Checking In

My grandmother lives much closer to me now - only two miles away as opposed to the approximately 30 she used to be. I make a point to talk to her everyday after work, just to try to decipher if anything catastrophic has happened since the day before. This afternoon I called her and she didn't answer, which isn't highly unusual if she isn't sitting right by her phone given that she can't hear a jet engine. However, she usually calls back. But this time she didn't. Well, I got busy today and by the time I remembered to call her again it was about 6:45. I knew she would be going to bed soon, yes you read that right, so I called again hoping to catch her. Well, I called her several times, with increments of about 5-10 minutes in between.  By the 5th call I was putting my shoes on to go check on her. After all, that's the reason we moved her closer to me.
It was about 7:20 by the time I headed over. I didn't want to scare her, so I immediately started saying, "It's me, It's Brandy" as I knocked on her door. After a minute, I knocked a third time, and was preparing to go in when I heard movement. Finally I heard her elderly little voice. 
"Who's there?" (That was reassuring to know that she wouldn't answer the door for just anyone if she wasn't expecting me.)  Slowly, she opened the door. It was pretty dark, and all I could see at first was her puffy hair and her sleepy little eyes.
"Ganny, I'm sorry - I was worried about you. I couldn't get a hold of you." As I came into the apartment and shut the door, more or less in the dark, I made a horrifying discovery: she was completely naked. There was no attempt at a robe, a towel, anything.
"Oh Ganny!" Since only the bedroom lamp was on and she was stumbling and slurring like the town drunk (she takes a lot of medication before bed) I quickly put two and two together and realized she had gone to bed. I grabbed her elbow as she teetered in a circle and tried to get her back to bed, but she was mumbling something about getting her phone, and that she needs a new one because it isn't working, something she says every time we see her. It works fine. As I frantically looked around for something to put on her, she made her way into the living room, in the dark, and started patting her hands around on the desk looking for the phone.
"I needu tun the light on," she mumbled. I didn't think this could get any worse.
"But Gan, your window's open. Here, let me put you in bed and I'll find it -" It was too late, she had managed to escape me and turned the light on. It can't be unseen. I apologize to the community for not successfully preventing a potentially traumatic situation for innocent people passing by.
"No! Here, look, here it is," I grabbed the phone off of the coffee table and quickly lunged toward the light switch and flipped it off. Once again in the safety of the almost darkness, I slowly tried to move her toward her bed.
"Now, why'd you come again?" she muttered.
"I was worried about you Gan. It's fine. Let's just get you in bed." Once I got her to her bedside, she was still trying to look at her phone for whatever reason. She was facing the bed, leaning over quite a bit because she was so tired and weak, then my phone rang. She seemed to be in a stable enough position for me to take two steps to grab my phone. It was my husband checking on us.
"Yes, she's fine honey, let me just call you back. Okay. Love you. Bye." When I turned back around, her head was almost touching the bed. Apparently she had just continued to slowly lean when I turned around.
"Oh, Ganny..." I somewhat revived her and was able to coax her to put her phone on the nightstand. I was curious to see how she was going to get in bed. As I mentioned, she was on a lot of medication, and weak in general. Well, I found out. She tried to bring her right knee up onto the bed as the got in, but basically her torso just kind of fell onto the bed, arms by her sides. She was so out of it. I couldn't help but giggle a little. I grabbed her knees and gently tried to get the rest of her in the bed too, but it was slow going.
Once her legs got in, I asked, "Do you want me to scoot your legs more this way?" asking if she wanted me to help her get into a more vertical position with her head at the top and feet at the bottom. As it was, she was pretty much horizontal across the bed.
"I'll do it," she mumbled. And she did - at a snail's pace. My eyebrows slowly raised as I considered how long this might take. Eventually she seemed securely on the bed.
"I'll call you tomorrow Ganny, okay?" I told her.
"It's gonna to rain tomorraw," she responded.
"Um...Okay Gan, but I can still call you."
"Are you gonna to come on Sundee?" (She pronounces days of the week this way.)
"I can come whenever you want Gan,"
"Well, it's gonna rain Saturdee,"
"Okay, okay, Sunday it is. I'm gonna go now and lock the door okay? Are you alright?" I had walked to the door of her bedroom and she was pretty much unconscious at this point.
"Yeh..." I think she said yes.
I locked the door and walked to my car in disbelief. Shaking my head and laughing, I began planning my blog post. I swear I couldn't make it up if I tried.

Who's on First?

Quick update: 

My grandmother is now 82 and her mind is going. I always assumed her body would begin to give out first, but what's scary is she's in pretty decent shape physically. Having a conversation with her on the other hand, is challenging to say the least.

A good example of what a conversation with my grandmother is like nowadays is the classic Abbott and Costello routine. Who's on first? No, what's on first? What? I thought you said who? etc. Take this recent conversation:

We were on the phone and she asked for my sister's phone number. I told her I would call her with it when I got home.
Note: numbers, addresses, and uncommon words of any kind can no longer be successfully conveyed to Gan over the phone. 
Me: "Hi Gan. Okay, I'm home,"
Gan: "Hi. Can you give me that address?"
Me: "Address? I thought you wanted to phone number?"
Gan: "No, I've got the phone number, I need the address."
Me: (Knowing good and well she asked for the phone number, but any attempt to argue or rationalize is futile) "Oh, okay. Do you have a pen? Alright it's 1305 17th Str-"
Gan: "Wait, wait. You're talking too far away from the phone. Say that again?"
(Mind you I'm already speaking slowly and yelling.)
I repeat it twice, and each time, when I get to the street name - 17th - she says "Sedington Street? Cedar Tree? Second Street?" Basically anything but 17th Street.
Me: "Okay Gan, let's start again. You've got 1305 right? Okay now write one seven the street is called one seven."               Gan: "And that's all? Well that ain't no number..."               Me: "What?"                                                                                  Gan: "Well that's not a phone number. That's not enough numbers."                                                                                        Me: "No Gan that's the address. You said you have the phone number."

Gan: "Well I don't need the address, I need the phone number."
(Sigh.)
Me: "Okay, it starts with 706 - "
Gan: "Wait, wait a minute. You said 1305 a minute ago."
Me: "Yes Gan, but that was the address, this is the phone number."
Gan: "Well I think I have the phone number..."
At this point I collapse into uncontrollable laughter. Not the humorous kind in response to something funny, but the kind of laughter that indicates you've cracked and no longer have the ability to function.
My husband, who has been following my side of the conversation from the kitchen, watching the wrinkles on my forehead grow more prominent, graciously takes the phone from me and does his best to somehow finish the conversation. He is only on the phone 4-5 minutes, but when he gets done, tears are streaming down my face, and I'm still laughing.
It doesn't matter how prepared you think you are for her, or that you can predict her responses verbatim, frustration can't be avoided - not by any means I have yet discovered.