“Not long after all the whoopla and celebrations of welcoming in the new millennium, I turned one-hundred and three. Yes, another year older, and still going strong. Well, still going anyways I thought! I was still living in my own home making my own meals doing my own cleaning and looking after my own laundry. Frankly, I was still enjoying life on my own terms.
The days seemed to come and go, and I always managed to fill them. I had made up my mind after Logan’s passing that I should try and accomplish at least one task each day. That way I would still feel productive and kept motivated. It was my daily goal no matter how menial the task may have seemed. It felt good knowing I had done something constructive to pass the time.
The children often remarked that I should sell the house and move into an apartment in town or consider moving into the home for the aged, but I made it quite clear that when the time came that I had to, I would. But not yet. I just wasn’t ready yet, and maybe the “Home” wasn’t ready for me yet! Looking back, I’m not sure which way it was.”
Beth laughed at that comment, “You’re right, Gran, it truly is remarkable that you were able to still be living in your own home at one-hundred and three. I haven’t heard tell of anyone else who’s been able to accomplish that.”
“Well, I was feeling pretty fortunate about my life and circumstances. I thought things were just fine, considering my age and all. Yep, I was doing right fine, till April first, that is. It was on that awful day that my circumstances were totally changed by a dreadful twist of fate. Mother Nature’s April fool’s joke, I guess.
I was not prepared for the long-term repercussions of ill health. I had managed to put in one-hundred and three years residing in my own home, relying on my own means. I had come to appreciate the ideal of drifting off into slumber one night in the comfort of my own bed and not waking from eternal sleep with the morning light. Sounded like a good ending for an old gal such as me. Eva had managed to pull it off. I had only hoped I could, too, but my ideal ending was not to come to pass. I should have had a plan “B”, I guess. Anyway, it just goes to show you that you can’t predict the future.
I never would have figured that a person could break a bone without a tumble or accident. I always thought you had to do something quite substantial, but now I know. I simply stood up to take my lunch dishes to the sink when a pain crippled me, and down I went. I had a fractured femur. I broke my hip just like that! Just that simple!
Thank goodness someone in the parking lot at Ashton’s heard me hollering. Help came fast. Jacob was there in a hurry and called the ambulance. I was at the hospital within an hour. Most of that time is a bit of a blur to me. The pain was pretty overpowering. Worse than childbirth, I’d say. Thank goodness for morphine. Once they got that going, I finally got hold of my senses. Then reality set in. I knew I was in a real pickle. If they weren’t able to patch me up and get me going again, I knew I’d be spending my last days withering away in an old age home. Land sakes alive, that was a dreadful thought!
Of course, the children, Jacob, Jackie, and Charity, were there with me at the hospital offering a lot of optimism and support. They kept telling me I’d be fixed up and sent home in no time, but I think they were already thinking the time had come for me to not be on my own. I could see it in their eyes. I knew it was out of love and concern and that they had my best welfare at heart, but I wasn’t ready to give up my home yet. I wasn’t going to give in without a good fight. I just wasn’t ready!
Well, the doctors were able to do surgery the next day to pin my hip. It wasn’t shattered, so they were able to stabilize it and repair it. There were no complications, and the surgery went very well. They said the healing was all up to me. I figured that I still had enough gumption to do the job, and if I behaved myself, I would be back home in a month, give or take a week or two. That’s what I told myself anyway. It was the only plan that I was willing to accept. Home, that’s where I was going. Back to the comforts of my own house. The only place I belonged.
Well, the whole hospital experience was quite an ordeal for me. I had made it to one-hundred and three and had had the good fortune to never have spent one minute in hospital as a patient. I’d been there lots as a visitor and spent a week there during Logan’s last days, but I had never had the need to stay there myself. How fortunate I had been, indeed. It sure was quite the transition. The reality of my predicament didn’t take long to settle in. The shock of the break and the surgery took its toll on my old body. It knocked the stuffing out of me.
The first week or so, I was in a lot of pain and felt grateful to be there even though I didn’t like the idea. I knew I was where I needed to be under the circumstances. There was no way I could care for myself. I needed to be on painkillers, and I needed all the nursing care I was getting, so I was okay with my situation initially. But, as the weeks began to pass I got pretty cantankerous. I was getting really homesick.
As my health improved, my pride and humility started to return as well. I just wanted to be able to use a toilet and wipe my own butt without involving others. There is nothing more humiliating than having a stranger wipe your backside. Even if they are a professional. I so yearned to have a proper shower and wash my hair. I’d about had enough bed baths, and that waterless shower cap they used to refresh my hair had lost all the appeal. Oh, for a real shower! I missed the privacy of my own home.
Everyone I know who was in hospital for a spell always had bad things to say about the food, but I really couldn’t complain so much in that regard. It was all edible. Maybe it wasn’t of my desire or prepared in the same fashion I would have done, but it wasn’t so bad. They served a fairly good variety. When it comes to food, I’ve always been an easy keeper. That’s what Ma used to say anyway.
I had lots of company and visitors drop in to have a chinwag with. My family and friends were very attentive. They all tried to sound optimist and upbeat. They brought my mail and kept me up on the local news telling me who was doing what. It helped pass the time.
After a month of bed rest, I was told I could start rehab to slowly build up my strength and try to get back on my feet. That was the news I’d been waiting for. Yippee! But I hadn’t thought it would be so hard. It was very painful, and I found myself weak as a newborn kitten. Terrible what lying around for so long does to an aging body. I found out that I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. It was going to take longer than I had hoped.
I’m not so sure the doctors figured on me ever walking again. They kept saying, “At your age”. I finally got perturbed and let them know that I knew what my age was. After all, I hadn’t hit my head and lost my memory. I may be old, but I wasn’t senile. I knew I was one-hundred and three. I also knew I was dang stubborn, and I intended to walk out of that joint as soon as possible! All that poking, prodding, and fussing was driving me crazy. I longed for the comforts of my own home, being surrounded with my own things, and just putting in each day at my own discretion. Home was the only place for me. I’d already been gone way too long.
After two weeks of hard work and perseverance, I was able to walk to the washroom and back with the aid of two nurses and a walker. To go pee on a toilet again was wonderful. Who’d a thought you could find so much excitement in that. I was back to doing my own paperwork! Thank goodness. It was my first hurdle to achieve. By the end of the third week, I could manage with one nurse and the walker, but I was still a little unsteady on my feet. It took a lot of maneuvering to get that dang walker to go where I wanted it to. It was big and cumbersome, and I couldn’t seem to get the knack of backing up to the toilet while driving that thing. Still, I was making progress.
It was about that time that the doctor mentioned to me that I should put some thought into going to a nursing home to complete my rehab. Apparently I was no longer an acute care case and couldn’t stay in hospital much longer. He said perhaps even for a short time, just until I was able to fend for myself. I was against that idea. I assured him that I could manage quite nicely at home if he’d sign my release forms. Well, he assured me that he was against that idea. He felt that I would need assistance to ambulate for some time to come, perhaps two to six months. I just felt sick at that thought. I thought that I was doing well enough, and would be able to head back home in a few more weeks. Just a little more time and I would walk right out the front door. There was no way I was going to agree to going to a nursing home. I figured that once I was there, they’d lock the door behind me and throw away the key.”
Beth laughed again, “I sure would have loved to be a bug on the wall during that conversation, Gran. What else did the doctor say?”
“Well, the good doctor let me know that he would be in touch with the children and discuss my situation with them. That idea made me feel even worse. I felt like it was a conspiracy. I knew how the children felt. They had been nagging at me for a few years to consider moving into the old folk’s home. I knew in my heart that it was because they worried about me and were concerned for my welfare, but I wasn’t interested in entertaining that idea at all. I still remembered all too well what it was like living there from my sister Rose’s experience. And there have been countless others that I’ve gone to see in those places. Nope, no siree! I wasn’t going to move there.
Time, I just needed a little more time and I’d be good as new. Well, maybe not new, but as good as I was before I broke my hip. I just had to persevere and work harder to get going on my own. I knew in a few more weeks I would be able to go home and get back to doing my own thing. That was the plan. It was the only plan I would accept, and I knew it was all up to me to find a way to make it work. I would have to muster up all my gumption and get going. I just had to!”