Get down, Grandpa

Yesterday I took my grandfather to the doctor. It was the 3rd attempt this week, and almost successful this time. We made it all the way to the doctor's office and even waited outside for 20 minutes, but there seems to be no compassion for the ill in pain, and Grandpa decided to go home. He's been in so much pain lately as the cancer is now in his hip bones and it hurts to put pressure on his left side especially. Sitting in that chair was excruciating for him. Screw the fact that they gave him an appointment at 11:30, but let me know once we got there that it would be at least an hour before they would see him. And they couldn't help accomodate him by letting him wait on an exam room table on his side. Fucking assholes. They wouldn't even talk to the doctor to order labs, which is what he would have done anyway. I guess our healthcare system truly doesn't give a shit about a person's dignity. At least not in the Inland Valley. Do no harm my ass.

Well, I took Grandpa outside in the borrowed wheelchair and had him wait on the sidewalk while I went to get the car. Almost all the handicapped parking was open, so I was able to park the car slightly diagonal so that the transfer into the car was easier. As soon I got out of the car, an old man next to me starts yelling at me!!! Yelling about taking 2 spaces. I tried to ignore him after I asked, "Can't you see I'm picking someone up?" And then Grandpa pipes up with a number of comments, explitives and an "I can still kick your ass." Classic Tom.

That's about as angry as I've seen him throughout his entire illness. He was diagnosed in 1998, just after I met him. And he's welcomed me into the family with open arms. He always seems proud to call me his granddaughter and to introduce me to his friends as "the granddaughter I told you about." I don't think I can accurately or justly describe how he has dealt with the cancer in stride. I don't know if it's been easier for him because he worked in the ER so long that he appreciates the time he has to prepare and to spend with his family, or if he just somehow knew how to make it easier for the rest of us. What I do know is that he's okay with it and he's never nasty with us even when he's in pain. He can talk about it so openly. Even as I cry while he tells me how to take care of things once he's gone, who gets this or that and what to do with the rest. After I express my husband's sentiment of not wanting what's left because it'll mean he's gone. And he tenderly says, "Honey, we all have to go some time. You'll be okay."