Another hospital visit. Another slow start/strong finish for my grandmother.
Tonight she kept telling me about how she's never one to ring for the nurse. She did today because she wasn't sure how to lift or lower the bed. (And even if she had been told in the last day or even the last hour, she wouldn't have remembered) When the nurse came, he basically showed her how to do it herself. Her lips pursed with a hint of indignation as she told me this. She was offended.
I just find it interesting how the nurses seem to forget that she's got mild Alzheimer's. So I showed her - even though I knew she'd forget. She must have repeated the same story five times after that. I tried my best to re-explain it every time.
And then I had this strange thought. I could literally come up with a different reaction every time she told the story. I could offer different explanations. I could be different people. I didn't, of course.
Instead, I took out the brush from her drawer by the bed and tried my best to puff up her hair. She laughed, Amy laughed too and everything seemed to get better from there. We showed her some old videos of our little nephew David dancing and then I got her and Amy to play cards. She ate some grapes and suddenly, her head wasn't so far far away.
And all was well - at least for that hour or so.
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