My grandma's GP asked that Grandma return to Yuppieville in a few weeks (two to four) to see if the UTI had cleared up. So, my uncle and I coordinated a trip to Ridgecrest with the idea that we would take her to the doctor (I had the option ready that we might just go to the urgent care clinic there local if she didn't want to come with us).
So, while in the my uncle's truck on the way to Ridgecrest, he told me that he was going to clean up the house a little bit, and would I mind paying her bills? I told him that I would do it.
Which turned into a major job because when we arrived, and I started going through Grandma's paperwork, I asked her if she could find her debit cards (so, I'd have money to pay her debtors). She searches through her purse, and tells me that she doesn't have them--which poses major, obvious problems. Where were her cards, and how long have they been missing, and who, if anyone, has been using them? (Come to find out, they were in her purse the whole time.)
Towards the end of the afternoon, after I had been working on her bills for a while, I told her that I wanted to ask her something serious. I turn to face her. "What do you see happening? Do you want to die here alone?"
"Pretty much" came her reply.
According to the GP and my mother, my grandmother is free to exercise that choice even if it has dire consequences. The doctor and my mother view that taking away her freedoms, freedom to decide her own medical treatment, freedom to live alone, etc., was the most important factor--not the potential negative effects of refusing to treating her own diabetes, and continuing to live with moderate dementia.
For the most part, in all respect to a practicing doctor, I find this to be highly illogical--but my mother claims that this is because I'm a Democrat, and believe in the "nanny state" (which I don't, by the way, but never mind). I refuse to see the wisdom in not forcing someone into treatment until it becomes so painfully obvious that death is imminent or she is a danger to herself or others (she is already a danger to herself, but she wants to die slowly, and I guess that's okay for everyone). Why not exercise preventive medicine, and stop bad things from happening that will be consequences of poor medical management? Risks like having a major stroke or heart attack or kidney failure, serious risks stemming from her diabetes. Then you have all the other risks due to her cognitive decline and memory loss--everything from leaving food to burn on the stove to overdosing on medicine because she keep forgetting that she had already taken her pills. Or getting lost in town when it's a hundred degrees, and then suffering from serious dehydration. Or falling down somewhere in the house, and not being able to call for help because she consistently forgets to pay her phone bills (and often can't find her cellphone), and the company keeps turning off her service. She could just die in there, and no one would notice until I or my uncle come to visit once every few weeks.
What I observed yesterday is that my grandmother constantly complains about the unfortunately unavoidable effects of aging, like pain from joint wear and tear and arthritis. What is particularly odd is that she refuses to do anything about this, despite the fact that she could get pain killers if she went to the doctor. I realized that this is learned helplessness (experiments involving rats have clarified this for us), and a "victimhood" mentality. Life is cruel and unusual, and I'm just going to sit here and refuse to do anything to make my life better. Grandma said more than once during my last visit that her "life couldn't get any worse," an observation that I wholly disagree with. She could be paralyzed from a major stroke, drooling on herself, unable to talk. I understand that explaining to someone who is feeling trapped or otherwise depressed that life could in fact get worse is not helpful for anyone. So, I kept my mouth shut.
During lunch, my grandmother said that if she had to be around the two of us (my uncle and myself) that she would "shoot [herself] in the head."
When I said that joking about suicide was not funny, she responded that she wasn't kidding.
My uncle, who was never very helpful during this whole trip, besides paying for the gas that I couldn't afford, said that he knew where a gun was, he owned one.
Sometimes my grandmother pays lip service to my many concerns, and sometimes she tells me that she doesn't "care" enough to pay her bills or go to the doctor or to remember things when it's obvious that she's forgotten--again--That somehow if she cared enough, she wouldn't be a bitch (her words, not mine) and life's problems would be solved.
"Grandma, you have an illness, but it's not your fault," I told her at one point.
"No, it's because I don't care enough..."
Mostly though, she just lies--to herself and to me, and I find that I have little patience with this. My uncle maintains that it's the dementia, that she just doesn't remember so she fills in the blanks as best she can. However, I find it to be much more insidious than that. A little bit more premeditated. She lies because she tells me what I want to hear--or about some delusion that she carries around with her. Is it really her fault? Is it her responsibility? Well, the doctor and my mother are arguing yes, that Grandma still has the capacity to make her own decisions, and therefore is solely responsible for her own illness--others around her are not to take on that burden. Because Grandma could care more about herself. That she has the clarity of thought to calculate all the possibilities and probabilities in life, and can make a rational decision.
I oppose this viewpoint. It's not about Grandma, it's about family, and family takes care of each other even when they have to make decisions that are hard or initially unpopular.
I was on the phone with my mother, her daughter, when Grandma started in again about how my uncle bought her the wrong size Poise Pads (earlier, she was yelling at him, "you should have known better!"). I said to Grandma, "Grandma, you've already complained about this once."
My mother hissed at me that my attitude was sour.
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