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              Adventures With Grandpa (tm)
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               Monday, July 17, 2006
               Edition #012
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                     C O N T E N T S

012.1: Current Condition in Brief
       A quick summary of Grandpa's current condition

012.2: A Word From God
       God works in mysterious ways

012.3: Memorial Service
       It was just as Grandpa wanted

012.4: Memorial Site
       A Website for Grandpa

012.5: The Past Eight Months
       A history of Grandpa's medicial problems

012.6: Holiday Adventures
       Grandpa enjoys coast trip

012.7: Been There, Done That
       Grandpa's been everywhere

012.8: Prayer Practice
       Marc learns a lesson

012.9: Quotable Quotes
       Grandpa (apparently) owns a horse

12.10: Colophon

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012.1: Current Condition in Brief
       A quick summary of Grandpa's current condition

The above is my standard headline for the first section in the newsletter. I thought about changing it, but decided to keep it, though this particular "quick summary" will be quick indeed (not really, as you'll see).

In case you hadn't heard, my Grandpa, F. Wildon Colbaugh, passed away on June 19, 2006. He was 91.

Grandpa had not been doing great, slowly deteriorating (see 012.5 for more on his medical adventures), but though he wasn't as active and had some physical problems, his mind was good and his spirits fine.

Just a few weeks before he died we were watching a TV show where they mentioned something about how hot stars like Tom Cruise are aging but with modern techniques you can't tell. "Forty is the new thirty," the woman reporter said. I explained this to Grandpa saying, "See? I'm only 28! And that means you're only like, 50." He laughed and told me that as far as he was concerned, he didn't feel any older than 30!

The week before he wasn't eating quite as well as usual, and he was retaining more fluid than usual, despite the diuretics I gave him. His energy levels were low, but his spirits were high. Sunday evening I got him to eat a half grilled cheese sandwich -- little did I know it would be, essentially, his Last meal.

Monday morning I was planning on getting up a 6 a.m. to watch World Cup soccer -- the World Cup had just started on June 9th. I tried to go to bed early, but failed (I have terrible insomnia). I lay awake in bed for hours, finally drifting off to sleep after midnight.

At three a.m., Grandpa began calling me for help. I ran to his room and he was sitting up in his bed. He seemed troubled and confused. He told me he was having trouble breathing. I got him his puffer (he has asthma) and after a bit he felt better. I plumped up his pillows and repositioned him so he was sitting up in the bed more, which helped his breathing. I was worried and wondered if he needed to go to the hospital (breathing problems are like, serious) but he said no.

There was something odd about his speech pattern, his wide alarmed eyes, and he was obviously disoriented. It worried me, but he couldn't tell me anything about how he felt, just that he didn't feel well.

Finally, I went back to bed. I knew I had to get up in a few hours. Of course it takes me at least 30 minutes to get back to sleep, especially after an alarming event like that, so I was just about dozing off when I heard Grandpa calling me again. It was about 25 after three a.m.

This time Grandpa wanted a glass of water. I got him some fresh ice water (he always liked it cold) and he took the tiniest sip imaginable and put the glass down. "That's all I can do," he said. "I can't take any more."

Naturally, this irritated and frustrated me. He hadn't drunk enough to wet his lips let alone satisfy any thirst craving, yet his water quest had been enough to wake me up in the middle of the night? Something was wrong, but he wouldn't drink any more and he still couldn't explain what was going on. He claimed his breathing was fine now.

Like clockwork, thirty minutes later, just as I was getting drowsy, Grandpa called again. This time he had no idea why he'd called me. His leg hurt, or his back. Something. He wasn't sure what. I sighed and got him settled in bed and then he went to sleep, though he wanted the light on.

At forty-twenty a.m. I was still wide awake and growing quite worried and irritated. This was unusual behavior for Grandpa. I felt something was wrong, but without his cooperation I couldn't tell what. Should I take him to the emergency room? His symptoms -- odd behavior, confusion, complaints of pain -- except for the earlier breathing trouble didn't appear that serious. Yet it had been a long time, possibly a year, since he'd woken me at night for some reason.

Of course this was Monday, the 12th, the day the U.S.A. took on the Czech Republic in their first game of the World Cup and I was feverishly excited. If I took Grandpa to the hospital it might tie me up for hours, perhaps half the day. I could watch the game later, of course (I record everything with my Tivos), but it wouldn't be the same as live. Of course now, without getting any sleep and something wrong with Grandpa, I felt a terrible sense of doom, and just knew this was going to be a bad day for me and for the USA soccer team.

So I lay in bed, wracked with guilt, wondering if my personal desires were conflicting with my responsibilities to Grandpa.

Then he began yelling for me again. I looked at the clock. Forty-thirty. At least his timing was consistent. This time I didn't move. "What is it, Grandpa?" He couldn't hear me so I finally got up and opened the door to my room. "What is it?"

"I need my urinal!" he shouted. "Quick, hurry, help!"

I sighed. "It's right there on the bedstand where it always is, right where you left it."

There was a silence. "You find it?"

"I got it. Okay. Good-night."

I went back to bed, but didn't sleep. At five a.m., Grandpa began moaning in pain, but when I went to check on him, he couldn't tell me what hurt. At one point it was his leg or hip, then it was his back or side. I shifted him around in bed a bit, and finally he found a comfortable position. He wanted to get up but I pointed to the darkness outside his window. "It's the middle of the night, Grandpa, we don't get up for hours."

"Oh," he said, "then I'd better sleep." He closed his eyes and went to sleep. He can sleep anywhere within two seconds. I've always been jealous of that talent of his!

I decided there was no point in going back to bed when I had to get up in an hour, so I went and did some work. At five-thirty, Grandpa called me again. This time he was struggling to get out of bed. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Help me, I need to get my pants. I've got to go outside!"

"What? Grandpa, it's the middle of the night! Go to SLEEP!"

"Oh? Really? Okay." He laid back down and closed his eyes.

Just before six a.m., when the first World Cup game of the day started, I heard sounds coming from Grandpa's room. Then he gave a moan and a shout. I finished the email I was sending, then made my way to his room. He was sitting on the floor beside his bed, with his back against the bookcase.

"What are you doing?" I shouted.

"Huh? Oh, I need the support," he said, nodding toward the bookcase.

"No, what are you doing on the floor?"

The question surprised him. "Huh? Oh, I don't know." He didn't know how he'd gotten there. I had to lift him up and put him back into the bed. He couldn't move his bad right leg to get it into the bed, so I had to lift it and move it into the bed for him. I got him recovered and back into sleeping position, reminding him once again that it was the middle of the night, and moving his wheelchair far from the bed so he wouldn't be tempted to go anywhere.

I was worried he'd interrupt my soccer viewing, but his frequent cries for help quieted down and I when I checked on him during half-time he seemed to be sleeping. Later, toward the end of that first game, he started acting up again, but again he had no idea what was going on. He couldn't tell me any symptoms or what he was feeling.

At eight a.m., Judy, a caregiver we'd hired to help with Grandpa, arrived. She comes to help bathe and dress Grandpa, get him breakfast, etc. We'd recently decided to have her come every day to take some of the strain off me and give me time to work in the mornings instead of dealing with Grandpa. This was the first day of her new "full-time" gig.

My mom also arrived about this time: we'd planned to make waffles and watch the USA-Czech Republic soccer game. I updated Judy and my mom with the situation and while we waffled over whether or not to fix waffles, Judy started helping Grandpa. She called me into his bedroom -- Grandpa could not even stand up to reach the wheelchair. His right leg was in incredible pain.

"I guess the infection's come back," I theorized. "He's been off the antibiotics for a while now and I'd wondered if the infection would come back gradually or suddenly. I guess it's the latter, because he was fine last night."

I had to lift Grandpa into his wheelchair, and later, after Judy got him into the bathroom, I had to do it again. Grandpa complained a lot about pain while she struggled to get his pants on. We were all concerned, but again, the symptoms did not seem that extreme. I had an hour window between games so I decided to go ahead and make the waffles. If I waited too long, I'd be making waffles during the game, and I didn't want that.

Judy got Grandpa to the breakfast table and he was in a nearly comatose state. He didn't respond to questions and seemed totally out of it. Even waving a hand in front of his face did not get his attention. I'd seen him like this once or twice before and I thought he might just be sleepy from having been up all night.

Then I remembered something the home care nurse had said about infection causing a fever. So I got the thermometer and had to hold it in Grandpa's mouth because he literally couldn't keep it there himself. His temperature was 94.6 -- he was usually low, around 96, according to the home care nurse's measurements, but this was with my thermometer and I wasn't sure how accurate it was or if Grandpa had actually kept the tip under his tongue.

Judy made Grandpa eggs and bacon, his preferred breakfast, while the rest of us had waffles. Grandpa did not eat a bite. I ate my breakfast in the living room as the USA-Czech game was starting. The Czechs have a famous player, the bald giant Jan Kohler, who's like 6'7" and impossible to miss. Since the World Cup draw had been announced last December, the U.S. had been talking about how we were to deal with the "giant." Somehow we had to contain him and not let him score. Five minutes into the game, six months of planning are washed away in an instant, as Kohler slips through our defense and scores on a header in the Czech's first attack. By half-time the U.S. is down two goals and looking a shambled mess. The early goal has rattled us and we are not planning well at all. It's a nightmare.

At halftime, Judy brings Grandpa into the living room and I help him into his recliner. He cannot get into it on his own, which is usual. Judy feels his forehead and thinks he's warm, so she gets the thermometer and we try that again. This time, just an hour later, Grandpa's temperature is 99.6 degrees.

Eighteen months ago, when Grandpa first moved in with me, a doctor had ordered me to take Grandpa to the emergency room when his temperature was merely a half degree above normal. "For an 89-year-old," the doctor said, "even a half degree is a serious temperature." (Apparently old people don't get as hot with a fever as younger people as their immune systems aren't as vigorous.)

So this time there was no hesitation. We immediately called 911 and had an ambulance come out. It was surreal. The USA-Czech game was back on, a game I'd been waiting for for four years, and here was an ambulance crew bundling up Grandpa and hauling him away.

Grandpa did not want to go. "I'm fine," he told the medic. "I feel fine."

"Any pain?"

"No, no pain," Grandpa said, though as soon as they lifted him he began to howl in agony.

My mom went to the hospital. Judy decided to leave as there was nothing for her. I returned to the miserable game, which quickly got even worse as the Czechs scored a third goal. I no longer cared but watched out of habit, my mind numbed.

Why was this happening? Why now, today of all days? Was Grandpa all right or was this serious? Would he come home again or was that the way his stay at my house would end?

My mom called a few minutes later. Grandpa was at the hospital and she'd been told he was "an extremely ill man." He temperature was nearly 103 by the time they got him there.

I showered and dressed and hurried over. There wasn't much we could do. We waited by his bed in emergency. They had him on oxygen as his breathing was not good. I was not surprised to hear he had pneumonia. He also had congestive heart failure, which sounds fatal, but they always say he has that every time he goes to the hospital. Apparently it means his heart isn't as strong as it's supposed to be. We also discovered he had a bladder infection, which explained to me why he hadn't been able to pee off the excess fluid his body was retaining despite the diuretics I'd been giving him.

But the big surprise was that the doctors thought he had a broken hip. I thought they were nuts because his leg always causes him pain, but they took x-rays and came back with the results that his femur (thigh-bone) was broken in several places. Apparently the infection in his leg had hollowed out the bone where the hip replacement was installed and somehow he'd cracked the bone around the titanium shaft of the hip replacement. The titanium shaft was apparently all that was holding his leg together: the surround bone was all shattered. The doctor told us that was not uncommon and that the bone was incredibly fragile and it wouldn't take much -- a mere twist or strain -- to break the leg.

The doctor also told us Grandpa had a "blood infection" (also known as sepsis). That didn't mean much to us and none of us realized just how serious a problem that was. The other issues -- heart failure, pneumonia, and broken leg -- seemed much obvious, especially when we were later told that there was basically no way to fix the leg. The hip replacement would have to be removed and Grandpa would be bed-ridden the rest of his life. That is, assuming he was strong enough for the surgery, which at the moment, would be weeks away.

It wasn't until later in the week that we really got the low-down on sepsis. Basically the blood itself gets infected and it takes the bacteria throughout the body, infecting all the organs. Antibiotics can sometimes kill the infection, but often not -- it's mostly up to the person's own immune system to fight off the infection. In Grandpa's case, it was his weakened immune system's failure that had allowed the infection to spread (probably from his bladder), which did not bode well for his chances.

The doctor told us the grim statistic that a 30-year-old in good health would spend months in the hospital fighting off sepsis. In Grandpa's case, there was essentially no hope. If the antibiotics didn't work, it would just be a matter of time.

During his stay in the hospital Grandpa was not conscious very much. In part this was because they kept him medicated, as his leg caused him pain, but he was awake at times, enough for a few words to be exchanged. His sense of humor was even evident.

One day -- I think it was Thursday -- I was at the hospital at noon when they brought him his lunch. He wanted _me_ to eat it. "No, it's yours," I said. "You're the patient."

The nurse was still nearby, adjusting Grandpa's bed, and Grandpa looked up at her with wide eyes and asked, "Is that true? I am the patient?"

She looked startled until I explained he was just being funny. It was Grandpa's dry sense of humor. He seemed serious, but I could see the grin in his eye.

Grandpa didn't eat or drink much. Toward the end they stopped giving him fluid via the IV because it was just causing retention and hampering his breathing. His kidneys were failing and he wasn't able to urinate away the excess fluid so it just gathered in his chest.

On Sunday Grandpa was taken off the antibiotics as they weren't doing anything.

Monday morning, June 19th, I got the call from the nurse. She'd been with Grandpa until five-thirty and his breathing had been ragged, but he'd been breathing. She stepped out for a bit when she came back he was gone. They put time of death at 6 a.m.

We'd been making arrangements to have Grandpa come home for his last days, but he went out early, which in a way was easier. I thought he'd be more comfortable at home, sitting by his favorite window with a warm cat in his lap, but at least he went peacefully.


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012.2: A Word From God
       God works in mysterious ways

On Tuesday, the 13th of June, the day after Grandpa had gone to the hospital, I was at home working. I had major deadlines and was trying to get as much done as I could.

I had my iTunes playing music on my computer as I worked. Now a few years ago I went to see Sara Groves in concert in San Jose when she was touring with Michael Card, a singer I didn't know. But I liked him and bought several of his CDs after the concert. One of those CDs I've never fully listened to because it turned out to be a recording of a "live" concert and the producers broke out Michael's pre-song chats as separate tracks on the CD. When I listen to songs on iTunes, I usually have "shuffle" on and it's annoying to suddenly hear a sermon when I'm wanting music. Usually I just skip the track.

But on this day, when Michael Card's voice suddenly interrupted me, I was in the middle of a task and couldn't change the track fast enough. Suddenly I froze as I realized Michael was talking about his grandfather.

Michael's grandfather had been in the ministry and had passed away when Michael was young (eight or nine), and when Michael was older and had decided to dedicate his own life to ministry, he wished he could share this decision with his grandfather. Of course his grandfather was dead, so Michael wrote a song -- the song he was introducing (which I never got to hear as iTunes switched to another random song). But what got me was the last thing Michael said (I'm paraphrasing):

"If you know of an elderly person who is close to you, or who you want to be close to, get to know them now, for they won't always be around."

I felt a chill to my bones. Remember, this was Tuesday, the day after Grandpa had been taken to the hospital. We still didn't know the true seriousness of his condition yet (at least I didn't). But I knew, at that moment, that Grandpa was not coming home. At least not to my home. He was going to his real Home.

I didn't want to believe it, of course. I tried to push off Michael Card's words as mere coincidence, but I knew they were not. My whole life God has spoken to me through "coincidences" like that, and I knew this was a message. It was comforting, in a way. God cared enough to warn me, to make Grandpa's passing easier. But it still hurt.

* * *

There was a moment, during that last week, when I questioned God's timing. The World Cup -- the greatest event _period_, for a soccer fanatic like myself -- was in full swing. This special month-long feast that only comes once every four years was happening and right in the middle of it my beloved grandfather was dying. How could this happen? Why now? Why not wait a month until the Cup was over? Why not the month before?

I thought about abandoning soccer. It was a distraction and I needed to focus on Grandpa.

But then I realized that the distraction was exactly what I needed. For decades I'd worried and wondered about Grandpa's death. It was an inevitability. It would happen. I still didn't know how I'd handle it. I've been blessed without much death in my life.

Now, in retrospect, I see God's genius. Grandpa passing during the World Cup was a blessing. It didn't ruin the Cup. Grandpa's situation took my mind off the -- relatively unimportant -- failure of the U.S. National Team and the excitement and drama of the World Cup let me focus on something other than Grandpa's passing. If I hadn't had the Cup to distract me, I would have been a wreck.

* * *

In retrospect, there were other blessings. God's timing was impeccable.

My Aunt Phyllis, Grandpa's daughter, already had a visit scheduled for Saturday, June 17. When she heard Grandpa was in the hospital she came a few days earlier and thus got to be there for his last days.

On Saturday, there was an emotional time when all four of his children were gathered around his bed singing ancient hymns. It was sad and beautiful at the same time.

Aunt Connie, Grandpa's son Phil's wife, travels constantly for her work, but she just happened to have a week off when he passed. She was able to visit her father-in-law and come to the memorial service without totally disrupting her work schedule.

Though we're all sad to see Grandpa go, the more I think about it, it could not have happened in a better manner. He died peacefully, and while his going to the hospital was unexpected, his week there gave us time to prepare and to say good-bye. While Grandpa had been deteriorating, I'm grateful that until the end his mind was whole: we never had to go through a period where he was forced into institutional care and where he couldn't recognize his relatives. His last years were relatively comfortable (his short memory was actually helpful for forgetting any painful or bad experience) and it's probably for the best he didn't linger on in miserable conditions.

For a while, I'd almost convinced myself Grandpa would outlive me! From frail times in the past when I thought he didn't have long to go, he hung on tenaciously, and it seemed like that would continue. His life was a blessing for many and we're sorry he had to go, but we'll see him again, in God's House.


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012.3: Memorial Service
       It was just as Grandpa wanted

One week after Grandpa passed, we held a Memorial Service for Grandpa at the old Lake Oswego Assembly of God church where he'd been associated. Grandpa had been one of those behind instigating a monthly pot-luck at the church -- a tradition that continues today -- and so we felt it appropriate to do that after his Memorial.

The Service lasted about 90 minutes. There's an audio recording of it (see the next section for the links) if you're interested.

I delivered an unconventional eulogy, but it was from the heart. Somehow I made it through without breaking down. From the comments I received afterward, it was well-received.

Later others spoke and we had worship time, and of course, prayer.

There were quite a lot of people -- perhaps 75 I'd guess -- from all generations. That's not bad considering Grandpa would complain that he'd outlived all his friends!

Many said it was exactly what he'd have wanted. Uncle Phil agreed, saying, "Well, it should: he wrote down what he wanted and we did just that!"


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012.4: Memorial Site
       A Website for Grandpa

I decided to turn the "Adventures with Grandpa" website into a Memorial for Grandpa. I've updated the page with links to All Things Grandpa: photos, audio and video clips, the archives of this newsletter, and audio recordings of my eulogy and the entire Memorial Service.

    <http://www.zeedar.com/grandpa/>

Enjoy.


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012.5: The Past Eight Months
       A history of Grandpa's medicial problems

Some of you may have wondered why I waited so long before producing another "Adventures with Grandpa." Well, the past eight months have indeed been an adventure.

Grandpa had been having serious health problems. It started with the leg/hip infection I wrote about in the last newsletter (October 2005). I kept waiting for a resolution to the matter and thus kept putting off doing a new newsletter.

In December, Grandpa's orthopedic surgeon retired, so we had to find a new one. Of course the records didn't get transferred as we requested, so new x-rays and tests had to be done. It wasn't until February that things began to happen.

It was decided to put Grandpa on high-dose antibiotics administered intravenously. The first complication we learned is that while Medicare will pay for the medicine when you're in the hospital or in a nursing home, but they will _not_ pay for it if you administer the drug at home. This, apparently, is merely a billing issue: while at the hospital or care facilty all your drugs are covered as part of your care, but when you're on your own, they are considered prescription drugs and fall under prescription drug plans.

Since Grandpa needed a six-week program of antibiotics, we decided it was best for him to stay home and just pay for the drug, despite the high cost ($350+/week). Medicare did pay for home nursing to supervise and show us how to do it.

Administering the drug turned out to not be that complicated: we were given a small battery-operated pump that connected to a valve already in his arm. You attached a bag of medicine and flipped on the pump. After an hour or so, the medicine was injected, and you could disconnect everything. This procedure was to be repeated every few days.

Unfortunately, Grandpa decided to make it complicated: during the night he would pull out the needle from his arm (he had no memory of doing it, of course). This would necessitate another visit to the hospital so the needle could be properly inserted (they use x-rays to place it precisely).

Another complication was that this was happening right as I was leaving for my annual conference in Austin, Texas. My mom had planned to take care of Grandpa while I was gone, but right after I was gone he pulled the needle out _again_. This gave her a lot more to do. Fortunately, Judy, our care gal, was around to help.

This time the doctors put in a "porta-cath" -- an under-the-skin value that he can't pull out. It was below his left shoulder, and a nurse could poke a needle into the porta-cath which we could then use to administer the drug. The good news about this is that even if Grandpa did pull out this needle, the home care nurse could replace it without him having to go back to the hospital for an extensive procedure.

The Friday I got back from my trip my mom picked me up at the airport with the words, "Grandpa's back in the hospital."

It turned out the regular blood tests they were giving him showed a problem and they'd been told that morning to take Grandpa to emergency. Judy did that while my mom went to the airport, so we headed straight to the hospital. It turned out Grandpa was having kidney problems.

There was a great deal of confusion during this period. I was told by several medical people that the drug Grandpa was on can cause kidney damage -- but the kidney specialist, once I managed to get a hold of him, said that wasn't the problem at all. Grandpa's kidneys were just weak and old as normal for a 90-year-old, but with malfunctioning kidneys it meant his body didn't get rid of the excess medicine as fast as normal, which can cause other problems.

The bottom line was that we ended up switching Grandpa to a different antibiotic -- one more powerful and more targeted to his specific infection. Unfortunately, not only was this drug much more expensive ($1200/week), but it was to be administered 24-hours a day! We were given a new pump, this one in a nylon bag he could wear, that constantly inserted the drug over a 24-hour period. Once a day I had to flush the line with saline and replace the bad with fresh medicine.

I worried that Grandpa would pull out this line, but he didn't. Unfortunately, this new drug didn't seem to work as well as the old one. With the old one Grandpa's leg pain had reduced considerably, though he still couldn't put weight on his right leg. After several weeks of the new drug, there was no further improvement.

After talking with the orthopedic surgeon and the kidney doctor, we decided to put Grandpa back on the original medication! I had thought that one had hurt his kidneys but they assured me that the kidney failure was unrelated.

There was more chaos during the next few weeks. We went back to the old med (exchanging the pump again) and continued the blood tests two or three times a week. The home nurse would come out and draw blood and take it to the lab and the next day they'd call me and let me know the revised medicine schedule.

It was during this period that Grandpa ended up in the hospital again. This time it was his potassium level. It was too high. This was odd: I'd never heard anyone mention that before, and Grandpa took potassium as one of his daily drugs.

Well, apparently no one had noticed he had potassium on his med list. Basically Grandpa's kidneys were failing (again) and his body was retaining too much potassium, which can be fatal. We immediately stopped giving him the daily potassium pills (duh!) and even changed his diet slightly so he wouldn't eat foods rich in potassium (like bananas and low-salt salt).

Fortunately, this hospital visit was Grandpa's briefest and best: after just a couple days he was feeling great and itching to come home, though they kept him a couple more for observation. Grandpa was even eating the hospital food. After his previous hospital visit he'd come home with much less of an appetite, not eating lunch any more at all, this time he came home ready to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was wonderful to see him vigorous and hungry again.

This last hospital visit was in late April, and there were a lot of exciting adventures I've left out. For instance, after the first kidney problem they put him on a catheter -- so he had tubes everywhere (the catheter tube down his leg and the 24-hour medicine bag connected to his porta-cath) and I had to help him with everything he did as he couldn't even transfer from chair to wheelchair without getting all the wires tangled, which would have been a mess (and dangerous as he might have tripped himself). This escalated the amount of care Grandpa needed and I had Judy coming much more often to help out.

There was also laser eye surgery for Grandpa during this period -- but that was almost a non-event as it was so mild Grandpa didn't even remember having it right after the fact.

And oh yeah, in the middle of all this both my vehicles -- my 12-year-old Neon and the 1991 Mazda van I'd bought to haul Grandpa around -- died with blown head gaskets. I had to get a reliable vehicle in a hurry, so I ended up with a blue PT Cruiser that I really like.

I'm sure there's plenty of other stuff I've forgotten, but you get the idea. It's been a wild eight months and I kept waiting for a resolution to Grandpa's on-going medical troubles or for things to quiet down before I did another newsletter. I guess we now have the ultimate resolution.

One key thing I learned through this experience is that medical problems are all inter-related. So a drug that solves one problem causes a side-effect that leads to a different problem elsewhere. Everything's a trade-off. You give up pain in this area but then have pain in that area.


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012.6: Holiday Adventures
       Grandpa enjoys coast trip

In May, we took Grandpa on a trip to the coast. I had no idea it was going to be his final visit -- I'd hoped to repeat it several more times this summer.

We'd originally planned to go in April and literally, the day before, Grandpa ended up in the hospital (that was the potassium overdose thing). So we postponed the trip a couple weeks.

It was a gorgeous day, just beautiful, and Grandpa had a wonderful time. I was worried about him needing to pee so often during the two-hour drive, but for whatever reason, he did not have to go. I thought he'd sleep on the trip, but the whole way over and back he sat up wide-eyed and alert, staring at everything we passed as though it was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen.

Of course we did pass some mighty nice scenery -- I took a bunch of beautiful photos which you can see here:

   <http://www.zeedar.com/grandpa/photos/coasttrip/>

We met Keith for lunch of the Pelican Brewery in Pacific City, and the drove up the coast to Grandpa's old haunts of Oceanside and Tillamook.

On the way home Grandpa became very emotional, getting teary-eyed and his voice cracking as he thanked me over and over for such a wonderful excursion. (He kept forgetting he'd already thanked me, of course.) He just loved the Oregon coast so much! I think he found it healing and revitalizing.

I'm so glad we were able to take that trip before he passed.


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012.7: Been There, Done That
       Grandpa's been everywhere

Living with Grandpa can be exasperating at times. One of his silliest trends lately is his insisting that he's "been there," no matter where that is, even if it's on another planet!

The other day we were watching _Stars Wars III_ on DVD and when we got to the scene with the firey lava planet, Grandpa starts telling me about his visit to Hawaii and how he's been right there where they filmed that [digitally created] scene!

When we watched _March of the Penguins_, set in Antarctica, of course Grandpa knew the place because he'd been there.

The funniest thing about this is Grandpa gets quite irate if you counter him on it.

"Grandpa, this is _fiction_. It doesn't exist. It's another planet!" I'll say, and that will just rile him up as he insists, "I have too been there!" He sounds just like a pentulant child.

When we watched the unprecedented floods in New Orleans on the news, he tells me he was down there when it was like that. "Oh, it was terrible. Much worse than this. Much, much worse."

I guess he lives in his own reality. It's an interesting phenomenon. Sometimes his view is based on vague memories of the past (no doubt he did visit Louisiana during a storm), but other times I wonder if he's confusing ancient TV reports or _National Geographic_ articles with his own experience!


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012.8: Prayer Practice
       Marc learns a lesson

Recently I was eating a meal with some other people. Grandpa was not with us. Someone asked me to say grace before the meal and I stumbled through it rather ineptly. It took me a moment to get my bearings. Then I realized the problem: I'm out of practice!

You see, at home, Grandpa's in charge of the mealtime prayer. He does a great job of it, always eloquent, and he never complains or tries to pass the duty on to someone else. I say, "Grandpa, will you pray?" and he dives right in, eager to get it done so we can eat. (I think the prayer puts him in "eating mode.")

Occasionally Grandpa will even pray two or more times at meal! One time I was fixing a dinner that involved several dishes ready in stages. I figured we could get started with the salad, so I had Grandpa pray and we ate the salad while the rest of the meal finished cooking. Then I brought the main course and placed it on the table and served us. When I picked up my fork to eat, suddenly I heard Grandpa saying grace again! He'd forgotten we'd already prayed.

The sad note to this is one of my final memories is of Grandpa saying grace before a meal. The morning we took him to the hospital he was quite out of it, but woke up enough to pray for the meal, elequent as usual, then went right back to his comotose mode.

Now that's he gone I'll be stuck praying for my own meals. At least I have a good example to follow!


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012.9: Quotable Quotes
       Grandpa (apparently) owns a horse

Years ago I discovered the coolest thing at Costco: you can buy a box of small sheets of aluminum foil. These sheets are all the same size and come out of the box just like tissues out of a tissue box (you pull out one and the next is sticking up ready for use). These sheets are the perfect size for my toaster oven (which I use for baking as it's more efficient for small meals than heating up the big oven), and they're ideal for covering most dishes and wrapping foods. No more cutting your finger on the metal saw edge on those roll aluminum foil boxes!

Anyway, the other morning I was teasing Grandpa about how many Kleenexes he uses. (His Depression-era upbringing means he won't use more than two squares of toilet paper at a time, but he goes through more expensive Kleenexes in a month than I use in a year.) This was while I was preparing breakfast. To bake some biscuits, I put a new sheet of foil on the toaster over tray (for easy cleanup), and seeing the box of foil "tissues" reminded me of our discussion.

So I grabbed the foil box and brought it to Grandpa. "Grandpa," I said, "here are some industrial-strength Kleenexes for you."

I figured he wouldn't have ever seen foil distributed like that and it would be amusing to see his reaction. He expressed dutiful amazement and wonder at such a thing. Then he said, without missing a beat, "Those are for my horse!"


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012.10: Colophon

Publication Title:  Adventures With Grandpa (tm)
Frequency:          Occasionally
Price:              $1,000,000 per issue
Publisher:          Marc Zeedar
Author:             Marc Zeedar
Photographer:       Marc Zeedar
Copyright:          Contents (photos and text)
                    (C) 2006 by Marc Zeedar
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Telephone:          877-364-5922
Website:            http://www.zeedar.com/grandpa/

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