I made a new friend.
Her name is Barb and she lives her life in a bed, in a room, in a rehab facility. She lies there, day after day, week after week, month after month...the victim of a cerebral vascular accident. She smiles at me, answers my questions in one to 4 word answers (more often than not, one word answers) when she can. It’s very difficult for her to speak because the part of her brain that forms words was damaged in the stroke.
As in so many social situations, I do a lot of the talking anyway and Barb’s one to four word answers suffice and give me time to babble on and on. I tell her about my children and my grandchildren and I look at the pictures of her beautiful family all around her room. When music plays on her cable ready television, I ask her if she likes this song or that song...there are a hundred ways that I learn little things about her. And, of course, with me and my big mouth, Barb knows quite a bit about me.
I speak to her as I pour the water and cranberry juice into a tube that feeds her directly into her stomach. I tell her about my day as I’m hooking up the feeding tube that delivers the liquid diet that sustains my friend. By the time I’m placing her blankets over the cradle at the foot of her bed (to keep the weight of the linens from causing sores on her toes), I’m telling her what the weather was like that day. I chat about my kids as I change any bandages she may need when she injures her delicate skin. After I deliver the necessary care, I hold my friend’s hand and tell her how beautiful she is. With my face 5 inches from her face and the two of us making eye to eye contact, we smile at each other.
I bring the pictures of her family closer to her eyes so that she can see them well enough to say, “Son.” or “Husband” as she shows off her lovely, all American family. I always promise to come back again...and I always hate to leave.
Barb is a relatively young women, not much older than I. Her husband looks like any man that you might see at a baseball game. Most women her age are busy shopping, cooking dinner, going to work and spending time with their families. But Barb has spent months living in a room all by herself and barring some miracle, she will spend the rest of her life like this. She is dependent upon others to care for her, to feed her and to clean her. While some of the older pictures on her walls include her...the more recent pictures are of her family...celebrating holidays, graduating, having babies and living their lives without Mother, Grandmother, sister, aunt or, sadly...a wife. When her husband wonders about what his wife is doing while he's at work, he really needn't wonder too hard...the woman he married is lying alone in a bed, in a small room, in a small Georgia rehab facility being cared for by strangers.
Barb should be sharing life with her family and friends but instead, she lies in a bed, awaiting the next visit from a family member or a friend.
The television in her room is her only entertainment in between visits. When she does get a visitor, she holds on to their hand tightly. I love it when she holds me hand. But when she senses that I will soon be leaving to visit one of her neighbors, she squeezes harder and harder, making me stay longer than I ever planned to stay. How could anyone easily walk easily? It can't be done. Well, maybe Rick could do it, but not a normal person.
I really do love visiting her. If you ask her a question, she will answer in her own way, if not with an actual word. Her expressions and her eyes speak to you when her voice cannot. Like I said, I hate leaving her room. I’d rather sit on the side of her bed, just asking her questions about her family and her life before the stroke.
Unfortunately, these places are full of such people and they all have their own physical challenges of one sort or another. Although many family members do come to visit, the time in between visits appears interminable. The hours are passed away staring at the ceiling and maybe, if they are lucky enough, staring out the windows at the birds. And of course, there's a lot of staring at the pictures of the families that they miss so much. A few have feeding tubes and the more lucky folks have pureed food. Do not try this at home, pumpkin pie put through a blender is not very appetizing.
How sad to have a mind trapped in a body that no longer communicates with the brain. Conversely, it’s dreadful to have a healthy body with no thought processes at all. Either way, you are in no shape to live life as you once knew it. You may not actually BE a vegetable...but you are most certainly PERCEIVED as one by far too many people. These places are often called "Something Gardens". Well, they sort of are gardens of people. The difference between these gardens and the gardens like the one’s that Barb used to grow is that Barb’s gardens were something to take pride in and show off, making the world a better place. The garden of people living in certain facilities like Barb's resemble leper colonies in that we don't want to go and face our potential future. Furthermore, we don't recognize the special beauty inside the heart, mind and soul of our elderly.
These populations, especially with the baby boomers coming into their golden years, are growing larger every day. Many more people will be suffering Barb's fate as time goes by. Anyone of us could have people standing over us, speaking as though we weren't lying right there in front of them...hearing, "I don't understand it...he looked so healthy last weekend."
Visiting many such places, I have had the pleasure to have met a man who survived the Bataan Death March, a man who was in both WWI AND WWII, a man who was a employee of the CIA, a very close relative of Ty Cobb’s, a man who boxed Joe Lewis and one of the most famous athletes in the world, it would blow you away if I told you who it was...but HIPPA laws and privacy ethics prevent me from telling you who it was.
Well, I’m going back to visit Barb again. I promised her that I would. There’s something very nice about a person holding your hand with an “I don't want you to leave” grip. But I assure her that I will, indeed, be back. And when I walk down the hall to Barb's room, I will not be able to pass through without dancing a jig with Dan...a 101 year old man who tells me daily, "Aye Meg, You've the map of Ireland all over your face.
What a wonderful experience these visits are...and they’re free.
Her name is Barb and she lives her life in a bed, in a room, in a rehab facility. She lies there, day after day, week after week, month after month...the victim of a cerebral vascular accident. She smiles at me, answers my questions in one to 4 word answers (more often than not, one word answers) when she can. It’s very difficult for her to speak because the part of her brain that forms words was damaged in the stroke.
As in so many social situations, I do a lot of the talking anyway and Barb’s one to four word answers suffice and give me time to babble on and on. I tell her about my children and my grandchildren and I look at the pictures of her beautiful family all around her room. When music plays on her cable ready television, I ask her if she likes this song or that song...there are a hundred ways that I learn little things about her. And, of course, with me and my big mouth, Barb knows quite a bit about me.
I speak to her as I pour the water and cranberry juice into a tube that feeds her directly into her stomach. I tell her about my day as I’m hooking up the feeding tube that delivers the liquid diet that sustains my friend. By the time I’m placing her blankets over the cradle at the foot of her bed (to keep the weight of the linens from causing sores on her toes), I’m telling her what the weather was like that day. I chat about my kids as I change any bandages she may need when she injures her delicate skin. After I deliver the necessary care, I hold my friend’s hand and tell her how beautiful she is. With my face 5 inches from her face and the two of us making eye to eye contact, we smile at each other.
I bring the pictures of her family closer to her eyes so that she can see them well enough to say, “Son.” or “Husband” as she shows off her lovely, all American family. I always promise to come back again...and I always hate to leave.
Barb is a relatively young women, not much older than I. Her husband looks like any man that you might see at a baseball game. Most women her age are busy shopping, cooking dinner, going to work and spending time with their families. But Barb has spent months living in a room all by herself and barring some miracle, she will spend the rest of her life like this. She is dependent upon others to care for her, to feed her and to clean her. While some of the older pictures on her walls include her...the more recent pictures are of her family...celebrating holidays, graduating, having babies and living their lives without Mother, Grandmother, sister, aunt or, sadly...a wife. When her husband wonders about what his wife is doing while he's at work, he really needn't wonder too hard...the woman he married is lying alone in a bed, in a small room, in a small Georgia rehab facility being cared for by strangers.
Barb should be sharing life with her family and friends but instead, she lies in a bed, awaiting the next visit from a family member or a friend.
The television in her room is her only entertainment in between visits. When she does get a visitor, she holds on to their hand tightly. I love it when she holds me hand. But when she senses that I will soon be leaving to visit one of her neighbors, she squeezes harder and harder, making me stay longer than I ever planned to stay. How could anyone easily walk easily? It can't be done. Well, maybe Rick could do it, but not a normal person.
I really do love visiting her. If you ask her a question, she will answer in her own way, if not with an actual word. Her expressions and her eyes speak to you when her voice cannot. Like I said, I hate leaving her room. I’d rather sit on the side of her bed, just asking her questions about her family and her life before the stroke.
Unfortunately, these places are full of such people and they all have their own physical challenges of one sort or another. Although many family members do come to visit, the time in between visits appears interminable. The hours are passed away staring at the ceiling and maybe, if they are lucky enough, staring out the windows at the birds. And of course, there's a lot of staring at the pictures of the families that they miss so much. A few have feeding tubes and the more lucky folks have pureed food. Do not try this at home, pumpkin pie put through a blender is not very appetizing.
How sad to have a mind trapped in a body that no longer communicates with the brain. Conversely, it’s dreadful to have a healthy body with no thought processes at all. Either way, you are in no shape to live life as you once knew it. You may not actually BE a vegetable...but you are most certainly PERCEIVED as one by far too many people. These places are often called "Something Gardens". Well, they sort of are gardens of people. The difference between these gardens and the gardens like the one’s that Barb used to grow is that Barb’s gardens were something to take pride in and show off, making the world a better place. The garden of people living in certain facilities like Barb's resemble leper colonies in that we don't want to go and face our potential future. Furthermore, we don't recognize the special beauty inside the heart, mind and soul of our elderly.
These populations, especially with the baby boomers coming into their golden years, are growing larger every day. Many more people will be suffering Barb's fate as time goes by. Anyone of us could have people standing over us, speaking as though we weren't lying right there in front of them...hearing, "I don't understand it...he looked so healthy last weekend."
Visiting many such places, I have had the pleasure to have met a man who survived the Bataan Death March, a man who was in both WWI AND WWII, a man who was a employee of the CIA, a very close relative of Ty Cobb’s, a man who boxed Joe Lewis and one of the most famous athletes in the world, it would blow you away if I told you who it was...but HIPPA laws and privacy ethics prevent me from telling you who it was.
Well, I’m going back to visit Barb again. I promised her that I would. There’s something very nice about a person holding your hand with an “I don't want you to leave” grip. But I assure her that I will, indeed, be back. And when I walk down the hall to Barb's room, I will not be able to pass through without dancing a jig with Dan...a 101 year old man who tells me daily, "Aye Meg, You've the map of Ireland all over your face.
What a wonderful experience these visits are...and they’re free.
posted by Meg Kelso | 2:16 PM
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