Saturday, February 14, 2004
Mother spends all her day sitting in her chair by the nursing station. Her unofficial chair is the second one against the wall. It is not assigned but no one else sits there. She can see the people coming in the front door and the people passing in the hall.
Miss Louise sits in the first chair. Today they had valentines left by a 4-H club. I took Mother's to her room. Then Mother and Miss Louise started their routine. Miss Louise hands Mother her valentine and says it is not hers. Mother hands it back and says it isn't hers either. Eventually I take the valentine and lay it on a chair.
Across the vestibule are no chairs. This is where the wheelchair people sit. A woman starts talking loudly. She wants to go to her room but she can't because she has both a wheelchair and a walker. She says they gave her the walker and she is not supposed to be without it.
I offer to take it to her room. She takes me up on it. She paddles to the first room which she says is hers. It is because she reads her name on the door. But she doesn't know which of the two beds is hers. The B by her name indicates the window bed.
I take her over there and she insists we angle the wheelchair just right. Then she takes the walker from me and walks out, changes her mind, and asks again which is her bed. I remind her it is the window bed. This up and down skit goes on. Each time she has to ask me or her roommate which is her bed. Finally she sits down and stays.
She walks well. I think the wheelchair is not hers. She probably walked outside and just sat down in it. Once there she thought it was hers. Later I see the wheel chair folded up in the hall.
I go back to Mother, grateful for something else. Everyone tells me to be grateful that Mother can recognize us. I am but now I am grateful she can find her bed.
How awful it must be not to be able to find your bed, not to know where you belong. That would be utterly lost in this world. Just totally. and perpetually, confused.
Mother can find her bed. She can find her room and the dining room. They are very close together and only one turn. Two turns and she couldn't do it, no matter how many times I showed her.
So life is good. Mother knows me and can find her bed.
Miss Louise sits in the first chair. Today they had valentines left by a 4-H club. I took Mother's to her room. Then Mother and Miss Louise started their routine. Miss Louise hands Mother her valentine and says it is not hers. Mother hands it back and says it isn't hers either. Eventually I take the valentine and lay it on a chair.
Across the vestibule are no chairs. This is where the wheelchair people sit. A woman starts talking loudly. She wants to go to her room but she can't because she has both a wheelchair and a walker. She says they gave her the walker and she is not supposed to be without it.
I offer to take it to her room. She takes me up on it. She paddles to the first room which she says is hers. It is because she reads her name on the door. But she doesn't know which of the two beds is hers. The B by her name indicates the window bed.
I take her over there and she insists we angle the wheelchair just right. Then she takes the walker from me and walks out, changes her mind, and asks again which is her bed. I remind her it is the window bed. This up and down skit goes on. Each time she has to ask me or her roommate which is her bed. Finally she sits down and stays.
She walks well. I think the wheelchair is not hers. She probably walked outside and just sat down in it. Once there she thought it was hers. Later I see the wheel chair folded up in the hall.
I go back to Mother, grateful for something else. Everyone tells me to be grateful that Mother can recognize us. I am but now I am grateful she can find her bed.
How awful it must be not to be able to find your bed, not to know where you belong. That would be utterly lost in this world. Just totally. and perpetually, confused.
Mother can find her bed. She can find her room and the dining room. They are very close together and only one turn. Two turns and she couldn't do it, no matter how many times I showed her.
So life is good. Mother knows me and can find her bed.
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