Living with Grandpa

So I started this blog at an interesting time in my life. As stated in my intro, i am 29 years old and am still working toward where I want to be, whatever that is. After one semester of a teacher education program a health crisis in my family changed things.

My Grandfather fell and hit his head, not once but twice. The second time he woke up and drove himself to the hospital, bruised and battered. The emergency room doctor evaluated him and sent him home. 24 hours later, after my Uncle heard what happened, he noticed not all was well. Cut to 12 hours later and my grandfater was having brain surgery.

Grabdpa had a subdural hematoma. Basically, bruising and bleading on his brain. They drilled a couple holes in his skull and evacuated the blood clots that were putting pressure on his brain.

We thought that was the end of it. But it wasn't. Within a couple weeks, my grandfather started exhibiting bazaar behavior. Once my aunt walked in to find him lying face down in the back yard, he was "Just getting some sun." Then he started turning the oven up to full blast to, "dry the towels," hanging on the front of it.

Being a concerned group of family members, we gave him a wrist band, LifeAlert style, where if he was in trouble, he could just hit a button and help would come. We found out how bad things really were when my other Uncle, doing a shift of supervision was woken up nine times in one night by the LifeAlert alarm. It turns out Grabdpa was not in distress, he just wanted to talk to somebody.

He went back for another CT scan and the blood clots on his brain, this time, were the size of golf balls. He was immediately back in surgery for another evacuation.

He spent two weeks in a managed care facility after that. Which he hated every minute of. But mentally he still was not all there. I even went to visit him once and due to grandpa giving me the wrong room number and what I hope was a temporary mix up by the staff, I did not even get to see him.

Cut to me. I, as afore mentioned, was off for the summer from my graduate program. 24/7 supervision was economically exorbitant, and being free at the time, I agreed to move from Los Angeles up to Palo Alto to watch over grandpa.

That was almost three months ago. Since then I have been a combination of a nurse, Prison guard(as harsh as that sounds) and a Taxi driver. I gave up what could have been a fun vacation from school to take care of my ailing grandfather. I managed his calender, took him to appointments with doctors and also regularly reported on his progress to the rest of the family.

One challenge I did not expect was managing his booze intake. Long before he fell, my grandfather had a regular drinking regiment. It included, conservatively, a gin on the rocks at 5PM, with a couple top offs, and a couple of margaritas to finish off the evening.

Alcohol, being a blood thinner was probably the reason for his relapse from his first surgery. Add the fact he either forgot, or outright did not take his medication and you have self neglective, or even self destructive behavior. Something I didn't come in prepared for.

When I first moved in, all went pretty well. We dismissed a daytime caregiver to give him more freedom at home after about a month. There was no LifeAlert button pushing and he seemed happy taking turns walking, sitting in the sun and resting on his bed.

As things got better, I gave him more liberties by letting him alone during most days. I ran errands, buying food for the house and taking a little time for myself in the meantime. I even got a little bit of a social life up here, though I was almost always home by 5PM.

Things were going great, he got a lot stronger. We abandoned his walker, he could take showers on his own, it was all good.

After the first month, his general practitioner said it was okay for him to have one drink a day. I was the bartender and I took it seriously. I metered out one gin on the rocks a day to him, and he never failed to remind me at 5:30PM that is was drink time.

I should have seen it coming. As it turns out, when a neighbor across the street left town for the two weeks. Grandpa seized the opportunity. If I wasn't home to give him his drink, and he could not find the booze, which he did a couple times, he just went across the street and filled his glass from their liquor cabinet, and even refilled it a couple times.

He has proved to be a resourceful old codger, even in his infirmity. Which, now that I am moving back to Los Angeles this week, leaves the family with a conundrum.

I would love nothing more than to let him be and live at home on his own. But he has exhibited signs of self neglect and self destruction that I cannot leave him alone. the next couple weeks will determine what we will do, and it will be a family decision.

I will have more on this topic shortly.