Amy is asking why, with her grandmother’s recent death, she can’t sleep or function, thinking about how horribly she was treated and how she just wants to hold someone accountable. I wrote an epic respose, but I wanted to post it here, too, because I was completely in the same boat and also have more questions than answers. I need to get this vitriol out of my system once and for all. …
I feel your pain. The thing is, the loss of your grandmother brought back all the horrible memories of when I went through the same thing five years ago. I mean, getting old is no fun, and elder care services are so desperately needed. But these hospitals and nursing homes have no clue about things like bedside manner or, for that matter, human decency. It’s made clear to you as a family member that you are just a nuisance — that you are standing in the way and keeping them from doing something else when you’re forced to harass them for basic things that they should know to be providing. It’s also made clear to you that they have no real desire to save your loved one or to prolong their lives in any way, shape or form. And they make it resoundingly obvious that they are doing the minimal amount of work to keep themselves from getting fired — that if your loved one can live without that glass of ice water, they really didn’t need it, then, did they?
My grandmother died when we were away from the hospital — we’d gone to dinner because my grandfather is diabetic and needed to eat. She chose that time to leave us, probably knowing we had seen her suffer enough. But prior to that, they practically forced our hands to sign a DNR form. So they upped the morphine (without our knowledge), and off she went … without us. And when we got the call saying she was dying but still alive (she had died before they made the call — either they didn’t know or they didn’t want to tell us over the phone), we ran stoplights and practically mowed down Fourth of July revelers who were stopped in the street to gape at fireworks. We almost killed ourselves to get to see her before she was gone, and well, she was long gone by the time we got there (in the seven minutes it took).
But wait, there’s more.
We were standing at her bedside, weeping and trying to come to terms with our brand-new and totally unexpected loss. A nurse saw us and tossed in a fucking box of tissues onto my grandmother’s stomach. Yes, threw a box of Kleenex on a dead woman’s stomach. Grief gave way to fury — we could not properly mourn after such a ridiculous showing of assholitry. My mom, knowing she couldn’t wrap an IV tube around the offending nurse’s neck, did the only thing she could think of: she picked up her cell phone and called our friend the mortician. To make arrangements. A two-minute call.
Same nurse flies in and starts screaming at us. Screaming bloody fucking murder about the cell phone — told her to shut it off or leave. My mom told her she was lucky she didn’t bludgeon her with it. Nurse retreated, cursing her out.
These are the memories I have. And these are the stories I hear from others and hate knowing that our elders are just plain disrespected.
Talking with you and learning about your grandmother’s experiences really brought back these memories — our lives are so short, and in my circle of friends, it seems we’re always wishing away the present. How often we say, “If I can just get through this” or “When I go to my next job” or “In five years, this will be a faded memory.” Yeah, and in 30, 40 or hell, maybe even in 10 years, we will be the ones so dependent upon other human beings (strangers) for basic levels of care that they are seemingly incapable (or barely capable) of providing.
It goes back to, if we don’t make things right, who’s going to do it for us? That sounds selfish and that’s not at all the point of this. I totally get your need for accountability — I know what it feels like to want to cause even just a fraction of the pain that was caused to your family by all of the injustices.
I have no advice, no solutions, nothing to make it all better. But I am reminded of the scene in “Steel Magnolias” when Sally Field goes apeshit at Shelby’s funeral, saying she just wants to hit somebody, and hit them hard, just to make them feel her pain of losing her daughter.
I hope you get some rest; I hope you achieve some solace eventually. You’re not alone — your pain is unfortunately nothing new, nor is it the last time a family member is left wondering why it all had to happen this way.