My mother caught a red-eye back to Florida last night to escort Grammie to the hospital -- apparently, at her checkup with her doctor, he wanted her to go to the hospital immediately to start a course of blood thinners. He thinks her faint spells are caused by a weakened aorta he diagnosed a while back, which he is loath to fix surgically because the risks that she'll die from that are so much greater than the risks of the heart giving out. "It could well have another 5 years in it," he said. "You might live to see triple digits."
Hopefully that's still true. She wanted to wait until Mom returned to go into the hospital -- "If I'm going to cock up my toes, then I want at least one of my children with me," she told my uncle, half-morbidly and half-hilariously -- but her doctor was upset at that idea, saying she risked a stroke. So she called my uncle, not wanting to disturb Mom's trip out here, and he arranged to fly out and arrive this afternoon. Mom, though, unable to sit around twiddling her thumbs, realized she needed to be there (and she's used to being there, since they live two hours away from each other), and arranged a similar flight. It sounds like there might be other issues cropping up -- Grammie's feeling flutters in her heart -- and so we're all just bracing ourselves for the worst while hoping for the best. Mom arrived safely and checked Grammie in, so now, we're just biding our time until there's new information.
Hopefully the blood thinners will do the trick, but when you're 95, nature just takes its course sometimes and I think this was a sobering reminder for her and my mother and her siblings that my seemingly indomitable grandmother can't go on forever.