Grandpa is one tough cookie. You see, we thought he was going down for the count – literally. Early afternoon, the day after he was admitted to the hospital with a urinary tract infection, his blood pressure began to fall. I blubbered to the palliative team doctor, “I see where this is headed!” He put his arm around me and offered premature condolences. As long as he thought Grandpa was dying, he was my best friend.
“Your dad can die right here in the hospital,” he comforted. Only it wasn’t comforting to me at all. All I could think about was how long and far Grandpa and I had come together and how much he wanted to die at home, and now the palliative care doctor was determining a different outcome than what we had hoped for.
Later that afternoon when I walked into Grandpa’s room, his eyes popped open and he said in his best opportunistic, medical-crisis, demanding tone, “When am I going to eat?!?”
One of the Hospice nurses who overheard his question gave me a thumbs up, saying, “Dying people don’t ask for food!” Needless to say, I breathed a sigh of relief. And after learning from the head Hospice nurse that 97% of elderly patients go home to die, I decided to bring Grandpa home, too. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? Grandpa could either pass away in the comfort of his own home, or live to write another day!
So while a stream of different medical professionals tried to predict if Grandpa was getting ready to expire, he proved them wrong again. Just home six days from a ten day hospital stay where he was nearly starved to death because they couldn’t get a feeding tube down his nose (he has a deviated septum because he shoved a pencil up his nose when he was a kid), he is already eating eggs and potatoes (his all time favorite breakfast foods), and writing on his book at his computer.
I am astounded, but not surprised. Grandpa is in the resurrection business! As long as he’s not in pain, or dying, he’d rather be living.Wouldn’t we all?