Post-Operative Delirium and the Great Bidet Incident: Multigenerational Family Caregiving (Part 2)
A picture of my grandmother and me at my daughter’s birthday party.
Post-operative delirium was not something I expected to become an expert on after my grandmother’s shoulder replacement. But in true multigenerational family caregiving fashion, nothing about this recovery went according to plan—including hallucinations, hospital drama, and a bidet incident I will never emotionally recover from.
What we expected to be a straightforward recovery quickly turned into confusion, fear, medication changes, family tension, and learning firsthand just how quickly life can change when you’re caring for aging grandparents.
🏡 This is Part 2 of our Family Fixer Upper series: Multigenerational Family Caregiving, a story about a wild seven-day post-op recovery experience.
If you missed it, start here:
The Surgery Was the Easy Part: Multigenerational Family Caregiving (Part 1)
So, who would have thought a one-night observation stay in the hospital would turn into a week-long experience?
Physically? Everything looked great.
Mentally? That was a whole other story.
It all started the morning after surgery. She was supposed to be discharged when my mom called me with urgency—I needed to come to the hospital immediately.
I was in the middle of work and couldn’t leave immediately, but I arrived within the hour.
And that’s when I saw it.
My grandmother was irate at my mother—refusing to go home with her and insisting she had stolen all of her money.
When I walked in, she said,
“Thank God you’re here. I’m not going anywhere with her. It was always about the money.”
I looked between my mom and my grandmother like I had walked into a courtroom I didn’t study for.
“Gmaw… what are you talking about?”
“She stole from me. She has all my information. She’s crazy.”
At that point, we weren’t having a disagreement anymore. We were dealing with full-blown paranoia and confusion. She refused medications, refused paperwork, refused reasoning, and believed everyone was against her.
Including my mom.
Especially my mom.
I tried to redirect the moment the only way I knew how.
“Have you eaten today, Gmaw?”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
Which meant she hadn’t eaten since before surgery.
“Yes, I have,” she insisted.
I reminded her about the night before surgery when she skipped dinner because of nausea.
All of a sudden she rolled her eyes and threw up her one good arm.
“Oh! Here you go now—!”
That was my cue to slowly back out of the room like I had somewhere very important to be.
We had just pulled the trigger on the decision to move our family into my grandmother’s home not even two weeks prior, and I was not about to get kicked out before I finished unpacking.
Moving is for the birds, and my back was very clearly protesting the thought of carrying another piece of furniture.
The Delirium Show Begins
Before Gmaw ever made it home, our family somehow scored front-row seats to what I now call “The Delirium Show“—a full hospital production with zero script, zero logic, and absolutely no intermission.
According to Gmaw, the week’s guest list included the following:
- Trump casually walking the halls like it was a meet-and-greet.
- Dr. Oz running the entire medical team while co-writing a book.
- Surprise visits from my childhood friend Tiffany and her entire family.
- A funeral for her dog while everyone was secretly concealing the death of her daughter.
- A few “hot babysitters” she was suspiciously fond of.
- Attempts to write checks to people who absolutely should not have been getting paid.
Looking back, some of these stories make us laugh.
At the time, though, there wasn’t anything funny about it. She believed every single bit of it, and watching someone you love become terrified of a reality that doesn’t exist is heartbreaking.
When Fear Sounds Like Anger
Days passed with my grandmother still in the hospital.
Some days were okay to visit.
Other days, I knew better.
My mom called me crying more than once because of the things my grandmother was saying—things that were sharp, hurtful, and completely out of character.
My mom believed the old saying “drunken words are sober thoughts,” and she fully believed that same principle applied to my grandmother’s delirium.
I kept trying to remind her—this wasn’t my grandmother. It was confusion, infection, medication changes, and post-operative delirium.
Still, I ended up stuck in the middle more than once—trying to be Switzerland while my mom and grandmother declared emotional World War III.
And truly, a fear started to settle in.
What if this was my grandmother’s new normal?
With no hint of an end in sight, we all started wondering what life would look like going forward. We had no power of attorney over her healthcare or finances. How were we supposed to care for her if this never got better?
Even the doctors were scratching their heads.
They ordered a CT scan of her head.
The findings?
Age-related atrophy of the brain.
Helpful?
Not really.
The report noted it can sometimes be seen in patients with dementia.
Had the stress of surgery triggered something even bigger than a new shoulder?
Discharge… and Immediate Return
Eventually, she was discharged. And like I shared in Part 1, it was a very short discharge.
My mom was there to bring her home. Risky, I know, considering the paranoia and the fact that she was the target of most of it—but I had to work, so it was our only option.
A few choice words were exchanged along the ride.
Gmaw felt my mom was treating her like a child, and out of fear of losing her independence and control, she refused to take the medications my mom was trying to help her pick up from the pharmacy.
They made it only a few miles down the road before my mom turned the car around and headed straight back to the ER, calling ahead to tell the hospital she couldn’t safely care for someone refusing treatment.
But, surprisingly, my grandmother returned willingly.
Honestly, I’m thankful she did.
Because after more lab work, we got another diagnosis:
Sepsis.
Suddenly, the puzzle pieces started fitting together.
The confusion.
The paranoia.
The severity of her symptoms.
The Medication Clue
Several more days passed.
I think.
Hospital time works differently.
As we continued trying everything we could think of to help Gmaw, my mom realized something important—she hadn’t received one of her regular anxiety medications since being admitted to the hospital.
Once that medication was restarted, we noticed a significant improvement.
By the next day, she was noticeably more like herself.
Still mad at my mom.
But mentally clearer.
At that point, that felt like a miracle.
Finally Home… and the Great Bidet Incident
Eventually, I picked my grandmother up and brought her home.
She was beyond ready to leave the hospital.
In my very confident attempt to be helpful, I decided I had solved one of her biggest recovery concerns: hygiene.
So I ordered a bidet attachment from Amazon.
I was proud of myself.
I even made sure the control knob was on the left side so she could use it with her good arm.
I brought her into the bathroom, excited for my big reveal.
I turned the knob to demonstrate.
What I did not expect was for that thing to launch a stream of water straight into her face, over her head, and onto the bathroom mirror like it had been training for this moment its entire life.
She screamed.
I panicked.
I twisted the knob back and forth like I was trying to defuse a bomb.
And just like that…
My thoughtful caregiving upgrade became a family legend.
To this day, she still refuses to use the bidet.
Honestly…
I don’t blame her.
In case you’re wondering, yes…I included the link to the infamous bidet that nearly pressure-washed my grandmother.
You can order it here or just view the legendary bidet that assaulted my grandmother.
I dare you not to laugh as you visualize the sheer hysteria on our faces as I frantically fumble with the pressure knob and she dodges the stream of water.
Looking Back (Eventually)
If you’ve never experienced post-operative delirium, it’s one of those things that sounds made up until you’re living it. From the outside, it’s confusing. From the inside, it’s completely real. I’m sharing our story because I know we aren’t the only family walking through something like this, and sometimes it helps just to know you’re not alone.
Looking back, I can laugh about the bidet situation.
Eventually.
Not immediately.
Right now, these stories are becoming funny—but only because we made it through them.
In the middle of it all, though?
It was chaos.
Confusion.
Phone calls at the exact moment you finally sat down.
And a whole lot of, “Wait…what now?”
Caring for aging grandparents in a multigenerational home means living in the overlap of love and logistics.
Sometimes it’s beautiful.
Sometimes it’s exhausting.
Sometimes it’s hilarious.
And sometimes…it’s all four before lunch.
🏡 Thanks for stopping by Our Family Fixer-Upper.
Around here, we’re fixing up more than an old house.
We’re learning to love better.
To laugh more often.
To trust God in the middle of the mess.
And to believe that even the hardest seasons can become part of a beautiful story.
Thanks for following along as God renovates our family—one project, one prayer, and one unexpected adventure at a time.
