I can't think of a title for this depressing post. You'll just have to deal with that.

My grandpa is very sick.  He has been for a while, but he's taken a turn for the worse in the last week, and I have the very distinct feeling that my time with him is numbered.

I'm not dealing with this well.  Like, not even a little bit.

The week Ellie was born, Grandpa couldn't wait to see her.  He called the hospital at 4 a.m. when I was in labor to check on me.  He apparently worried the entire time I was pregnant.  Worried I'd miscarry, and worried that it would completely destroy me.  I had no idea he thought about it that much or worried about me so much. 

He didn't get to come see Ellie in the hospital.  He was coughing and feeling generally "meh," and didn't want to get her sick, so he stayed away.  And I'm pretty sure it almost killed him.

He finally got to hold her a week or so later, and a happier man you will never see.  I had planned to put a picture of that here, but, of course, I can't find it, so here's one from Christmas.  It's only two months later, so it's kind the same:

He calls Ellie all the time now.  He loves to hear her chatter away or even just push the buttons on the phone.  He and my grandma stop by randomly, just for a short visit, to see her.  And she ADORES him.  She asks for him all the time.  They're buddies, for sure:

Late 2009/Early 2010, Grandpa found out he didn't have pneumonia, as we previously thought, but instead had a staph infection in his lungs, and rheumatoid arthritis in his lungs, as well.  He was placed on a heavy-duty antibiotics and steroids, and had to lug a portable oxygen tank around with him everywhere.  He looked frail.  He felt frail.  And it scared the shit out of me.

Then late 2010/early 2011, he was diagnosed with something which, in layman's terms, is called "hot tub disease."  My grandparents have a hot tub in their home, right off their bedroom, and another outside, plus their pool.  Apparently, the chemicals used in hot tubs to maintain water clarity are extremely dangerous, and he had contracted this disease from that.  Shortly after that diagnosis, the hot tub in the house was removed, and the one outside, I believe, is either gone, or it's closed up and not used.  The pool remains operational, though.  I suspect the hot tub in the house, being in such close proximity to their bedroom, was the real culprit, though.

But he got better.  Earlier this year, his doctors felt he was well enough to taper off the steroids and the antibiotics.   He was completely off of them until about a week ago.  He hadn't been using his oxygen constantly either.

Then he got worse.  Back on the oxygen.  Back on the cough medicine.  He was still very mobile, but he was weaker.  Going off the steroids after having been on them so long was a bit detrimental to his strength.  He still putzed around his yard, though, which is his favorite thing to do.  My 21- and 20-year-old cousins helped him move rocks and water plants, etc.  After a couple days of that type of work, Grandpa decided he needed to just move one rock an inch over, or something equally ridiculous.  He walked on the uneven rocks, and he fell.  Then he couldn't get up, and laid there for I don't even know how long.  A few days later, he did exactly the same thing. 

So then his shoulders were sore, and off to the doctor they went.  He somehow fell while at the doctor's office.  During that appointment, they were told that Grandpa had torn both of his rotator cuffs, but surgery to repair them would likely be fatal to him.  So they sent him home with pain meds and not much hope.

My grandmother, who's a bit dramatic, called my mom at work that day sobbing hysterically, and saying nothing but, "It's your dad.  It's your dad."  My mom thought he had died.  And rightfully so, because what the fuck else are you going to think if your mother calls you like that?  Turns out, Grandma somehow managed to misinterpret the orthopedic doctor, and told my mom that the doctor told her that Grandpa had Alzheimer's and needed to be in a home.

(My great-grandmother, Grandpa's mom, just died of Alzheimer's, so my grandma is a bit paranoid about it.)

Things went downhill fast after that.  My mom jumped into action, enlisting the help of my aunt, to run errands for them, take Grandma to her hair appointments, and just generally be there so Grandpa never felt the need to drive, because he really shouldn't be driving.  They also had to join forces to keep my drug-addicted uncle away from my grandparents, since he's been known to manipulate them into shit.

Mom spent all day Friday running errands for them.  She left their house at 7-ish, and Grandpa seemed to be doing well.

At 9 p.m., my phone rang.

My phone never rings at 9 p.m.

I knew something was very wrong.

Mom was on her way to the hospital.  Grandpa had spiked a high fever and was lethargic and couldn't communicate.  911 was called, and an ambulance transported him to the hospital, where he still is. 

The doctors figured out he had taken medications that interacted badly with one another, which resulted in the lethargy and lack of communication.  But they also found spots on his lungs, which are pneumonia.  They said they can't see the staph infection because of those spots, so they can neither confirm or deny its existence.

But he's stable now, on IV antibiotics and steroids. He's pissed that he's back on meds, and that my mom approved them.  Apparently, dying is a better option than steroids in his world. 

So now phrases like, "When Grandpa dies," and "power of attorney," and "arrangements to be made," are being used. 

"When," not "if."

And I just plain don't know how to handle "when," not "if."