fighting for health

So I'm living in Los Angeles, a half block west of the LA Temple with my Sheranian grandparents to help out. They are both in poor health at the moment, so I'm essentially their maid, chauffeur, grocery shopper, all-around technical go-to girl, and live-in nurse. You could probably throw in that I am their personal calendar too. I better know what's when, or we're in big trouble. ;D

One of the most exciting moments I've had so far was my first experience calling 911. Kind of funny, actually. My grandpa had his hip replaced in July, and the week after my sister's wedding, his hip popped out of place twice and he had to be rushed to the hospital. My Uncle Danny was the one with my grandparents at the time and was thankfully there during both traumatizing experiences.

Well, after about 2 weeks of living with them, I got to experience it as well. I was woken up around 4:30am on a Monday morning by my grandmother, hysterically informing me that grandpa's hip had popped out again. I jump out of bed (literally) to run out to the den (where my gpa sleeps in his recliner). Running into walls down the hallway (you know how it is when you are kind of disoriented when you get up too fast?), I reach the den where my gpa is cussing up a storm.

I have learned a lot about myself in a crisis.

1. I am surprisingly calm.

2. I can make a prioritized list in my head in like 10 seconds flat.

and 3. I tend to laugh. 

(In this case, choke back laughs, because it would not have helped the situation. Of course, I felt bad for my gpa--he definitely was uncomfortable and his leg was paralyzed, but with his throwing profanity around like a sailor, and gma freaking out and having an amazing skill at being in the way, and my hair sticking on end and being slightly blind because I left my glasses by my bed, I just can't explain it any other way than hysterical. I wanted to laugh).

Instead, I grabbed my grandmother's hand, gently shoved her onto the couch by my grandfather, forced her hand into his and told her to comfort him. I then grabbed the phone and dialled 911. The operator answered and said something, (I don't know what, because my gpa was still swearing and I didn't catch what she said so I asked her to repeat herself as I ran out of the room so I could better communicate with her). Granted, the moment I asked her to repeat herself, I started to chuckle a little bit because I couldn't believe that in an emergency I was taking the time to ask her to repeat herself, so instead of waiting for the repeat, I just told her what was going on with my gpa. She immediately transferred me to emergency response (or whatever) and this guy asked me a series of questions like what happened, is he conscious, is he bleeding, is he in pain, how old was he, what's the address and the phone number, etc. (Funny sidenote--even though I know the address and phone number by heart, I still got them wrong when I told him. I think this is partly because I was still half asleep and partly because of the hectic manner in which I had been thrown into the situation). So then the guy (who was talking super fast, by the way) told me that the ambulance was on it's way and would arrive shortly and added that if my grandfather lost consciousness or had any other problems like a heart attack, I should call back. And then he hung up on me.

And the only thought in my head was, "DUH!"

And then I was brought back to reality by the cussing in the background. I ran back into the den to let them both know that the ambulance was on the way, I ran to the front door and unlocked it and then ran back to my room to get decently dressed, grab my glasses and try to tame my hair. By this time, gma had left gpa's side and followed me into my room (still hysterical--I never want that woman [whom I adore, by the way] around if I'm in an accident--she would only make me more nervous.) I told her to get gpa a change of pajamas, some slip on shoes and his wallet and put it in a bag. By the time she was done with her chore, I was slightly more presentable than 5 minutes before, although not nearly looking good enough for the two hunka-hunka firemen who walked through the front door--right into gma, who regardless of all 3 of us politely asking her to move to the side, she remained standing in the entryway right in the way of the firemen until I physically removed her from their path. ;D

They asked my gpa a bunch of questions which he seemed, for the most part, unable to answer correctly. I felt bad having to interrupt a bunch of times, but I just kept thinking, "It would be more efficient to ask me what medications he's on. He apparently doesn't remember the names of them." But anyways, they got through that. And then they had to figure out how to get him out of the house. You see, from the sidewalk to the front door, there are about 20 flagstone steps. And from the side of the house, there are a few steps as well but they would have to get him through the laundry room and up and over a wall about hip high. Needless to say, they spent a few minutes trying to figure it out and then finally brought a guerney in and--although sorry about gpa's pain during the lift/drop onto the guerney--MAN oh MAN. You shoulda been there to see those arms. Whew! ;D You know what I mean.

Anyways, I left gpa in good hands (or arms, or whatever), and with a slightly calmer gma, grabbed a book, my purse and the bag gma had packed and shuffled gma through the front door and to my car. We followed the amubulance back to the ER where I spent the next 7 hours without phone reception, sitting and waiting trying not to fall asleep until it was all over. Gpa had his hip back in place, the release forms were signed, and we maneuvered him into my car and took him home around noon.

Can I just say that I did this on 3 hours of sleep?

And that I never got to laugh out loud during the whole experience?

So there ya go. A day in the life of KaRynn.

Haha, seriously. I have spent more time in hospitals and rehabilitation centers than I have at home. It is exhausting work and I try to find time for myself, but it's not always that easy.

Since the popped hip, my gpa has had surgery and was in the hospital for 3 days, afterwhich he was moved to a rehabilitative center across the street where he has been until now. And probably will remain until next week. And my gma has cancer. Or HAD cancer. She is definitely a stubborn survivor. She has one more round of chemotherapy. Thankfully it is not the nausea-enducing type of cocktail, but it brings complete exhaustion for about a week afterwards. She's just ending one of those weeks right now. It's even hard sometimes to get her out of bed to eat and drink. So I am literally her nurse.

The thing is, it's hard work. 

And I'm loving every minute of it.

I get to hear my gma tell me (while we're eating lunch at California Pizza Kitchen) about her first experience eating pizza when she didn't have any idea what it was.

I get to hear my gpa daily let me know how much he loves my gma and how great it is to have her around to rub his feet, and that he can't wait until I find someone whose feet I can rub too. ;D

I get to spend all of 7pm to 8pm watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune with my grandparents.

Or sneak in a strawberry milkshake for my gpa at the rehab center (I'm still not sure if he's allowed to eat that, but I figure one or two won't hurt him).

I get to become best friends with all my grandparent's friends. Seriously. They all have my cell phone number now and are always calling to talk and to find out how my grandparents are doing.

I get to smile when my gma can't sleep and she comes into my room at midnight when I'm watching something I recorded on DVR and she'll climb into my bed and watch with me until she's tired.

I get to see my grandmother become a special friend of a woman who sits in her wheelchair on the 3rd floor of the rehab center by the elevators. Everytime we come and leave, she will walk over, put her hand over the woman's, smile and greet her and tell her how beautiful she looks today.

I get to hear gpa's recollection of what a "sexy broad" gma was back in the day with her red hair, when Julie (a friend of my gma's) brought a printed copy of an old picture of my gma before they were married:

It's an exhausting job to help out, but I'm getting to know my grandparent's as people instead of just as grandparents. It's hard to explain that difference. But instead of loving them just because their family, I'm starting to love them because I admire them both. They complain and grump sometimes (I would too if I were in their position), but all in all, they stand up taller, grab each other's hands and remain their stubborn old selves, fighting for their health.