Grandma is 96. She still lives on her own and her brain is sharp as a tack. It's the body that is starting to give way.
I mentioned in last week's column that she had been quite unwell so at the weekend my cousin Chris and I took a roadie to Timaru where we formed a crack nursing team. Or at least some semblance of one.
I mentioned in last week's column that she had been quite unwell so at the weekend my cousin Chris and I took a roadie to Timaru where we formed a crack nursing team. Or at least some semblance of one.
The very elderly are naughty liars. The sooner you learn this about the ancient ones in your life, the quicker you will see through their wily ways. They say they're fine and that everything is OK, right up until the point they have to press their medical alert pendants and call an ambulance.
This is how Grandma found herself with a short hospital stay and a dicky ticker that was racing at 130 beats per minute when she hadn't even been out on a jog.
I was so grateful Chris was with me because Grandma had shrunk to the size of a Barbie doll but with fractionally less pert boobs. It was a bit of a shock.
She was skin and bones and dressing gown.
The trick with nursing Grandma is to err on the side of bullying. Chris asked her what jobs needed doing and made a detailed list because he is a list kind of guy. These included things that Grandma struggles to do, like go through the fridge and freezer and biff out the pies that have languished somewhere at the back for more than a year.
He also made an inventory of light bulbs, changed a few and bought replacements ready for the next blowout. The list went on, sweeping leaves, turning the mattress, that kind of thing.
While Chris took care of the practical jobs that were bugging our wrinkly friend, I helped with the showering and dressing, even with the protestations that were coming from her.
We also made sure Grandma was eating. She got up and made her own porridge with a surge of morning strength but by lunchtime she was flagging.
This is how Grandma found herself with a short hospital stay and a dicky ticker that was racing at 130 beats per minute when she hadn't even been out on a jog.
I was so grateful Chris was with me because Grandma had shrunk to the size of a Barbie doll but with fractionally less pert boobs. It was a bit of a shock.
She was skin and bones and dressing gown.
The trick with nursing Grandma is to err on the side of bullying. Chris asked her what jobs needed doing and made a detailed list because he is a list kind of guy. These included things that Grandma struggles to do, like go through the fridge and freezer and biff out the pies that have languished somewhere at the back for more than a year.
He also made an inventory of light bulbs, changed a few and bought replacements ready for the next blowout. The list went on, sweeping leaves, turning the mattress, that kind of thing.
While Chris took care of the practical jobs that were bugging our wrinkly friend, I helped with the showering and dressing, even with the protestations that were coming from her.
We also made sure Grandma was eating. She got up and made her own porridge with a surge of morning strength but by lunchtime she was flagging.
"I supposed if I was about to be smothered, I'd like a scrambled egg with a bit of parsley."
Chris said: "OK, if you could choose absolutely anything to eat, what would it be?"
Typically, Grandma said she didn't mind at all. A piece of toast would be fine.
So I put it another way.
"Say, just for argument's sake, that someone who wouldn't answer questions truthfully, was going to have a pillow held over their face shortly, what meal would they choose for their last?"
She got the picture. "I supposed if I was about to be smothered, I'd like a scrambled egg with a bit of parsley."
From there on, little by little, she appeared to improve.
Of course, Grandma is more than lucky to have a large family in Timaru to bring meals and help when she needs it but by the end of the weekend I was almost exploding with rage.
It's nice they come to visit but it seemed to me to be very strange that if a little old woman is sitting in her chair, wrapped up in a blanket when the heat pump is set to tropical while still complaining of feeling cold to her very bones, and occasionally holding their head in her hands, that a long visit with her is just plain cruel.
A very big lesson in "reading the room" can go a long way.
Still, Grandma is too polite to say anything that could even vaguely be construed as mean so she sits and exhausts herself then washes the cups of tea and dishes that the visitors leave.
I dropped occasional hints about "a good visit being a quick visit" but no-one seemed to twig that they were the visitor in question.
Nonetheless, if Grandma's only fault is that she is too nice, that's not a bad way to be. At least her light bulbs are all working and she's still got the energy to brush her cat.
Typically, Grandma said she didn't mind at all. A piece of toast would be fine.
So I put it another way.
"Say, just for argument's sake, that someone who wouldn't answer questions truthfully, was going to have a pillow held over their face shortly, what meal would they choose for their last?"
She got the picture. "I supposed if I was about to be smothered, I'd like a scrambled egg with a bit of parsley."
From there on, little by little, she appeared to improve.
Of course, Grandma is more than lucky to have a large family in Timaru to bring meals and help when she needs it but by the end of the weekend I was almost exploding with rage.
It's nice they come to visit but it seemed to me to be very strange that if a little old woman is sitting in her chair, wrapped up in a blanket when the heat pump is set to tropical while still complaining of feeling cold to her very bones, and occasionally holding their head in her hands, that a long visit with her is just plain cruel.
A very big lesson in "reading the room" can go a long way.
Still, Grandma is too polite to say anything that could even vaguely be construed as mean so she sits and exhausts herself then washes the cups of tea and dishes that the visitors leave.
I dropped occasional hints about "a good visit being a quick visit" but no-one seemed to twig that they were the visitor in question.
Nonetheless, if Grandma's only fault is that she is too nice, that's not a bad way to be. At least her light bulbs are all working and she's still got the energy to brush her cat.
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