Last night, just as Matt and I were settling in to play Warcraft, my dad called.

My grandmother's episodes of forgetfulness are getting more frequent, and her doctor isn't sure why they're happening (the general cause being old age, of course, but the treatment, if there is one, will depend on the specific diagnosis). And it's having other effects, because sometimes she forgets she took her medicine and takes it again. And sometimes she forgets to take it entirely. Neither option is remotely desireable.

So the doctor wants Grandmom to go to the hospital for a couple of days for an extended series of tests. Now, Grandmom is slightly paranoid about doctors and hospitals -- not because she's afraid of the procedures themselves, but because she's afraid they'll burn through all her money and leave her with nothing to live on.

Which is a little bit ridiculous, because my grandmother is actually quite wealthy. But she grew up during the Depression, and that's the sort of thing that scars a person for life. So she lives in an apartment about the size of a shoebox, and she has to be coaxed into medical procedures that aren't immediately necessary.

That's Dad's job. He called me after talking to her, ostensibly to let me know about a change in the travel plans (someone different is picking me up at the airport) and to warn me about the memory thing -- he says if I wait at the airport for an hour and no one shows up to pick me up, then to just rent a car and drive out there. (Which means I need to print out some directions and keep them for just-in-cases.)

But I think really, he just wanted someone to talk to. His mother was a vibrant, forceful, strong woman, and it shakes him more than he cares to admit to see her becoming helpless and frail. And it was a scary series of tests the doctor was talking about. They want to check for evidence of thyroid dementia, heart attacks, strokes, Alzheimer's, and more.

I don't imagine it will be easy for me, either. I'm not precisely looking forward to this trip, next week. I don't want to be away from Matt and Penny on Thanksgiving, and I don't really want to be in Texas at all, and I especially don't want to have to be making a trip to visit my grandmother because she might not be able to recognize me next year.

But I don't have a lot of choice in the matter. I still regret not going to my grandfather's funeral, not so much for him, but because I know Grandmom would have appreciated my support. We didn't always agree, but I was the first grandchild, and her favorite. It probably wasn't a secret that she was my favorite grandparent. If this is one of my last chances to be with her with her mind more or less intact, I have to take it.

I'm just glad my parents will be there at the same time. I expect they're glad of it, too.

--Liz