FEATURE
HOW SUNDAYS AT GRANDMA’ S HOUSE Made Me A Good Doctor
Suzanne McGee, MD
Loretta Louise Pilson was one heck of a woman. She wasn’ t rich or famous, but she was one of the most generous, hospitable and loving human beings I’ ve ever known. Loretta Louise Pilson was my grandma, and she had quite the posse of admirers. Grandma was a short plucky German woman who endured a lot of hardships in her life, but despite that, had a rambunctious laugh that could put even the grumpiest curmudgeon in a good mood. My grandparents raised their family of five on a mailman’ s salary in an 800-sq. ft. house in the West End. They remained there until debility and dementia forced them to move to assisted living, and eventually a nursing home.
Despite their circumstances, they were always giving what they had to other people. For instance, Grandma had quite the following of neighborhood kids who totally adored her. Grandma opened her home on Dixdale Avenue and had plenty of sweet treats for the kids when they visited. Growing up, Sundays were the best day of the week, because our family went to see Grandma. Each Sunday, my brother and I pigged out on an insane amount of junk food which was really a treat since our mom( rightfully) made sure we ate well the rest of the week. It seemed like candy, cookies, chips, cakes, and ice cream appeared from thin air, and every time we thought we had eaten all the junk food in the house, grandma and grandpa pulled out more snacks from the cabinets, the fridge, the basement stash, and the“ treat closet.” Going to my grandparent’ s house was so much fun but because I felt so special and loved by my grandparents. The grandkids were their world, and we knew it because of how valued grandma and grandpa made us feel.
Grandma died 10 years ago this March, and I’ ve been thinking a lot about her lately and how she was shaping me into the doctor I am today, years before I was even accepted into medical school.
She suffered from dreadful dementia and, after caring for many patients with dementia myself, I now realize how bad her dementia really was. Her short-term memory was nearly obliterated but she retained a sliver of awareness of her former self— just enough to realize that she was going“ crazy.” Grandma would wail when she would come to this realization, often multiple times per day. She could never remember that grandpa had died before her, and frequently would fixate on trying to figure out where he was. Each time someone told her he had died, it was as if she was reliving the rawness of learning a loved one had died over and over again. Her behaviors became progressively more difficult to control, which was distressing for all involved. However, she also had glimmers of her former self, such as when she would lead the nursing home dining room in a rousing rendition of the German drinking song“ Roll Out the Barrel.” Despite how difficult her care could sometimes be, the nursing home staff absolutely adored her and took outstanding care of her even when her behaviors were less-than-desirable. It was so heartwarming to know how much she was adored even when she was at her worst. Karma really came through for grandma, as her caretakers showed her the same kindness and hospitality that she had given so many people over the years.
I can still remember the commencement speaker at my brother’ s law school graduation reminding the audience of Maya Angelou’ s important message:“ I’ ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Grandma probably never heard that quote, but she certainly lived it, as did her nurses, aides and physicians who doted over her even when she was a difficult patient. As physicians, we need to bear in mind that this notion absolutely applies to us too, as each patient encounter has the potential to leave a lasting impression.
Doctors have become so busy and pressured to be efficient that
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