It’s been a hard time... · 7:44am Jan 27th, 2023
Hiya, lovely peeps.
Things have been... hard recently.
On October 12th, 2022, everything changed. My Dadi (my father’s mother, as said in Urdu) had a dizziness spell and fell outside her house. She broke her femur and lay on the ground, in pain and unable to move. She is 79.
My house is divided in two. On my side, I live with my parents and brother, and my Dadi lives by herself on the other side. We each have our own rooms, kitchens and bathrooms and the two sides are separated by one door. We live with our grandmother, but not with her.
The morning of the 12th, my Bro was having breakfast when he heard a loud crash coming from my Dadi’s backyard. There was no scream - just a crash with no context. Initially, he thought that Dadi had dropped something, which she usually does. A solid five minutes after the crash, she screamed. Called out my name. I had barely woken up and I rushed to see what was the problem.
We would later learn that she had actually fainted, hence the time skip between the fall and her calling for help.
I panicked. My parents had already left for work and I didn’t know what to do. I left the house and called out to my cousin who lives next door. She came over and after we determined that there was no way we could move her from the ground, we called the ambulance. Meanwhile, one by one, all of our parents left work and came home to see the emergency. Twenty minutes later, the ambulance came and Dadi was loaded in the vehicle.
I will never forget the painful scream she made as the paramedics were putting her in the ambulance.
On October 17th, Dadi had her surgery. At 79 years old, her bones are as fragile as biscuits. Her right femur had completely snapped in half and one piece was breaking apart. They had to insert a titanium rod inside her thigh and secure it with a dozen screws. In the four days she was in the hospital, they had to attach a weight to her leg so that the two pieces of the bone would not pierce the flesh inside.
Before her surgery, I went to see her everyday. All three of my Dadi’s sons went to see her everyday. The first time I saw her lying in that hospital bed, I bawled my eyes out. As did my Ma and my bro. I had become used to seeing my grandmother as this strong, capable woman who made us food and looked after us every day. But in the hospital? She was vulnerable, frail and suffering. It was heartbreaking to see her like that.
On the eve of the surgery, my entire family gathered together to talk about her. She has a lot of health issues, and the doctors were debating whether they should give her a full anesthesia or an epidural anesthesia. There was... a high risk of death with the full anesthesia. In the end, they went with the epidural.
The night of the 16th was the scariest night of my life. There was an 80% chance wasn’t going to survive the surgery. I thought that that was the last time I would ever see or talk to her. I thought she was a goner. And I didn’t sleep a wink that night.
And then:
Operation done successfully. Dadi is OK.
Words cannot describe the relief I felt in that moment. She made it. She made it! I went to see that same day and I hugged her tightly and I kissed her.
The next few days that followed were crucial. Eventually, the wound stopped bleeding. The doctors ere able to put her back on her normal meds. She could sit upright. She could eat by herself. And for a while, she was okay. But the worst was yet to come.
On November 1st, Dadi came home. After three weeks in the hospital, she came home on a gurney. I cried that day, too. It was surreal, in a way. For the entire twenty years of my life, Dadi was a constant. I could always count on her to be there. She was home and I could not go see her anytime. So when she wasn’t here, I could feel her absence and it tore me apart. Seeing her back home was a relief. But now that she doesn’t have doctors and nurses to look after her 24/7, the real work falls on us.
Her family.
Dadi’s sister, who I’m gonna call Sis, moved in with her. She’s 77 and she never married. From then on, we settled into a routine. During the day, a paid caretaker comes in from 08:00 to 17:00 and looks after her. Two times a week, she stays overnight. The rest of the week, we take care of her. Dadi can’t walk, so she needs someone to do things for her. She also wears diapers, has to take meds and for some reason, always wakes up for a bathroom break at 04:30. No one else but my father can lift her up and put her in the wheelchair.
For the first few weeks, everything was fine. We were on the right track. Dadi was recovering. But then...
On November 19th, Dadi fell again. She was using her walker (you know, those square things used to help people walk?) by herself. We told her not to walk without my Pa next to her, just in case something were to happen. But Dadi was being stubborn. She ended up falling on top of her sister. Thankfully, neither of them were badly hurt. Though, we did have to rush Dadi to the hospital the next morning as she woke up in a lot of pain.
While she wasn’t that badly hurt from the second fall, her mental state deteriorated. She got stuck on a “if I walk, I’ll fall” mindset. She became stuck, refused to even attempt walking. She refused to use the walking stick out of fear of falling. We had taken a big step backwards.
Nothing much happened in December. We followed the same routine and Dadi made some more progress. But just when you think we’ve taken two steps forward, we take another step backwards.
On January 23rd, 2023, Dadi broke her arm. She was using the walker and lost balance and fell on her left arm, dislocating her wrist and breaking the bone. Cue my Pa rushing her to the hospital at 05:30 AM. She’s got a cast that has to stay on for 6 weeks. Now, she can’t use the walker, because that requires two arms to use. Progress delayed. Dadi’s mental state went further down and now she’s more miserable than ever.
Meanwhile, several things are happening in the background.
The first one of which is money. Thankfully, our country has universal healthcare; Dadi’s surgery and hospital stay were free. What isn’t free, though, is the caretakers hired to look after my grandmother. Every one of my Dadi’s relatives is pitching in to help, but those services are still expensive. The second problem is the family. Most of my Dadi’s close relatives, including her second son, her brother and several of her grandchildren aren’t coming to see as often as they should. They aren’t doing anything productive and rarely drop by in check in on Dadi, despite living right next door.
All of these are weighing in on her mind. They are also weighing in on my Pa’s mind. He’s stressed; Ma’s stressed. It’s been a hard time for my family recently. Ever since the accident, I feel like a part of my Dadi’s soul just died. She’s sad and depressed, she doesn’t laugh or smile anymore, and it just breaks my heart. My family is tearing apart instead of banding together.
Honestly, it feels like I’m losing my grandmother.
She’s the second most important woman of my life. In more ways than one, she’s my second mother. I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to live without her. I love her so much.
I’m sorry if this blog is a little less coherent than my previous personal blogs. It’s just... it’s been a hard time.
Thank you all for reading this far and I’ll see you soon. Bye!
Good luck with all this, and please stay strong. I lost both of my grandmothers in the past few years, so I relate to how you feel. The hardest part for me was honestly comforting my parents. They may have been my grandmothers, but for my parents they were mom.
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Thank you for your kind words.