nixtress's Diaryland Diary
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I think today it really hit me.
Today was an eventful day, in a not so good way. In fact, it was downright awful.
Grams had an appt. with her doctor today, to which I transported her. It began early, with my telling her about the appt. She denied having one, said she was fine and hadn't made any appointments. I figured it wasn't worth arguing over or upsetting her with so we moved onto other topics. Got her to the office, into the waiting room with the help of my gentlemanly boys (they're growing up so fast). My aunt B. came in, intending to speak with the doctor with Grams. Then came the magic of physician's offices. You may THINK you have an appt. set for, say, 10 a.m., but that's all a lie. They just say that so they can see how long it takes to irritate you by the delays you THINK are occurring.
We sat there till my aunt had to leave at ten to 11 and didn't actually get in to see the doc until 11:15. By this time my Grams was beyond discombobulated, wanting to know where she was and why she was there. The Alzheimer's, in the last few months, has progressed to the point where she's beginning to get paranoid. People entering an office to attend appointments of their own aren't really that to her--they're scary people coming to do something bad to her.
Once inside the treatment room, it went from bad to worse. She denied ever having been there before, said she didn't know the doctor at all (he's been her personal physician for the last 35 years) and demanded to know what the hell was going on. When I tried explaining to her for the umpteenth time, she turned and looked at me and replied that I should "shut...UP!".
After a routine checkup, peppered by exclamations of wrath from my Grams, I was told to bring her back in 4 months for bloodwork and to fill a prescription as she has an eye infection.
Getting her back inside the car was a treat. She didn't hit me but I think she wanted to. I could feel her anger roiling off her in waves.
Back to my aunt's and into the house with little problem. She refused to take off her robe (in 80 degree heat!) to use the toilet, so while she took care of business, I called my aunt at work to let her know what the doc had said and how it all went.
She spoke with Grams for a short time as well and when handed back the phone, the first thing I heard was "Man, she's really mad this time!"
I settled her into her recliner, while she pretended I didn't exist. I sat on the edge of the couch near her and apologized for upsetting her, told her that I was only trying to make sure she was okay. Grams looked at me and said that was a crock of bullshit. There wasn't much for conversation after that, more like a running commentary from me to which she interjected snorts of disbelief.
Once the health aide was there, I kissed Grams' cheek and told her I'd see her for breakfast tomorrow. She said she hoped not, that she didn't care if she never saw me again.
I made it as far as the trunk of my car before bawling.
Rationally and logically, I know that it's the disease. I know that her thoughts are distorted, that she's reacting to things as she sees them. I know that she's not meaning it personally, in a you're my granddaughter but I hate you kind of way. She just doesn't understand or comprehend all that's going on. I really do know all these things. Doesn't make it hurt any less. I cried all the way home and once inside, literally was sick about it.
It's breaking my heart. I hate this stupid disease, hate that it's taking my Grams away from me, hate that not one part of her everyday life is peaceful for her. I hate that her view of life in general is one of fear and uncertainty, frustration and loss. I know that inside her head, she's past the point of knowing when she's talking gibberish. I know that she really believes we're out to get her. I know that she won't remember what she needs to in order to process her goings-on in a reality-based way.
And I hate it all.
I know, realistically, that my aunts don't really have a choice at this point in regards to a nursing home for Grams. I recognize the limitations here.
And that doesn't mean I have to enjoy or like it.
I tried so hard to keep myself together on the way home. I don't want to scare my sons. I kept it controlled enough that although the tears escaped, I was still able to tell them why I was so sad, in simple, age-appropriate terms. They understand that Gram's mind is tired, that she can't remember much of anything. They've accepted that so easily and with much empathy. I think they know that mommies get sad too sometimes and that this was one of those times.
I'm not taking Grams' anger personally. It just was so shocking to see it unfold the way it did. And to have it directed at me, for the first time ever in my entire life, real or not, was a slap.
I want to rail at God that it's not fair and it's not right that people have to go through this crap. I want to rage at someone, somewhere, even though it doesn't make it better.
My head hurts but my heart hurts more.
I want my Grams back.
N.
1:03 p.m. - 2004-06-17
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