Grandson is Nanna's Healthcare Aide
Grandson, Michael, is his grandmother Elizabeth's home healthcare worker.
No longer able to live alone, fearing that she'd burn the house down with her in it, my grandmother refused to go to a nursing home. The beginning of the end for a self-sufficient and independent woman, who could blame her? With everything unfamiliar and nothing the same, no one wanted to leave the familiarity of their home, their friends, their neighborhoods, and be locked away and forgotten in a nursing home while living with strangers.
"They have roaches and rats," said my grandmother during one of her lucid moments. "My friends told me horror stories about nursing homes. They told me about the aides, who aren't even nurses, leaving you in your mess for a day or two. The people who work there are underpaid and overworked. They have too many patients to care for them all on their shifts," she said. "A nursing home is not where I want to go. I'd rather be dead," she said vehemently about not going to a nursing home.
With us all dreading going into a nursing home one day, not forcing her to go to a nursing home, no one disagreed with her. Unless we paid to place her in a high-end, assisted, living facility instead of a nursing home with nurses, a private room, and round the clock care with just the push of a button away, we couldn't afford it. The matriarch of our family, we all loved my grandmother. That's when my family put their heads together and tried to think of an alternative solution for Elizabeth's personal healthcare.
They asked me if I knew a female, LPN, a licensed, practical nurse, or a CNA, a certified nurse's assistant, who'd want to quit her job, live with my grandmother in her house, and work as her full-time, home healthcare aide. Only, it proved impossibly difficult to find someone who'd give up their life for a 24/7 job. Who would do that, especially if they had a husband and children? Everyone had their personal routines that didn't encompass spending their days and nights caring for my grandmother.
"I don't want a stranger living in my house," said Elizabeth overhearing our conversation in the living room and raising her voice to be heard from her bedroom. "I don't want someone going through my personal possessions and stealing my things."
That's when my family, thinking out of the box, offered me a job that I couldn't refuse. With me not married nor children, not even in a relationship, I was the one chosen. My family picked me to live with my grandmother and be her home healthcare aide.
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My name is Michael and I'm a registered nurse. Even though I'm a 26-year-old man, my family thought it best if I was my grandmother's home healthcare worker. I'll be washing her, dressing her, caring for her, cooking for her, cleaning for her, and running all of the errands for my sixty-seven-year-old grandmother, Elizabeth.
No longer able to care for herself, unable to live alone, she showed signs of early onset dementia. She had difficulty doing everyday tasks that she had routinely done for years. She repeated herself and asked the same questions over again.
Unable to remember the day, month, and year, she struggled to think of the names of common objects. Easily upset, she had periods of depression. Misplacing things, she forgot where she put things. I found her car keys in the refrigerator. Loss of interest, she no longer enjoyed doing the things that she loved to do. She forgot old memories and sometimes the names of old friends and relatives.
Rather than putting her in an expensive nursing home, and with her vehemently insisting to remain living in her house, my family hired me to care for her. They augmented the salary that I lose working in a hospital by giving me room and board in my grandmother's house. Not having to buy a car, I drove her car. They paid me half of what they would have to pay for a nursing home.
A win/win for everyone, we were all happy with the arrangement, especially my grandmother. With me her favorite grandchild, she loved that she'd be living with me and seeing me every day. As if I had given her new life, perking her up, she not only was happy but also, she seemed better. No longer depressed, she rediscovered her love for reading, knitting, and painting.
My grandmother, Elizabeth, loved me as much as I loved her. We've always had a tight bond and a close relationship, especially after her husband, my grandfather, Walter, died. Before she sold her house and bought a smaller one, she lived with us, my mother, and my sister, for several months.
When she lived with us, I saw and talked to my grandmother every day. As a family, we ate meals together. We watched television together. We talked and laughed. We played board games and card games. With her depressed after losing her husband, we gave her a new life and renewed reasons to live now that she was with her family.
F F F
The only awkward thing for her, not for me as I'm accustomed to seeing patients naked, is that I'd be seeing my grandmother without her clothes. Now that I'm my grandmother's home health caregiver, I'd be helping her to the toilet. I'd be wiping her vagina, her ass, washing her, and dressing her.
Even though I'm accustomed to caring for men and women, she was uncomfortable with me, as a man caring for her, a woman. More than that, she was uncomfortable with me, her grandson caring for her, my grandmother. She wasn't just any woman, she was my grandmother, my Nanna Elizabeth.
Yet, it was either a nursing home with strangers caring for her, a stranger living in her house, or me caring for her. I've seen some nursing homes, and unless families paid big bucks for assisted living, private care facilities, many nursing homes are a poor alternative. Tragically, nursing homes are the only alternative for the poor living off of their Social Security. Nursing homes take a person's entire monthly Social Security check and leave them with a small stipend to buy personal items.
Home healthcare workers aren't always dependable, especially if they have small children at home. Then, there's always the weather. All it took was for a storm to prevent a worker from driving to her house. Yet, if I lived there with her, except when I stepped out to run her errands, I'd always be there around the clock to care for her.
With the deal that we struck, I'd be earning more tax-free money working for my family while caring for my grandmother than I'd earn working as a registered nurse in a COVID, contagious hospital. Not having to shell out money for a car, automobile insurance, and upkeep, I'd drive her car, a 2011, Lincoln Town Car left to her when her husband, my grandfather died. The last year of the Lincoln, hardly driven, it only had 30,000 miles on it.
More dependable than a Lexus, Mercedes, Audi, BMW's, Toyota's, and Honda's, those cars had the reputation of being the most dependable cars. A typical Lincoln Town Car lasted 300,000 to 500,000 miles. Moreover, with the cars the same as Ford Crown Victorias and a Mercury Marquis' and manufactured from the same Panther platform as the Ford Mustang, parts were not only cheaper but also readily available.
Not having to pay for rent, electricity, heat, or cable, my grandmother paid for all of that. My family even paid for our food. Not having to shell any money out for expenses, whatever I earned I kept. Whatever I kept, I saved to buy a house one day for my future wife and children.
F F F
My first day on the job, I sat with my grandmother while watching television with her. We talked. We laughed. We joked. We teased one another. We had a good time together. Not showing any signs of dementia, upbeat and laughing, she seemed normal with me.
Then, when it was time for bed, with her having difficulty walking because of her arthritis in her knees, not wanting her to fall and break something, I helped her to her wheelchair and wheeled her to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, I helped her lift her skirt, pull down her panties, and helped her to sit on the raised toilet seat that my family installed for her because she was tall. She also had safety rails surrounding the toilet for her to hold onto while sitting on and/or standing from the toilet.
She only had to pee. My first time seeing my grandmother's pussy, unable to help myself from looking, I stared at her bushy, brown pussy while wondering if she'd want me to trim that for her. I wiped her pussy with toilet paper and stared at her naked, white ass before pulling up her panties. For an elderly woman, firm and round, she still had a nice ass. A period of adjustment, I had a difficult time reconciling with the notion that I'd see my grandmother every day without her clothes.
F F F
Then, I wheeled her to her bedroom. Lifting her up with my hands on the sides of her huge, bra clad breasts, I helped her get on her adjustable bed. Glad that she had an adjustable bed, raising her legs, her head, or both, the bed allowed her to change positions by pressing the remote control that hung from a cloth bag attached to the bed. The bed had safety rails on each side that went beneath and across the entire width of the mattress, so that she didn't roll out of bed.
Thankfully, she lived in a ranch style home, and I didn't have to deal with stairs. It would have been a more dangerous situation if I had to carry her up and down the stairs multiple times a day. If she did have a two-floor house, I'd have my family install a chair lift. My grandmother's Medicaid would reimburse them for that. Thankfully, she had a walk-in shower, and I didn't have to deal with lifting her in and out of the bathtub.
As if there was a drumroll going off in my head, I started to undress her. With this my first time undressing my grandmother, I was nervous. Even though I've seen plenty of women in their bras and panties, topless, and/or naked, this wasn't just any woman. Again, this was my grandmother. My mother's mother. She was my Nanna, Elizabeth.
Suddenly, filled with sexual anticipation, difficult not to think about it, I was about to undress my grandmother. I was about to see my Nanna in her bra and panties. I was about to see her topless. While wondering what she'd look like without her clothes, I was about to see her naked.
Even though I'm a licensed professional, I'm still a horny, young man. Even though I'm a registered nurse, I still have sexual needs and lustful desires. No doubt, images that I'll never forget, I'll be masturbating over seeing Elizabeth in her panties and bra, topless, and naked later.
F F F
Something that I don't normally get when caring for a female patient, I started getting an erection while undressing Elizabeth. When unbuttoning her blouse, my fingertips came in contact with her bra clad breasts. Once her blouse was unbuttoned, I opened her blouse, exposed her big, white brassiere, and removed her blouse.
With me being a breast man, my sexual weakness, I've always been sexually attracted to older women with big breasts. All of my ex-girlfriends were fifteen to twenty-years older than me. All of my ex-girlfriends had big tits.
For whatever reason, perhaps, I've always wanted to have sex with my mother but I've always preferred women in their early to mid-forties to women in their twenties and thirties. More of a homebody, I've never been much of a party animal. I enjoyed the wisdom, maturity and commonsense of older women. Moreover, older women were grateful for sex, especially when having sex with a much younger man. Too many men their age can no longer get hard enough to sexually satisfy them.
There's something about a big breasted, older woman that made me horny, and my grandmother was certainly an older woman with big breasts. Only, maintaining my professionalism, I continued thinking of her as my patient and not as my grandmother. Yet, I couldn't help myself from becoming sexually excited while undressing her.
I couldn't help myself from staring at her huge, bra clad breasts. I stared at her long line of sexy cleavage. I stared at what I could see of her symmetrical, brown areolas, and her brown erect nipples through her sheer and lacy, white bra. My grandmother looked down at her bra clad breasts before she looked up at me to give me a big smile.
