My great-grandmother has been in the hospital for a couple of days now. Her kidneys failed.
When she went in, she was dehydrated, so the doctors started pushing fluids & stuff, hoping that doing so would kick-start her kidneys in to working on their own. That didn’t work. They’ve given her medicine as well, and that’s not working either. She’s producing urine, but her kidneys are just not working on their own.
The next step is dialysis.
Now, here’s the hard part. My great-grandma is 97 years old. She is in full control of her mental faculties, and this is a decision she has to make on her own, and she has to make it by tomorrow. I just visited her this afternoon, and she’s the one that told me. She also asked me what I would do.
Part of me wanted to tell her to go for it. The emotional, I-love-my-grandma-and-don’t-ever-want-her-to-die part. But the grown-up, practical part of me wanted to say “no, Grandma. Don’t do it.” She’s 97, for Pete’s sake. Dialysis is not easy. So I told her that she needed to talk to her doctors, get all the information she could, and we would support her no matter what decision she made.
I’ve had a great-grandma for 33 years. I am so damn lucky I can’t believe it. Not only that, but now I own the house that she and my great-grandpa (who died in 1988–Goddess, I am lucky!) bought new in 1928. I don’t want her to go. But honestly, I’ve been preparing myself for it ever since my great-grandpa died.
Regardless of what she chooses, I don’t think she’ll be around much longer. But at least my kids got to see her & know her. I’m sure my son won’t remember her at all, but my older daughter (she’s 12) certainly will, and my younger daughter might. My stepson, too, as well as my husband, who never got to know his own grandparents. I’m so glad I had the opportunity to share my grandma with him.
Who knows? Maybe she’ll choose dialysis and it’ll work, and she’ll be around another few years. Maybe not. All I know is that I love her, and I will support her, no matter what she chooses.