Spiraling

It's 1:19am.  Greyson has been asleep for 14 minutes.  Apparently, while I was ready to run out the back door and straight into the woods that border our yard, we received a phone call from Florida (apparently, the hubby has turned the ringer off in the basement, once AGAIN).

My grandma was coding... and they wanted to know what to do.  I guess her heart had stopped, and she was not breathing on her own, either.

My dad told them to keep working on her.  This call was at 11:19pm, two whole hours ago, and my Mom is sure that it was made clear to them that we wanted a return call no matter what the outcome was - whether they were able to bring her back, or... well.

As strong of a sinking feeling I have in the absolute recesses of my gut, medically I know that they have not been working on her, continuously, for the last 2 hours.  It just doesn't work that way.  You can only preserve live unnaturally for so long before a time is called.

Whether all is clear, for now, or it's been and on and again and off again process, I don't know.  I don't even know if they'll talk to me if I call, because it's my Dad who has the apparent medical power of attorney... since he's the oldest sibling, and one of the apparent only 2 of her 5 children that give a rat's ass.

I *still* don't know why that is.  It hurts me more than I can even fathom putting into words right now.

I just now wondered if the reason Greyson was acting like a chimp being cut cold-turkey off heroin at bedtime tonight was because he somehow, in that 6th sense of his that seems to just KNOW things that he should not and technically COULD not possibly know... did know that something, somewhere was wrong.

Should I take solace in the fact that he is sleeping *now*?  Or should I just take it at face value that he finally succumbed to the eventual grasp of sleep?

I am sitting here building up the courage to make the call to some unknown medical building in Florida, to see if someone, in their heart of hearts, will at least tell me if my last living grandparent is still alive...

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I got through to them, after being transferred to 3 separate women - all the way to the head nursing supervisor for the Cardiac Care Unit.

Things are grim.

She's there.  Physically.

But time will only bring another code... and her quality of life scale is listed as nil.

To anyone who knows anything in the medical field... she's posturing.  If you DO know, you know that means that she, in essence, is already gone.

I don't know what to do right now.  I think, even with as little as I got to see her growing up... I probably have the most pleasant memories of the little bits of time I spent with her.

Hell, I have a vivid memory of running through her home with a flyswatter to get flies to feed to her angelfish... ones that would jump clear up out of the water to get the food from your fingertips.

I'll be holding on... as long as she is holding on.  And even when she can't anymore... I'll still be holding on.

It's all I have left.

Nothing has been heard as of yet.