Monday, 13 September 2004 08:17 pm
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deckardcanineMy last entry, like the one before it, turns out misleading. First I suggested that my grandfather might die the day he was admitted to the hospital, then I suggested he would leave the next day. He has now spent more than a week there, and yesterday I visited him. He was sitting up and acting as lucid as usual, so I didn't worry terribly, tho I had to wonder about some sirenesque monitor signals the staff kept ignoring. As it happens, we believe that the many new health problems he's showing unrelated to his heart come from hospital negligence regarding particular dietary needs, allergies, and how many medicinal drugs he's on. (Despite having worked in a pharmacy, I hope the immature science of western medicine, which spent millennia not realizing that bloodletting only harms, abandons drugs in my lifetime.)
Altho I'm making a point not to worry much, my parents agree that my grandfather has never appeared so conscious of his mortality. His new plans, as for economic matters, will betray the notion that he doesn't have another ten or so years.
Every year for the last 15 years, we have visited my father's mother's grave. This was the first time that her widower husband couldn't be there. By unfortunate coincidence, our usual shamas was also in the hospital, recovering from a fall. The extraordinarily empty (of living) cemetery had services rendered by a relatively young man whose accent reflects South Africa. At least there was one interesting and non-morbid surprise.
There's a bit more cheer today. My sister, back at college as of two days ago, turned 20, and my folks and I hope to call up and sing her the most performed song in America before the night is over. Now the closest relative to me under 20 is one of my first cousins whom I quite rarely see, at 15. It's stunning to us, really.
Altho I'm making a point not to worry much, my parents agree that my grandfather has never appeared so conscious of his mortality. His new plans, as for economic matters, will betray the notion that he doesn't have another ten or so years.
Every year for the last 15 years, we have visited my father's mother's grave. This was the first time that her widower husband couldn't be there. By unfortunate coincidence, our usual shamas was also in the hospital, recovering from a fall. The extraordinarily empty (of living) cemetery had services rendered by a relatively young man whose accent reflects South Africa. At least there was one interesting and non-morbid surprise.
There's a bit more cheer today. My sister, back at college as of two days ago, turned 20, and my folks and I hope to call up and sing her the most performed song in America before the night is over. Now the closest relative to me under 20 is one of my first cousins whom I quite rarely see, at 15. It's stunning to us, really.