The Hazards of an Un-Happy Camper

Nana's mad at me, really, really mad. I've betrayed her by asking for help with her care. She thinks it means we're looking to put her in a home and nothing I said could convince her otherwise.
I knew this was coming as soon as I'd mentioned that someone from the Community Care Access Centre was coming to see how she was doing.
Grampa George had been a little leery when someone came to the house to 'see how he was doing' after he'd come home to us from the hospital. His take was that they were assessing his mental acuity to make sure he still had all his marbles. I was able to explain that since he'd been 'this' close to not making it out of the hospital, his doctors had recommended he have help at home, at least until he was fully recovered.
He'd been okay with that, needs even more help now and has been enjoying his one hour per week with his Personal Support Worker (PSW) ever since. They walk, they talk, they laugh and they get along just fine. He's got supervised exercise, social interaction, one on one care and someone to listen. He feels better when someone other than me reminds him that he's still living at home, with family and doesn't need to worry about whether he's taken his pills or not.
Nana did not appreciate my explanation that I'm only making sure she and Grampa George have the best of care, something I can't always do on my own. She's decided she doesn't like having someone hover over her, and that certainly she doesn't need that much help at all. I should know better, but what she thinks hurts.
Nana felt a little better after her son, my husband talked it over with her. She agreed that Grampa George is on the decline and will need more and more attention as time passes. She still thinks she doesn't need much help but there's no sense in arguing about something she can't comprehend. Matter of fact later that same day, she'd forgotten there'd been a PSW here today at all. She was back to her cheerful self. Until tomorrow morning when Glenda arrives to help her with her morning routine.
My first instinct was to cancel all the help I'd just finished arranging, to bow to Nana's wishes to be helped only by me, the way I've always done.
Not a good idea. I need help, real help to ensure I'm taking proper care of my two favorite seniors, with or without their approval. Their safety and care come first. Nana may get mad at me, again, and again, and again, until she gets used to having Glenda around, but she's not getting any younger and neither am I.
And so, with the help of my trusty PSW, we'll manage to keep our campers happy, whether they like it or not.