Us trying to alleviate the pressure on Grandpa’s pressure sore, and Grandpa trying to get his way…
“Why isn’t my control plugged in (wants us to raise the bed up which causes more pressure)?”
“This isn’t working for me (Bob trying to keep his head at 30 degrees)!”
And so on, and so forth…
So, I’m all alone takin’ care of Grandpa this afternoon. After lunch he asked me if I was going to take a nap when he did. I said yes. This was around 3:00 p.m.
So I stretched out on the couch and put the news on in the background because I knew it would lull me to sleep.
At 4:30 I heard tapping on the floor (Grandpa uses his grabber to tap the floor to let us know he’s up).
I went in his room to get him up and he said, “I gave you an extra half hour of sleep.”
“You did? Wow, thanks dad,” I replied.
Then he says, “I tapped on the floor at 4:00, but you didn’t come.”
It was then I realized that he hadn’t been as gracious as he led me to believe.
“Oh, so you really didn’t give me and extra half hour, I took one,” I said. “Thanks for nothin’!” I joked.
He got a funny look on his face and proceeded to try and convince me that he had given me and extra half hour.
“I always get up at 4:00,” he said. “You didn’t come in until 4:30. Just because you didn’t hear me, doesn’t mean I didn’t give you an extra half hour.”
I beg to differ… Nice try Grandpa. Problem is, you can’t get out of the bed by yourself!
After a relative we ha
ven’t heard from for quite sometime expressed concern that Grandpa might be in danger today from the erratic weather, my husband said I ought to post a picture of Grandpa’s current status! Ha ha. Yes, this was Robert’s idea. Blame him!
The Exchange:
Robert to Grandpa: I wonder how many cows have been hit by lightening in Kentucky?”
Grandpa: “Towels?”
Robert: “Yeah, How many towels have been hit by lightening in Kentucky?”
Robert. “Yeah, How many towels have been frightening in Kentucky!”
So Eric told Grandpa to sleep in till ten, and now he is in a tizzy!!! Heaven forbid the caregivers (us) would get a break on Christmas day. No, it’s all about the “patient” (him) as he calls himself! He wanted us to remind Eric that “he” is the “patient,” but we told him he was asleep. Last time I checked this was a home, not a hospital ward, – maybe a mental ward (staying one step ahead of Grandpa), but definitely not a hospital ward . . .
Score one for the daughter! I just brought Grandpa (the famous 91-year-old author) a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin.
He says, “Wow!” and points to the computer.
One of the fictional characters in his story had just served coffee and a sweet roll. Talk about perfect timing! His tummy must have been dictating those prose.
