Chaya

There are times when I'm completely, undeniably, terribly stubborn. My stubbornness is typically exhibited when I have some sort of problem. The thing is, I have a tendency to ignore problems until I'm forced to confront them. I feel that if I ignore them long enough, they'll go away and no longer be an issue. Obviously, this isn't the best way of thinking. I just don't like to accept that things are bad.

For the past few years my grandparents have been in and out of the hospital for various reasons. From strokes to carbon monoxide poisoning, they've been through it all. This past year has been worse for my grandfather, though, as he's seen the inside of a hospital more times than I'd like to imagine. Although I've visited and I understand his situation, I tend to pretend it's not that bad. 

Today I had to confront the problem. 

A few days ago, my grandfather was rushed to the hospital from his new retirement home after suffering from a sugar high (diabetes), minor stroke, dementia, and an alzheimer's relapse. Somehow in the middle of that, he also lost part of his ability to walk. My mom would update me daily on his progress, telling me how hard it was to see him  in the hospital again, how sometimes he didn't remember her name. I listened, accepted what she said, but every night hung up and tried to stop thinking. That's how I deal.

Two days ago he was moved from the hospital to a nursing home, where he'll continue rehabilitation until, hopefully, he'll be able to move back to the retirement home. My dad and I brought my grandmother and we sat outside with him for a while, somewhat talking.

He didn't look bad, which was initially my fear. Hunched in a wheelchair and covered with a blanket, he told me about the people in the home who didn't respond. How he wasn't as bad, how he wanted to go home. I told him that he would soon. Looking around, I noticed the people he spoke about. The people who stare endlessly at the walls, hallways, windows. All without hope. All completely vacant. It was very disconcerting. 

My grandfather, although weak and not completely there, was receptive. He understood what I was saying, when he could hear, and responded. He smiled once. He was obviously not his normal loud, crazy, and angry self which was actually the hardest part. For once I wanted my grandfather to yell.

The thing is, I'm still convinced he'll be okay. Not forever, of course, considering he's 86, but I think he'll get past all of this. Sure, it'll weaken him and lessen his spirits, but he'll get past it all. Mostly I believe this because like me he's stubborn. He wont let himself get sick. He wont let himself act like the child. In the end, it's the one thing we have in common. And, ultimately, I believe it's the thing that will keep him alive.