep and the next morning I’m back in the hospital.
“Where have you been?” he demands as if I have just returned from an adult gap year. “I thought you’d gone for ever.”
I spend all day stroking his hand while my sister and her husband drive down from their neck of the woods to look into care homes. Our stepmother would like to go into one now but my father has always refused. Now it seems there is little choice because he is too frail to stand.
When I come back the next day, they tell me he refused to go for a head scan. I ask why he needs one and they say it might help to explain why he’s confused. I persuade Daddy to have another attempt and I stand by the trolley before it goes into the X-ray room.
That’s the good news. The bad news is that he has a bleed in the brain. This can be caused by falls although we’re not aware of one or it could be related to age.
The plan is to monitor him before deciding whether to operate. You can imagine how we feel.
Meanwhile, the children and grandchildren have made FaceTime videos for him which cheer him up a bit. There is little Rose with her lovely toothy smile and her brother George demonstrating his football skills as well as my eldest son talking from a sunny street in Spain. My youngest only visited him last week which is a blessing.
Every few minutes, Daddy gets fixations on things such as where his pain killers are and also his mobile phone.
Time and time again, I explain that the first is locked up and that he can’t use the second because the area we are in doesn’t have wi-fi reception.
“But why?” he keeps repeating.
So I explain all over again. It must be very irritating for patients in neighbouring beds but I just need to calm him down.
Then another doctor comes to give him more cognitive tests. He can answer questions like his date and birth and, when asked to count from 20 to 1 backwards, does so at a lightning speed. I’m not sure I could do that! Then again, he was a mechanical engineer. It reminds me of the mental arithmetic tests he used to set me as a child to “help” me, although it actually made me feel even more stupid.
The next question is trickier. “Who is the monarch?” asks the doctor.
“The what?” he says.
Now my father and stepmother were glued to the screen during recent royal events. However, the word “monarch” clearly isn’t registering.
“Can’t we say the successor to Queen Elizabeth?” I say to the doctor.
“No,” she whispers, “because it’s a clue.”
She tries again on a slightly different tack. “Who’s the royal monarch?”
“Oh,” he says brightly. “Harry.”
Then he goes back to asking me the same questions over and over again.
When will they let me out? When is my next painkiller (he’s used them for years for his spinal stenosis). Why can’t I use my phone?
This goes on for hours.
I stay another night – this time with a family friend who knew me as a baby. We spend the evening talking about family holidays when my mother was alive and the friend’s eldest daughter and I were toddlers. I show her pictures of my grandchildren on my phone and she shows me pictures of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
It helps me unwind after another emotional day.
Then when go back, a hospital visitor from the chaplaincy asks if Daddy would like to see him. I should say here that although I go to church, my father isn’t a regular.
“Would you like me to say a prayer?” he asks.
“I’m not going to die, am I?” asks my father.
“No,” I reassure him, hoping I’m right.
Then the kind visitor presses something into my hand. For a minute, it feels like the dog biscuit which we give to our lab/springer. It is a similar texture and at first sight, it has a similar shape. Then I realise it’s a wooden cross. “Thank you,” I say.
I really have to go now. My family at home needs me and although they say they can manage, I also need them. Besides my sister and her husband are staying until the end of the week so he won’t be short of visitors, especially as they are limited to two a bed.
“Please don’t leave me,” he says.
“I’ll be back on Saturday,” I blurt out, trying hard not to cry until I reach the corridor.
Have I done the right thing? What if something happens to him while I’m gone?
As the train lurches its way back to my grandchildren, daughter, son-in-law and husband, there is one thing that comforts me.
I hold it tight in my hand.
It’s the wooden cross. A reminder of faith and family as well as the kindness and the dedication of those who work in hospitals.
Ask Agony Gran
Thanks to Granny A who sent this in.
“I’m about to re-write my will after my husband died recently. I have two daughters. One has two children – my grandsons – to whom I’m very close. The other daughter says she doesn’t want children. She’s now in her forties.
“I’d like to leave something to my grandsons but I don’t want my daughter who doesn’t have children to feel left out. Do you have any advice?”
Jane writes:
I’m so sorry to hear about your husband. Please accept our sympathies.
One of my first thoughts is that when you have had a bereavement, it’s sometimes a good idea to give yourself some time before making any major decisions about moving house for example, or re-writing wills.
On the other hand, I can see why you want to get things in order.
Strangely, one of my granny friends was talking to me only the other day about how to divide inheritance between children with their own children and those without.
I thought that her resolution sounded quite sensible. She has decided to leave her grandchildren a certain amount but take that amount off the money she would have given their mother. Then she has left a sum equal to the total given to her daughter and her grandchildren, to the other daughter.
She felt that if she had given the daughters the same sum and also an extra amount to the grandchildren, the daughter without children might have felt she was being treated unfairly.
Your daughter who doesn’t have children, might still have them in the future even if she says she doesn’t want them. People change their minds!
I hope that helps you to make a decision. Love should be more important than money in families but wills can have a nasty habit of dividing people. Good luck!
If you’d like to share a problem with us anonymously, do email us at moderngran@dctmedia.co.uk.
Family News Flash
Nine out of ten families with a disabled child are struggling to pay their usual bills, according to a recent survey.
So are many families without disabled children.
The charity Family Fund can give some advice. Contact www.familyfund.org.uk.
The Funny Things They Say…
Thanks to Richard who sent this in.
“I look after my grandchildren for one day a week and get them to nursery. The other day, my four-year-old grandson couldn’t find his shoe.
“Never mind,” I said, “you can wear your trainers instead.”
“No, Grandad,” he told me. “If I do that, my other shoe will be lonely.”
Ahhh! We thought was really sweet, Richard. Please keep sending these in, everyone. Email us at moderngran@dctmedia.co.uk.
Great Idea!
Thanks to one of our regular correspondents, who sent us this clever idea.
“I take photos of my grandchildren and send them to a special email address. It’s a way of keeping the pictures safe so that when my grandchildren get to 18, they have a photograph album of all the special occasions in their lives.”
Children’s Book Of The Week
Each week I’ll recommend a great book that I’ve enjoyed reading with my grandchildren.
This time it’s Grandad’s Camper by Harry Woodgate (Andersen Press, £7.99).
Gramps and Grandad used to go all over the place in their camper van. But now Gramps is on his own. Luckily his granddaughter comes up with an idea to make him happy again!
A lovely warm book that is a pleasure to read!
If you’d like to recommend a children’s book, please email us at moderngran@dctmedia.co.uk.
Looking For A New Book For Yourself?
Harold is coming towards the end of his life. He’s had a long and eventful one, going back to the Second World War. But as he approaches the inevitable, family secrets start to unravel. Who killed him? And why?
We All Have Our Secrets by Jane Corry is the “best psychological thriller of the summer” according to one national newspaper. Available from supermarkets, bookshops and online.
If you’d like a free bookmark, email us at moderngran@dctmedia.co.uk.
