Margo has had an Angioplasty 'procedure', in an attempt to get more oxygen to the ol' brain. She is home and recuperating nicely, but she looks old and small and clearly needs more care than she will admit. (YES, ninety-three year old heart patients need care! "I am NOT a heart patient!") Her loving family are trying to make things easy and non-stressful for her, which involves much whispered discussion, and some hilarious moments where we have to meet with the other elderly ladies in Margo's building to discuss things like "Where are the keys to the guest room, because Anna's Daughter needs them", and "No, not me, I'm Nan. Anna's in number 24", and "Today is Friday. Yes, and tomorrow is Saturday," and "Oh, you mean ANNA! From upstairs!"
This involves going upstairs, then going downstairs, then going upstairs, several of us accompanied by boisterous children and at every stop we are invited into tiny apartments en masse for tea by forgetful old dears with extremely neat and fragile furnishings.
It isn't that bad, actually. Although in some ways, it's worse. Our normal family tactic in times of stress is to laugh and be silly, but we are all sad and worried. Margo needs someone to remind her to take her pills, to eat three meals a day. She forgets what day of the week it is and looks at her labelled pill-box, lost. She forgets that you were just there yesterday, insists that she hasn't seen Charlotte in months and months. Margo is absolutely adamant that she doesn't need someone to come and help her out... but she gets lonely and wishes we weren't all so busy and could visit her more. When we do, though, she forgets that we have.