My wife’s grandma is in the wars.
She turned 100 years old last year, and has dementia. She was admitted to hospital with a broken hip a few weeks ago, having had a fall at home. She seemed to be recovering well from the surgery, but was then re-admitted with an infection.
We heard the other day that the hospital had withdrawn antibiotics because they were not having any effect, and were now medicating her with morphine to “make her comfortable”. My wife is very close to her grandma, and is (understandably) distressed at the way things have turned out. Even though there is a good chance that her grandma won’t recognise her, my wife wants to visit her, so we prepare to drive the 190 miles to Basingstoke and North Hampshire Hospital.
We drop our dog off at my wife’s youngest son’s house en-route, fill the tank with fuel, and hit the road. 4 hours later, we are there.
We spend almost 4 hours with my wife’s grandma – my wife talking to her, telling her how much she is loved, reminiscing with her. Amazingly, she responds to her and seems to be aware that her granddaughter is talking to her, and my wife (although tearful and emotional) gained some comfort from this.
The roads are quiet on the trip back home, and we make good time – only stopping at McDonald’s for refreshments and the petrol station to re-fuel the car – arriving back at Southrepps around half past midnight.
I have had a pretty good day, symptom-wise. The travelling has tired me out, but tremor, dystonia, dyskinesia, balance are all shunted to the back of my mind. My voice is weak and strangled, but that’s par for the course at the moment.