Throw Momma From The Walker

We almost killed Grammy several times last week. It was by no means intentional, though there was some chatter coming from my inlaws on the way to the Thanksgiving table that maybe it was.  On Tuesday morning I gave Grammy a potato pancake and by the time I returned she was choking – her third such event of the week. My wife gave it the amateur heimlich to save Grammy, then the labradoodle scarfed up the remains. At 6 pm, my son handed Grammy a cookie, she took her hand off the walker, then timbered like Apollo Creed in Rocky IV, her head bouncing off the kitchen countertop. This was becoming like a real life Throw Momma From The Train situation. The CT scan was negative on Wednesday but the purple eye and forehead are positively stunning – not a great look for an 85 year old. My wife then hit Grammy in that same spot in the head with the shower door a few hours earlier, and then on Thanksgiving, just when we thought we had things under control, my dad tried to walk up the front yard and nose dived onto the walkway, saved only by Jack’s reflexes. I realize after this week just how important personal caregivers are – I appreciate the fact that my folks now rely on them and that policymakers are trying to support them, although I can’t imagine how they have such amazing patience and attention to detail, and at such low wages and reimbursement. It’s one thing to prevent falls, quite another to prevent death by knockout.  I should know – I tried. There was a silver lining. On Sunday, I sat down to play Uno with Grammy.  I dumbed it down so it basically became a game of pick the higher card. “I appreciate you trying to work my brain,” Grammy said, in a startling but nice moment for someone with vascular dementia who can’t remember what happened 10 seconds earlier. “Well, it’s the least I could,” I said. After all, I tried to kill you.