Presents of Mind

My days of working in the nursing home (30 years ago now?) stay with me. I made friends that I'm sure at that point had few friends. Their world was their room and the dining room. Help them up in the morning, out for breakfast (if they could manage), finish getting dressed for the day, maybe get a shower first, hang out for the morning, go for lunch, hang out for the afternoon, dinner time, hang out... you get the pattern. They appreciated a bit of conversation. This can be - is - a painful topic, although I have some good memories from knowing those people.

Some of them rarely spoke, possibly due to medication, and I remember being shocked one morning by a toothless gentleman with a couple of days of beard growth speaking to me fairly coherently - I had thought he couldn't talk. Perhaps he hadn't had his meds. He used to routinely slide way down in his chair at meal time. I mean way down, to the floor on occasion. It's a bit difficult to provide the right kind of seating for someone who tends to slide down in their chair. We tried. I did a lot of hoisting people back up. Maybe there are better ways now? Then there was my buddy with diabetes who lost one, then the other, leg. Said it ran away. Laughed and cried. His roommate, the short guy with the very deep voice, calling out 'Nurse! Nurse!' I think he usually wanted his water refilled or some small thing. Mainly lonely, I think.

Some of them were clearly out of it - the former boxer strolling along in his wheelchair and tying imaginary knots around the handrails that ran along the hallway walls, the wandering woman in her nighty and hospital gown(s) trying to make her way for the door - maybe not so out of it - and the violent-tempered one with the strong Swedish accent who let everyone know "I pay my taxes!!" I never understood what that was supposed to imply - perhaps a better room? better care? out? There were some glorious souls there as well, hopeful, appreciating the day outside their window, greeting with a smile, thankful for help in the daily routines. I think those ones typically had visitors.

I could go on, about the leg amputee who had a prosthesis but clearly was too heavy and too weak ever learn to use it but wouldn't give up and insisted that we try; the man in the plaid shirt who for some reason called me 'Fiedler' and we would make motions like we were conducting an orchestra. It was our thing. I have no idea how we got onto that one, maybe something small like coming into his room one day while Boston Pops was playing on his radio and pretending to conduct...we'd do stuff like that sometimes. Sigh. And always, the man at the far end of the hallway who managed to lose one of the few things that he had somewhere in his fairly bare room and wanted help finding them.

It was a couple of years of experience that I value for learning about people, but also simply for the friendships. And there's lots of the same around.