Inside my Grandfather's brain

A couple of weeks ago they tried to drain fluid from my grandpas head. He had had trouble walking and balancing so the doctors wanted to relieve some of the pressure from his brain. Before that they thought he had parkinsons but now they don't think so anymore and really, he's 87, what does it matter. 

The fluid in his brain was impacting everything. Large parts of his brain had died, and he was in danger of having a stroke at any minute. The fluid would come out of his spine, and then if that worked, they would probably drill a hole into his head and let out more of it. 

Just this exploratory surgery understandably scared the shit out of him him. He didn't want to do it. He didn't want it to hurt. 

And it did hurt, really bad. The doctor was young and his face was red while he tried again and again to get the needle up in this old spine.

"Stop it!" my grandpa yelled, "This could kill a person!"

So we stopped it. 

Right after he told my mom, 'You know i'm eighty-seven, i've lived a long life but my son and daughter are so good to me. When I think about dying, I just think I'll miss you so much.' 

Anyway the surgery didn't work. They came home and grandpa now shuffles around the house with a walker, just as off balance as over. Each time he spots me, he stops walking and tells me how much he likes him. 

"Why do I like you so much?" he asks me all the time. 
And I tell him, that frankly, I'm pretty adorable so it's really not his fault and he shouldn't feel too weird about it.