Hot Dogs May Contain Milk

This last trip to Baltimore had a lot of surprises in it.

First and foremost was that it is possible to be sick and miserable and to lose days in a hotel room. I'd been in Baltimore for less than 48 hours when my body went under protest. I think I caught the flu or some other awful respiratory crud. My father had also caught something, and he knew how to find the local doctor's office, and so he took me there on Monday morning. The doctor that was fresh out of high school stopped listening once the words "used to be an asthmatic" were revealed, and determined I had asthma. My last attack was 9 years ago, so that surprised me. The fact that I don't carry an inhaler and that I didn't know that asthmatics shouldn't take over the counter cough syrup surprised her. So I left with a prescription for an inhaler and instructions to buy some disgusting huge horse pills that have a commercial with disgusting mucus men playing in lungs complete with furniture. Know which one I'm talking about? I took one, and decided that made me sicker, and just fought the crud on my own with my trusty only used once inhaler. Another surprise here came from the hour wait for an inhaler at the pharmacy (imagine if it was a life or death situation...it's not like 50% of the East Coast doesn't have asthma...and I don't think I do have asthma even if that's what the kid in the white coat thinks was the official reason I was hacking up crap and burning a high fever for almost a week).

So I got better, but my grandmother got worse. Within 48 hours, she had gone from hallucinating but feisty and aware of her situation and surroundings to a crumpled little old lady in a chair that held a baby doll, needed full nursing attention and talked nonsense. When I saw her again (after I was sure I wasn't contagious enough to spread the crud throughout the rehab center, which was a couple of days after Mom had warned me about her decline), I confess I was stunned. Mom thought that grandma must have contracted an infection, as that makes those with dementia a little more loopy sometimes, and asked to have her tested. Of course, the fact that the rehab center STUNK and wouldn't feed my grandmother or be certain she had water or assist her to the restroom when she asked for help, should have been our first clue. There were 2 days where if we had not been there for lunch and dinner, I don't think anything would have gone into my grandmother. I had to feed her like you feed small children and coax her into drinking--after I hunted down a food tray. I think had events not taken place early Friday, my grandmother would have died. The rehab center didn't chart her sudden decline (and NOBODY declines this fast without an additional problem) nor did they test her as requested by Mom--her health care agent. The surprise here is that the rehab center is run by one of the largest medical agency in the Baltimore area and they are allowed to treat people the way they did. Guess who's drafting a letter to the State of Maryland?

Grandma decided early Friday morning--in her state as described above--to get up and walk. I don't know if it's survivor instinct or what, but she got out of the chair that the rehab center had her deposited in and tried to walk. She fell, and they thought she may have hit her head, so the center sent her to Sinai Hospital in Baltimore. The ER doctor and nurse couldn't believe how dehydrated she was. The ER doc pulled some strings and had Grandma admitted while Mom arranged to have her moved into a dementia unit at a new assisted living facility. The nurse on the floor Grandma was moved to had an idea to test her stool for infection, and sure enough, there was one...a highly contagious infection that so far hasn't been responding to the antibiotics so she can't leave the hospital until it's under control. Having her in Sinai was a God-send. The nurses are good to her. The doctors are good to her. The Rabbi even came and sang a blessing for her--one day in English so that we could understand, and the other time in Hebrew (which I missed and was bummed). Some of her confusion has cleared, but I don't think I'll ever see her completely clear again. The surprise here was in multiple places--this was the largest exposure I've had with those of the Jewish faith, and while I've always known that the Jews are God's chosen people, I've not had a chance to witness their actions, passion and faith practices. I am amazed with the way that their faith is so incorporated into the hospital and into its practices, and I'm certain not all of the hospital staff is Jewish, but the love and the concern for healing people overwhelmed me at times. I was also surprised to know that there are hospitals where people truly believe in the calling that they heard to become doctors and while I'm sure the hospital is about making money (because what place isn't these days?), I never heard any questions about how the care was going to be paid for--the conversations were always about what the best options were and how to obtain them. This wasn't just with my grandmother, but also when I passed the Auxiliary fundraising or overheard staff while on the elevators. I was honestly surprised to learn that there are those in the health care occupation that care about healing people and not about making money or showing off. Talk about stereotypes being blown to pieces. I wish my local hospital would go to Baltimore and witness what it means to admit a patient and discharge a friend (that's Podunk's hospital's silly catch line). Anyway, Grandma's still in the hospital today.

We went through the rest of Grandma's home and began to prepare it for sale. I didn't ever think about what a building could mean to a person. We moved around some when I was a child, so I guess I've never felt the draw to a house. Home is where you make it, not where you were born or where you were raised in my mind. However, my grandmother's house had seen almost 60 years of good times, such as the births of two children, two marriages for my grandmother, grandchildren, parties (nobody threw a party like my grandparents, I've been told), family dinners, holidays, etc., and 50 years of sorrow, such as the deaths of both my biological grandfather and my step-grandfather, the loss of children, dreams not quite accomplished for some family members that resided there, fights that threatened family ties, and more. I spent a morning with my great uncle listening to him describe the loss he felt at seeing the house go up for sale, because as he said "if these walls could talk" and because it was a constant in his life--he'd go there for lunch every day while he worked for Black and Decker, which was for over 50 years, to spend time with my grandparents, not to mention that he was present for all the above good and bad.

I did not get together with MIA, and for that, I am truly sorry. I haven't figured out how to talk with him about how things were/are. Once I got well, Grandma ended up in the hospital, and my days were spent going to see her or moving her belongings into her new home (should she ever get released from the hospital!) or closing up her original house, and the hours flew by. As my father keeps pointing out, we were gone from the hotel from 9 am until almost 10 pm each day. This doesn't excuse my not seeing MIA. And I do need to be sure he knows what happened and where Grandma is, as I'm sure he's discovered the house--which may be the only house he ever knew he was safe in as his childhood was not what I would wish for any child--is for sale and he himself told me he didn't know where she is. I'm surprised I'm still so selfish--worrying about how I'm going to talk with him instead of worrying about how he is feeling.

Not surprisingly, after eating out 2-3 meals a day (the hotel had a free continental breakfast), my clothes are definitely tighter than they were before. I don't think I care if I ever eat in a restaurant again...although I've eaten out 4 times in the week I've been home. There's a diner in northern Baltimore that has a menu to end all menus. There's got to be over 150 meals served in this diner. You name it, they have it. I was searching for something to eat, and I came across the warning "Caution--Hot Dogs May Contain Milk." Of all the things I knew hot dogs may contain, milk was not one of them. I think it sums up just how the trip made me feel. When I think I've figured out what life contains and how to get from the start of life through the end, I find out there are other ingredients I haven't thought about that sneak in and change the flavor.