Last week, my 95-year-old grandmother suffered a series of small strokes. This week has been a bit of blur what with hospital visits, social worker conversations, research on everything from stroke rehabilitation to long-term care insurance (for me, not her...nothing like this sort of event to remind you of your own looming future) to risks of theft in nursing homes, covering classes for my mother, and trying to manage my own full-time job and family responsibilities.
Today they moved grandma to the rehab floor of the nursing home associated with her assisted living facility. They're not terribly optimistic about her being able to go back to the assisted living facility, but we're going to hold onto her room there for another month just in case she proves them wrong (it wouldn't be the first time she's surprised us). The nursing home (sorry, "skilled nursing facility") is considered one of the best in the area, but it still depresses me terribly every time I walk through the door.
Tomorrow, at least, I have no classes to teach, and few meetings to attend. There will be time to sleep a little later, take the dog for the long walks she's been missing this week, and maybe even eat some healthy food. I feel better just thinking about it.
(And mom, if you're reading this, you're an angel. What I've done this week is nothing compared to what you've been doing. Grandma's so lucky to have you.)
Leave a comment