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.

Just a Few Recent Examples

July 5th 2013
I'm driving through Alabama, re-explaining to Gan, again, what I'm doing.
Me: "So we're going to stay with Brad's aunt tonight in Prattvile, and then we have the wedding tomorrow in Columbiana."
Gan: "So when are you going?"
Me: "...Now. We're driving in Alabama now."
Gan: "Oh, so you're in Alabama?!"
Me: "Yes. We are almost there. I think it will be fun to visit with everyone at the wedding and - "
Gan: "Brandy I need stamps. Next time you're out, could you get me some? I'll give you the money. I've got two I think, no three, and that should last me, but I need some more."



July 10th 2013
Phone rings
Me: "Hi Gan"
Gan: "Brandy, I want you to take me to the doctor to get that shingles vaccine,"
Me: "Um, okay Gan. We can do that...How are you?"


July 13th 2013
Me to Dad: "Yeah, I told Gan we could go to the doctor next week. She wants to ask about the shingles vaccine."
Gan, sitting next to me: "No, no, I don't need that. I haven't had that stuff they say is already in you to get it."
So now I look like the paranoid person with no life sitting around trying to drag my elderly grandma to the doctor for no reason.


July 14th 2013
Phone rings.
Gan: "Brandy, I need to go to the doctor. I need that shingles vaccine."
Me: ...



July 27th 2013
Me: "After that we have to head to that baby shower tonight,"
Gan: "Who is that for?"
Me: "A girl I work with,"
Gan: "Is she pregnant?"


The following happen pretty much every time I see her. Keep in mind, these statements aren't that bad once or twice, but this has been going on for at least the past year and a half.


Every single time I yawn, which, if you know me, is a lot:
"You get that from your mother. She was always sleepy. Do you drink coffee?"

Every time something comes up about school (the one I'm in, not the one I'm teaching)
"Now what are we doin' that for? How long's that gonna take? TWO YEARS? My gosh,"
Of course, she is the one who encouraged me to go back to school.

Randomly
"Well, your daddy is moving in with/marrying/not seeing Betty anymore." This depends on the day.

Episode #15 Well, it finally happened

I call Ganny every day on my way home and Tuesday was no exception. She told me right off that she "had a wreck." It was what I've been afraid of. Her driving has been an issue for at least the past year. She's not so bad that we need to forcefully taker her car, but it's bad enough that we're concerned. Of course I asked if she was okay and what happened.
"Well, I went 20 (she means I-20) and I knew I shouldn't have. I should've gone (she throws some numbers out that do not relate to any highways in the metroplex) and ever body had to stop real quick. I hit the brakes but they just didn't stop me in time. It could've happened to anybody. This has nothin' to do with me not bein' able to drive."
While she had been talking the stun of it faded, and I realized I should be concerned about her as my grandma, not just some elderly person that poses a danger to the Arlington/Mansfield area.
"No, I know Ganny. It's okay. I've had an accident like that too. These things happen."
"Well, I just know ever body's gonna blame this on me bein' old and say I shouldn't drive. It has nothin' to do with that. It could've happened to anybody," she repeated. "Your daddy's never gonna let me hear the end of this. He's gonna say, 'Oh, you can't drive, Oh you need to stop driving' and it's not because of me."
"I know, I know. He will Gan. He's just like that. Just let him have his little fit and don't try to argue with him," I instructed her. My dad does enjoying having a good fit when the opportunity presents itself.
"He's just never gonna let me hear the end of this," she said again.
"Well Gan, at least this will give him something to hassle you about besides your marriages," I joked, hoping she would laugh. Gan has been married six times. My dad likes to bring this up as often as possible.
She did laugh a little. "No, he'll probably say something like it's because I was married all those times that I had the accident or something." It was my turn to laugh.
"Well I understand Ganny, I do. It's okay." That type of accident does happen often. At least, that's what I told myself. "Was there only one other car involved?"
"Oh yeah, I just ran into the back of this man, well, he was a police officer but he wasn't wearing police clothes, and he was so nice to me. He just took care of all of the paper work. He was just so nice."
Red flag #1: This I thought could be good or bad. It's probably best that someone competent and of sound mind write down the necessary policy numbers etc. However, was this man really a policeman? What information did she give him? One assumes it was her insurance card, but when deciphering Ganny, you just can't be sure. All I could do was hope for the best.
"Well Ganny that's wonderful. I'm so glad they were nice to you," I told her.
"Yes, some other policemen came too. I think they just wanted to take a break 'cause they were all just standin' around talkin'," she laughed.
Red flag #2: I thought, Oh my goodness...How many policemen were there? How bad was this?  "And they were real concerned about me," she continued. "They made me sit in the back of the car 'cause they were afraid I might get hit. I was afraid we might cause another accident 'cause we were in the middle lane."
Heart-attack-inducing red flag #3: The thought of my elderly grandmother roaming around the middle lane of I-20 on a busy afternoon made me cringe. I don't know what I would do if something happened to her. How can I continue to let her go around living life without someone to watch her? How could I ever convince her to consent to being watched and having her independence limited? If something happens to her, am I going to wish I had done something differently?
"Oh no! Oh Gan, I'm glad they took care of you. That scares me that you were out there," I admitted.
"Well I was scared too," she said lightheartedly. "And they kept asking if I was okay, and I kept tellin' 'em I was fine and nothin' on me hurt, but 2 or 3 ambulances showed up anyway."
Red flag #4.
She continued, "I told 'em 'I'm fine, I'm fine.' I just didn't hit him that hard."
It crossed my mind at this point that I really wouldn't have any idea how bad this was or how hard she hit the other car until I saw hers.
"How is your car? Can you still drive it?"
"Oh yeah, I drove it home. I'm just gonna go to this place I found in the yellow book (phone book) tomorrow and have them tell me how much it is."
Red flag #5. Where is this place? Is it legit? etc. What could/should I do?
And I thought that would be all. We hung up and I took a deep breath.
The next day after work, I made my call again. "Hi Gan, how are you?"
"Well, the insurance company called today," she sounded very annoyed. "They were askin' me all kinds of questions like my name and address."
"Now Gan was this your insurance company or theirs?" I questioned.
"Mine, mine," she answered quickly.
Why was her own insurance company asking this kind of information? Don't they know already? Is this some kind of scam? Did she make some kind of statement to an attorney or important insurance person and not realize it?
She interrupted my panic. "That pregnant lady thinks the baby might be hurt or somethin'."
Red flag #...oh who cares. It's a giant red flag!
"Now Gan, I thought there was only one other car?" I tried to keep my voice controlled.
"Well there was but she was in the car with the policeman," she explained.
"Okay Gan. Well I'm sure she just wants to get a check-up. If you didn't hit them that hard, she should be fine," I told her, trying to convince myself in the process.
So now I'm left wondering whether or not I should try to keep my grandmother from driving and whether or not she will be sued in the near future.
The End. (If only it were.)

Useful Ganny Terminology

TV shows = programs (pronounced "progrums")
perm = permanent (which she gives herself once per year and has for decades now)
hair stylist = beauty operator
gas = fuel
butt = hiney butt
anyone in the school district that's not a teacher = superintendent
make-up = meckup
root beer = rut beer
any type of doctor's visit = check-up or surgery

Episode #14 Put in My Place

About 2 months ago I approached my car in the parking lot after work, and noticed a large white mark (about 4 inches long) on my rock slider (a bar along the bottom sides of my car to, well, make it slide over rocks instead of get stuck on them). This made me think of elderly people who drive around town bumping into things, which made me think of Gan.
She has gotten progressively worse over the past year. Every time we see her in her 1997 white Lincoln Town Car, the car of choice for the elderly along with Buicks, there is a new bump or dent. When you ask her about it, she claims someone either bumped into her at WalMart or it just "appeared" while she was shopping in WalMart. Once the front grill was ever-so-slightly pushed underneath the hood. She had no explanation for this. One can only imagine the true story. 
One day while visiting Ganny at her retirement apartments, we were riding in the elevator with one of her neighbors. After casual introductions he asked Ganny, "Did that guy ever find you and talk to you?" to which Gan replied, "What guy?"
"That guy who said you hit his car. You drive that white Lincoln don't you?" I looked at the floor. "I didn't hit anybody. I don't know what that guy was talking about." We exited the elevator and headed for her room. "Everybody thinks I hit that car, but I didn't."
It was too much. I had been concerned about her driving anyway, but at this, I broke down and began to sob. How do you tell someone they shouldn't drive anymore? How do you tell your grandmother she's hitting things and doesn't even know it and I have to stop her before someone sues her or assaults her?
She hugged me and said, "Oh darlin' what is it?" We sat down in her Lazyboys and I tried to explain it with as much tact as possible. "You know I care about you and only do what's best for you, always." She trusts me completely and for good reason. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I take good care of her i.e. this blog :). 
"I'm so worried about you Gan. You're hitting things and don't even realize it. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you. I just don't know if you should be driving anymore. I'm worried someone's gonna be mean to you if you...make a mistake. You told me a long time ago that I would have to do this Gan. You told me I would have to watch out for you when you got older" I rambled. I tried to emphasize my concern for her welfare and not her diminished abilities. 
She seemed surprised at first, insisting on evidence of these accusations, but eventually she developed some acceptance and said she would try to take one of us with her when she went on doctor's visits, to the bank, or anything else more than a mile away. I didn't want her to drive at all since her forte seemed to be low-speed accidents in parking lots, but I would take what I could get. 
Well, over the next few weeks, she pretty much went back to driving anywhere and everywhere she wanted. I was weak, because it is so much easier to meet her for lunch rather than make the 45-minute drive to her apartment to pick her up, so I didn't fight it too much. She tells me she's doing better, being more careful, etc. and as best I can tell, she is - no new dents lately. 
Recently I let my friend drive my car and he mentioned the white mark. "Hit the garage on your way out?" he asked. "No," I laughed. "Someone hit me in the parking lot at work." As the statement came out I recognized the familiar response - that of Gan. "Oh, are you your grandmother now?" he teased. "I think I would know if I hit something, wouldn't I?" we laughed and moved on.
When I got home, I noticed a large black smudge on the side of the garage...

Not really enough for an entire post, but bizarre enough that it has to be shared

I was informed on Father's Day, one of the few scarce days that I force myself to endure Gan combined with the whole clan (Dad and his wife, me and Brad, Eva, and sometimes other victims) at once, that men should not wear necklaces, bracelets or rings. Apparently this is something only women should do and makes men look like they are trying to be women...

I can't even pretend to follow her reasoning on this one. Men wore jewelry even in the "wagon" days didn't they?Anyway, add this to the list of unexplained Gannyisms.