My mother lived to be 85 and died of a heart attack. Her one and only heart attack. I hope I can be as lucky as she.
My father died of congestive heart failure and he took a damn long time to do it. His final three years were spent in a nursing home. He was bedridden the last two years. I hope to avoid all that.
Every one of those 18 inches is something to be proud of. I wish him a solid recovery.
There are others out there in the jungles of infirmity who are UTTERLY alone. I lived in a convalescent home for 8 months, several years ago. Many of the people there were utterly destitute and indigent, and had NOBODY in their lives. They were utterly at the mercy of “the system”. There’s nobody to come visiting, nobody from the “outside” to be in touch with, nobody watching to see how you’re getting treated.
They might get assigned to some overworked, underpaid social worker, who goes down the list in the Rolodex, calling one home after another to find one with an available bed. The first hit, that’s where the client goes. Then maybe the social worked drops in to take a look for 10 minutes twice a year.
The place I was at was reasonably good, considering it care mostly for elderly indigent people many of whom were mentally ill to one degree or another. Many of the people there had been bounced around from one horror show to another. Those that landed in this place, mostly, did so simply by the luck of the draw, and they knew it. They all had horror stories about the other places around town.
Without friend or family to look after them, anyone is doomed to hell on earth for their later years when they can’t look after themselves.
My sister and I have the same agreement. I’ll let you know how it works out for us, and you do the same!
Antigen, please convey my best wishes to your grandmaman. My mother-in-law experienced the same kind of “care” when she was in a SNF following surgery. She was only there for two weeks, but she said it was like two years. I hope you and your family can get the situation sorted out quickly.
Two years ago, my husband’s grandmother entered the hospital for the last time. She was 98, and died of heart failure. About 10 years earlier, she sold her home and built an in-law house adjacent to my parents-in-law’s home. She remained there for about 8 years, until poor mobility required more care. She then moved to a small private facility about a mile away: fewer than 20 residents, very home-like, and daily visits from friends and family. She remained lucid, and was able to make her own decisions until the end, including the choice not to go on a ventilator when that time came. My last conversation with her, she said “I wish I could stay to meet the baby,” but she knew that wasn’t to be. (She had practiced medicine since the late 1930s, and was perfectly aware that a vent might possibly have allowed that, but at great personal cost. She died 5 weeks before the birth of her first great grandchild and namesake. My husband thought that Dr. K’s mind was wandering when she asked about a magazine - she had always renewed his Ranger Rick subscription for Christmas when he was a kid. A couple of days after the funeral, our Christmas gift showed up in the mailbox: National Geographic. Tony sobbed over that magazine, because it eased his mind so to realize that his grandmother had been so very in control up until the end.)
That’s how to go, if I have the choice. My paternal grandmother’s death was similarly okay: massive one-time heart attack, age 97, lucid until she fell down dead with no hope of resuscitation. Tony’s grandfather, too: just before Christmas, he was released from the hospital under hospice care. For the next week, his friends and family were able to tell him goodbye. He passed away on New Years Eve, to his own great relief. He was tired.
There’s only one grandmother left now, and she has dementia plus a host of health problems. She will spend the rest of her life in the nursing home, losing the remainder of her dignity and self. I’d rather get hit by a truck.
My mother and I joke that, if she ever becomes as cantankerous as her mother was in her prime, much less in her current state, that I’ll “accidentally” let her sit in the running vehicle in the closed garage “while it warms up.” Joke that it may be, I don’t really think it’s a terrible idea…
My sister-in-law’s step-grandmother (got that?) was 100 years old, and being fed by one of the nurses. Suddenly, she said her own name. The nurse asked if she was ok and she said “I’m going to die now” - and died.
Much like Arthur and Friend at the end of ZARDOZ!