Grandson of the Year?
I want to thank all the well-wishers out there, both public and private. One of the private messages I received said that I deserve to with the grandson of the year award. While this is sweet, I replied that this is not an award I want to win. Lay of the Century? Sure, I’ll take that.
The Grandmother is back home — the hospital released her on Saturday after two nights which is an important fact to remember. She still doesn’t have the strength or the energy to use the bathroom on her own. Even with the portable commode we bought for her next to her bed, she is unable to get up to use it. So we have her in diapers.
Of course, The Grandmother still thinks she is able to do use the bathroom properly. Yesterday I caught her trying to crawl to the bathroom which is on the other end of our apartment. She didn’t make it that far, and her shit oozed out of her diaper and leaked through her pants and onto our carpet.
All of us are agreed that she needs to go to a nursing home since we cannot take of her. She had a doctor’s appointment yesterday, and I couldn’t get her back up to the apartment by myself. Thankfully there was a kind neighbor nearby to help me.
The problem: Medicare won’t cover the cost of a nursing home unless she was hospitalized for three nights. They only approved her for a two-night stay. They are so clever.
So we don’t know what to do. Her doctor said we have to wait until her next hospitalization and hope we get lucky.
Saturday morning as I was cleaning the apartment up a little, I thought about how I miss my carefree life of my 20s and early-30s. I miss the wild days, the booze the drugs. The sloppy kisses, the desperate tongues. The moaning and groaning. The sweat, spit and cum.
On second thought, however, most of that never happened. There were a couple of nights of boozing and drugs, of course. But there I was in the kitchen reminiscing on nights that never happened. And that realization brought a wave of regret over me. Here I am now living in regret.