I am Mae German. 34 years old. Born in Mangatarem, province of Pangasinan. I was taught and trained by 
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Some-Kinda-Blog-Stop The Deal.
Some-Kinda-Blog-Stop The Deal. | The Deal. |
| Monday, 03 August 2009 | |
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The usual place, the bathroom. I was standing in front of the vanity sink, trying to fix my hair, and she was sitting on her throne. There are days that she would just sit there, do her thing, get up, and walk back to her bed. We can have her tube out for a while. But there are days, like yesterday, and some other days, that she would stay there seated for more than fifteen minutes. These days, I have to get her nasal oxygen tube and put it back on her. She would just sit there, doing the same thing over and over again-- get some tissue, blow her dry nose or wipe herself off. I would just stand there, waiting and watching her finish the roll of tissue as she grabs one, then another. What can I do? She's turning 94 in September and her memory is not that good now. Sometimes I would run to her bed and fix it or do some other little things. But most of the time, I just stay there, waiting for her to show a sign that she's trying to get up. That's where I come in, near her I mean. She can do it on her own, I know. But I know, too, that she needs a little help standing up now. Every little action seems to be a task for her now. From getting out of bed to putting on her shoes, from walking to the bathroom, which is only a few feet away from her bed, to sitting on her throne. If I could spoon-feed her, I would. But I know that won't do her good. I don't want her to think less of herself. She would ask for help if she really needs it, I know. The least I can do is make sure (I try) that all she has to do is pick on her food and chew. She's a little shaky now when holding the fork or the table knife. One time she asked why her hand was shaking. I told her it was probably because she's just hungry. That happens to me sometimes, when I am starving. When I was new, I watched her routine in the bathroom and noticed how she's having a hard time flushing the toilet. Seated, she had to reach back for the flush handle. That was when I decided to do it for her every time that I am with her. "You beat me to it," she would always say on the first few days and I would tell her I was winning. I even told her that we should keep a scoreboard. I knew she doesn't remember that we've been doing that for some time now. The scoreboard, of course, was just my joke. I thought she will never remember even if it becomes a routine. I was wrong. "You beat me to it, again," I was surprised when she said the last word. Then I know the routine helped her remember. Sometimes, the two of us would even make a joke out of the flushing. She would say she has no idea how the thing flushes on its own. I would say, it has a sensor. It's good to see her smile, it's good to hear her laugh. And she does it every time she sees me. Even if I haven't done or said anything yet. "Grandma, you are laughing at me," I told her one time. "Well, it's good to have something to laugh at," she said. "I am taking that as a compliment," I said. "Well, it was meant to be," with a hint of laughter, she replied. But as I have said, she gets tired easily now. I find her catching her breath after talking a lot or after laughing too much. Somehow I feel guilty about it. "You're doing all the work," she told me when I was trying to take off her shoes, preparing her for bed. She can do that, I know, but I wanted to do it for her. "Let me do all the work, Grandma. You do all the breathing," I said. "All right, dear. That's a deal." The sweetest deal I've ever heard. |
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