How did I not see it? The entire day was a flashing light or a big, waiving red flag telling me that something was wrong. But, at the time, I was happily oblivious and the call from the senior living center, while it was a shock, did not alert me to anything more than one strange, out-of-the-ordinary occurrence. “Hello – this is the nurse, your grandmother is doing okay.¹ She had a fall. She is refusing to go to the hospital, but we are concerned.  She somehow was hit by her TV?”  The nurse had to repeat that last part twice – how in the hell was she hit with a TV? I immediately got in the car, but I live an hour away and cannot just pop over quickly. The nurse assured me that everything would be fine until I arrived.

When I got to her apartment, Grandmother was still adamant that she didn’t need to go to the emergency room. Everything was fine, she claimed. She and her friend Ollie had tried to clean up the scene of the incident, and I got the distinct idea that they didn’t want to share what exactly had happened.  But some evidence remained.  Grandmother’s electric fireplace was pulled away from the wall at an angle, the long wooden mantel piece was laying on the floor, the flatscreen TV that used to sit on top of the fireplace was gone (broken I assume, but I never saw it), and the coffee table that used to sit in front of the couch was in the extra bedroom. I could tell that Grandmother was not using her left arm and I could see bruising already turning a dark purple-black on her hand and wrist under her long-sleeved sweatshirt. The story was not entirely clear, but from what I was able to put together from the nurse, Grandmother, and Ollie, this scene was caused by a cable outage.

The setup of the TV was the same as it had been for the past 7 years (and likely the same as it had been for longer than that) — a TV with cable provided by the local cable company. Cable outages were relatively common at the senior living center apartments; an outage was usually a minor inconvenience. I had heard talk over dinner of the cable being out when I had been there a couple of days ago. However, when the TV screen remained black when Grandmother and Ollie tried to turn it on, the possibility of a cable outage apparently did not come to mind. I did notice that there were about six remote controls scattered on the couch (where did they all come from?), including the proper one, and a cordless phone, which may have also been confused for a TV remote. They had clearly attempted to get the TV to work with one (or more!) of the remotes before deciding to take the next step and fix it themselves.

There was a ballgame they wanted to watch, so Ollie decided to check out the connection of the TV. I am not at all sure what he thought he was going to accomplish, but he was unwilling to call someone for assistance. Between an unwavering belief that they could still do everything that they used to when they were significantly younger and my Grandmother’s sudden lack of patience, these two seniors were an accident waiting to happen. It is amazing how quickly I went from believing her apartment was the safest place for her to live to not being sure what was best for her.

The electric fireplace had been one of my grandmother’s favorite things in her apartment since she bought it shortly after moving in. At the time, she was eager to move from her large, old red brick home into a newer apartment that was more reasonable to maintain after her second husband passed away. She felt safer and more able to take care of things in the new retirement community. But, there were things she missed from the home where she had lived for 30 years. She tried to create many traditions and details in her new place to make it feel like home. The new electric fireplace was a substitute for the roaring fire and mantle decorated with greenery, ribbons, and a ceramic holiday village that was the center of her holiday decorating for decades.

The remote-control operated, cherry-wood finished, electric fireplace made her new place feel more like her. It did not fill the room with the scent of burning wood, but it was a beautiful addition. It had a large mantle, which allowed the TV to sit solidly on top, and there was still room for a favorite photograph of her daughter and a small statue of a 1950s sun bather in a black and white striped swimsuit and bathing cap. The statue looked like an artistic version of the iconic barbie doll of that era that I knew was boxed away carefully in a black, plastic Barbie suitcase in Grandmother’s storage unit. The statue was a favorite of my aunt and a remembrance my Grandmother added to the mantle after my aunt passed away.

Because the fireplace was electric and didn’t have a real flame, I never questioned its safety for her. But, lately, she had been surprising me. On this day, however, the fireplace became the biggest danger in her apartment. In his attempt to get the TV working, Ollie wedged himself behind the fireplace so he could “check the connections” at the back of the TV. As he was messing with the wires behind the big-screen TV, with my grandmother standing in front directing him, the fireplace tipped forward. The fireplace shifted, the mantle detached, and the TV fell off. As the TV fell on her, Grandmother took the impact in the chest. It seemed that her shoulder and left arm got the brunt of the blow, although it was at least another week before I saw her black and blue shoulder and arm.

• Note to self: remember to have someone tether the fireplace to wall, so that it isn’t unstable if grabbed for balance or pushed from behind.

Grandmother was knocked backward from the impact and hit her back and left shoulder-blade on the antique coffee table that had been sitting between the fireplace and the couch. The coffee table was crowded with photos, pencils, numerous pair of reading glasses, pill containers, and unread mail. Grandmother insisted there was “nothing to see here”, but I could see things from the coffee table scattered on the floor, among pieces of glass from the picture frames and the TV screen. The table had been moved out of the way into the extra bedroom, my aunt’s picture and the sunbather statue had been placed carefully on a shelf, and Grandmother and Ollie had convinced one of the maintenance workers to take the shattered TV to the trash. Clearly they didn’t want anyone to know how serious this incident really was (especially me).

As I started to gather up the mail and other items that had fallen to the floor, I talked through the incident with Ollie and Grandmother. Grandmother insisted that the TV was already broken when they started trying to fix it. She wanted to go out immediately and get a new one. I managed to hold her off until I could vacuum the glass off the floor and return the coffee table to the living room. Somehow, my brain was still not waking up to the real concern, the concern that my grandmother may be unsafe in her own apartment.

On our way to the car, I asked my grandmother to consider taking her walker with us, she was shaken up and unsteady after the afternoon excitement. She did not respond, but she and Ollie both left their walkers in the “parking area” that was right by the front entrance of the apartment building. They were clearly not the only ones who parked their walkers before leaving the premises. The three of us loaded into my car and traveled the five minutes to Target.

Once we arrived, I dropped Ollie and Grandmother at the front entrance of the store where they were able to each grab a cart to use as an impromptu walker for our trip. They both were easily distracted on our shopping trip, luckily it was hard to lose a person walking slowly with a big red cart. We did end up with several other things in their carts (twinkies, mini cans of regular Coke, and some Halloween decorations) before we got to the back where electronics were sold. A new television was selected quickly and everyone was herded to the cash register. My grandmother was exhausted at this point, and likely in pain, so I took care of paying for our items, loading up our purchases, and getting them both back home. 

Modern televisions and remote controls, no matter the model of TV, are not made for elderly people. Even the simplest TV setup has bells and whistles that they will never EVER use. From apps for Netflix, Hulu, and other streaming services, to complex setups for sound, picture and language, the new TV had things I could not even begin to explain to Grandmother and Ollie. The set up alone took me an hour (although, without Ollie’s well-intentioned suggestions it would have been quicker!) The remote control was tiny, with small black buttons, and not well labeled. I knew that I would get phone calls before I got home because they couldn’t work the remote control for the TV.

The days and weeks that followed were filled with calls about how to turn on the TV, how to adjust the volume, what channel was Turner Classic Movies (which I know has nothing to do with the TV), and how to correct things when they got into the wrong menu. I used electrical tape to cover the buttons on the remote control that they would never need (and should never touch) and even took a photo of the remote and the menu screens so I could clearly direct them to where they needed to be over the phone. Different remotes appeared out of nowhere, causing more confusion. No matter what I did, they needed me to get get the TV working for them. I am just too far away to turn on the TV on a daily basis and I am sure that the TV was left on, at a much higher than necessary volume, for weeks on end because Grandmother wasn’t sure if she could turn it back on later.

I had answered way too many TV questions when an Amazon search finally came to my rescue. Who knew you can buy remote controls, that sync with different television brands, and have only the most basic functions?  A remote soon arrived that had large, colorful buttons for power (both the TV and cable in one click), channel up and down and volume up and down. It looked like a child’s toy, but it was a life saver! One problem was solved and soon we would be on to the next. It didn’t take long for me to begin to wish that I could fix everything as easily as I had fixed the TV.

1. Immediate flashback to the days of daycare with my kids. Every time my rambunctious son had a new goose-egg on his forehead or needed stitches, I got the same call from the school nurse at his wonderful daycare. It must be part of the script they give every caregiver, “Hello Mrs. Jones. Your [fill in the blank], [name], is just fine (i.e. no one is in life threatening condition), but….” ↩︎