I currently find myself wide awake and incapable of falling asleep. I’d love for this to be due to that fact that I’d been out and had had one too many strawberry daiquiris, but sadly it’s not. It’s actually due to that fact that my Grandpa is in hospital, and has been for over a week. I didn’t sleep a wink the night after I found out. I’ve slept a little since then, but not the usual amount and I’m subsequently constantly tired, yet still unable to sleep properly. It’s starting to become tedious and annoying but my head is full with too many thoughts and questions. How is he? Is he asleep? Is he comfortable? I hope he’s not in pain. How will he be when I see him next? How is my Grandma? When am I going to finally fall asleep? And how tired am I going to look tomorrow?
Wednesday 5th October was my day off. I’d been looking forward to it as I’d worked six days straight. I had it all planned out in my head. I wasn’t going to do a lot. I’d put a wash on and hang it out as it was due to be a sunny day. I’d wash my hair and apply for jobs. Then I’d catch up on television. I’d watch new 90210, Gossip Girl, Glee and Desperate Housewives. I’d also reply to my Grandpa’s emails, as he’d emailed me twice since Sunday but I hadn’t yet had time to reply. When Wednesday arrived I awoke without an alarm, which was absolutely blissful seeing as I’d had three 7am starts in a row. I put a wash on, had a shower and washed my hair. I then hung my washing out on the line outside, because unusually just as predicted, it was sunny! I was working my way through to my to-do list and at quite a good pace. Next up was to email my Grandpa back. I wasn’t in any rush as he wouldn’t look at his inbox until after 6pm (he still used dial-up internet and refused to pay the premium rates in the daytime!) but I wanted to reply before I forgot. I did so, and apologised at the very beginning for my slow response saying “who knew full time work would be so time consuming?” I thought that would make him smile. I then settled down to watch Glee, as a reward for all my “hard work” that I’d achieved that morning. After Glee it was time to apply for jobs. I was halfway through an application when my phone started ringing. I contemplated ignoring it, but it was my Dad, so being the brilliant daughter that I am, I answered. He informed me that my Grandpa had had a stroke around lunch time whilst he was out in his car and he was now in hospital. WHAT? He must have been mistaken, my Grandpa was fine, I’d spoken to him on the phone last week and he sounded normal, and he emailed me just the other day. Yes, he had dodgy knees due to arthritis but that just meant he couldn’t walk very far. He wouldn’t have had a stroke; he was much too strong for one of those. He was a Doctor for goodness sake, and bad things can’t happen to Doctors… Or so I naively thought. In my head I genuinely believed that my Grandpa was going to out-live us all. He’d be around forever. He’d be on the other side of the phone whenever I needed help on any homework. He’d be there with encouraging words when things got tough. He’d be there to send me articles from the Guardian he thought I’d find interesting and he’d be there to update me on all things concerning politics. My Dad must have been mistaken, that wouldn’t have happened to Grandpa. I was sure of it. “I don’t know much else, your Mum and Grandma are at the hospital with him now, but we’ll let you know when we know” said my Dad, that’s when I started to cry.
Like I said earlier, I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Luckily I was on an early so was due to be waking up at 5.30 anyway. I put the light on and looked in the mirror. I looked terrible, but didn’t have it in me to try and make myself look acceptable. So I made my way to work looking (in what can only be described as) a mess. Luckily for me, I own several pairs of over-sized sunglasses that cover half my face, so I wore a pair, even though it was still near-enough pitch black! I got to work, and it hasn’t exactly been my favourite place ever since starting but never had I wished to be at home more than I did that morning. I asked to work in the office so I wouldn’t have to face customers and put on that warm, smiling face you have to wear when on the shop floor. I wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be happy. Instead I cried to myself in the office. That was way more fun. Luckily someone took pity on me and said to go home. These words literally made my day, and without another word I was power walking to the tube to pack my suitcase to go home. I was back in Bournemouth by 2pm and was greeted by my Dad and Jazpups at the station. I didn’t realise how reassuring pets could be before we got Jaz. She really is a vital part of my happiness. Her acknowledging look and wagging tail was enough to make my day, thankfully she hadn’t forgotten me - phew! That evening I went to visit my Grandpa with my Grandma and my Mum. They told me what to expect, but no words could have prepared me to see my Grandpa lying in that bed. Even though he didn’t look poorly, the only sign (apart from the drip and the fact he was in a hospital) that there was anything wrong with him was that (just like other stroke sufferers) his face drooped a little at the side. This didn’t scare me; it just meant he didn’t look exactly like the old Grandpa I knew. It wasn't that that I wasn't prepared for, it was the fact he wasn't sat up in his usual armchair questioning me on the latest news, instead he lay there silently, unable to talk and with very restricted movement. My Grandma told him I was there and I walked up to his side and held his hand. He squeezed it so tightly. As a child I used to go to my Grandma and Grandpa’s for dinner once a week. Whenever my Grandpa picked me up we’d walk back to the car holding hands. He’d ask me if I’d want it “loosely, medium or tight”. He was definitely giving me tight there at the hospital. He looked straight into my eyes, even though he was unable to talk I knew what he was saying. I squeezed his hand back and stood there in silence for a while. I tried to apologise for not replying to his email quicker because he didn’t get to receive it but it got too much for me and I cried. He squeezed my hand even tighter. Even though I'd asked my Mum to print the email out and read it to him the same day I sent it (the day he had the stroke) it wasn’t the same. I still secretly hope I’ll receive a reply from him, even though I know deep down I won’t.
I’ve been to see him several other times since my first visit, and each time has been upsetting. However he does little things that I find reassuring and show he’s still there. Earlier this week, the nurse came to take his pulse and afterwards he took her arm and tried to take hers! Now, I’ve never liked Doctors. Growing up I’d usually see my Grandpa before going to the actual Doctors surgery. He’d sit me down, take my temperature, listen to my heart on his stethoscope and then tell me he’d have to take my tonsils out. No matter what was wrong with me, whether it was a sore throat or a grazed knee, the outcome would always be the removal of my tonsils! Ironically I never liked going to the actual Doctors, even though they never threatened to tie me down and take my tonsils out! It was just because they weren’t my Grandpa. This has stuck with me, even now I dread going, I’d much rather ring up Grandpa. He’d either respond with the old threat of the tonsil-taking-out-procedure or say that I needed to go and see a doctor! He always was, and always will be the only Doctor I'll ever trust or like!
Although obviously losing a loved one is never going to be a pleasant experience, I’ve found great comfort knowing that my Grandpa has lived a very fulfilled life. He found love at a young age with his childhood sweetheart, my Grandma, and they have been happily married over 50 years. They had three lovely children, who gave them five even lovelier grandchildren! He’d achieved his career goal of being a family doctor. Not only that but he’d opened several surgeries, trained numerous other Doctor’s (who we’d always bump into here, there and everywhere when we went out!) and was able to retire knowing all of this. He’d spent the majority of his spare time doing what he loved, walking with my Grandma and (when he was still alive) their dog Barney. My first memories of my Grandpa include Barney and the golf course. We spent many hours walking around there! He’s also been lucky enough to see the world and many marvellous sights that he always used to tell me about, and has taken me to a couple. That’s what makes it easier to let him go, knowing that he’s had such a brilliant life, that he so clearly enjoyed. I hope that I will be able to say the same.
I’ll miss numerous things about my Grandpa; obviously his emails. They meant more to me than I think he knew. I'll miss the way he’d moan that whenever I was round I would receive special treatment from my Grandma, even though he received the same treatment every single day! Also the fact that he was excited and almost proud when I started to recently take an interest in politics. He'd be extatic when I'd ring him up to discuss it, instead of only being interested in Heat magazine and Britney Spears! But I think what I’ll miss most about him, on a selfish level, is the way he always referred to me as No1 GC. This was an abbreviation he made up which meant his first born grandchild. He would write it in birthday cards, it was the subject of the last email he sent me, and he’d even sometimes call me it instead of Emma when I was with him. It made me smile every time, without fail. I’m a proud No1 GC.
