Alice’s No Good Very Bad Day
July 2, 2012
First of all, the hearing aid for her good ear fell from her hands when she was changing batteries, and it broke. The other one isn’t working at all, so the hearing situation is worse than usual.
Next, Celia is still gone. Alice learned from Celia’s son that she’d had to go back to the hospital to be treated for pneumonia. She is now out of the hospital and in a nursing home on the other side of town.
When she entered the dining room for lunch, Celia’s place mat was turned upside down and had been pushed off to the side, a signal to the server not to leave a meal for her. Alice sadly noted it to one of the aides, who told her she had no further information about Celia and did not know if she’d ever come back and couldn’t tell her even if she did know anything.
After she’d sat for a while wondering about her friend, she noticed a woman approaching the table. The woman carried her own place mat. Alice had seen her before and described her to me as “The Woman Who Walks Along and Stares Up at the Ceiling.” The woman sat down in Celia’s place.
Seated, the woman maintained normal eye contact and, thankfully, ignored the ceiling.
Later, Alice would cry on the phone as she related the appearance of this interloper to me, but at lunch she tried gamely to go along with the change. She passed the woman a note, just as she always passed Celia notes. She introduced herself and wrote: “Where are you from?”
The woman wrote back: Portland.
Alice, who always wants a story, felt disappointed. Portland.
Celia was from Portland too, but she’d written long notes about the neighborhood she’d grown up in, her family, friends, and various other people. She wrote little vignettes about the house she’d lived in as a wife and mother, only a few blocks away. She longed for it. One day she wrote about the time she’d heard one of her children crying down the street and she bolted out the side door to see what was the matter. In her rush, she stomped across the fresh cement for the new driveway her husband had just poured, and her footprints stayed in the driveway for forty years and are still there. This is a good detail, as far as Alice is concerned. This is the kind of note she craves.
Alice tried another question for The Woman Who Walks Along and Stares Up at the Ceiling (Except When Seated). “Have you been here at this place long?”
The woman wrote back, “Yes.”
Alice stopped writing questions. On her way back to her apartment, she picked up her mail and when she opened the seat cover of her walker to put the mail inside, the plastic latch snapped and the cover fell part way off. “How will we ever get that fixed?” she wondered. “Do I have to buy a whole new walker?”
“Then,” she continued, “some lady stopped me to ask about Celia, and I could see The Dapper Man was waiting for me down the hall. Waiting, waiting, waiting. When I finally got to him I noticed he was all gussied up, and so I asked if he was taking time off from his gardening, but I couldn’t hear a thing he said and I felt bad about that because he’d been waiting to say something to me and I have no idea what it was. Then I walked 150 steps around the building and fell into my chair when I got back to my apartment. I was so tired. No sooner did I sit down then the maintenance man showed up. He’s filling in for Consuela who has gone to Mexico to see her family. He brought clean sheets and put them on the bed in that crazy way he makes the bed, but he forgot toilet paper and disappeared and hasn’t been back. That was hours and hours ago.”
At dinner time Celia’s chair was again empty. Her place mat was still upside down. The Woman Who Walks Along and Stares Up at the Ceiling came over to Alice and lowered her eyes from the ceiling long enough to say, “They have put me back at my old table. I don’t know why.”
I thought maybe the woman preferred to sit with someone whose hearing wasn’t as bad as Alice’s, so she’d made an appeal to the dining room supervisor, who makes all seating decisions for the residents, and the dining room supervisor had obliged her. Obviously she hadn’t wanted to write notes. But I didn’t say anything to that effect and neither did Alice.
Later, after we’d talked, Alice sent an e-mail recapping some bits of this very bad day. She ended with this: Goodnight from your tired old white-haired mother.
I know she wanted me to smile at that, and of course I did. But truly I don’t know what to do about Celia or the upside down place mat or The Woman Who…etc., or the crazy way the maintenance man makes the bed, or the exhaustion after 150 steps. I don’t know what to do to make Alice’s days better.
What I can do: We have an appointment for the hearing aids. Anybody out there who knows how or where to get walkers fixed, please feel free to make suggestions.
July 3, 2012 at 5:40 am
what a sad blog today – some says are like that though…I wonder if duct tape would fix the walker? It fixes everything else! Now they have neon colors & white with a black lace patterns – bet Alice would go for something jazzy like that! She’s be the only one with a pimped-out walker – just the kind of detail she’d like!
July 3, 2012 at 10:14 pm
I did not know this about duct tape. Very useful information. The Pimped-Out Walker could be the title for an upcoming blog post. Thanks, Kerry. Let’s see if it happens…
July 3, 2012 at 5:41 am
some DAYS I meant…
July 3, 2012 at 7:12 am
Knowing that Celia’s foot print lives on is comforting to me. When walking, I have been noticing that most of the sidewalks in the NE were made in the early 1900′s. That is over 100 years ago for many of them! I find it fascinating to imagine whose feet walked these walks, and whose feet are yet to do so, along with mine.
Alice has some part Native American in her spirit it seems. The Woman Who…is just the sort of descriptive name that would be given that tradition. Love that!
It is so difficult to feel unable to help make life or days better for each other on the inside, but you are doing an excellent job on the outside for Alice, and I believe the inside is nourished by this, too. You little smile on the phone, for example. Love you!
July 3, 2012 at 10:12 pm
Some of those NE sidewalks are so uneven it doesn’t surprise me that 100 years have passed since they were put down. You probably know every rise and fall and crevice and giant tree root intrusion into the cement by now, given all your many walks in that area, but whenever I walk over there I have to watch my step. As you may recall, that’s where I got hurt (though of course the problem was a curb and not a tree root).
July 3, 2012 at 7:28 am
Such sorrow and loneliness, frustration and disappointment. I remember from my school days how a good note can really help a bad day. A bad note is just a wasted opportunity.
July 3, 2012 at 10:06 pm
Perfectly said, Beth. Thank you.
July 3, 2012 at 8:03 am
You’re a wonderful daughter! Don’t forget that, please….
xoxoxo, Con
July 3, 2012 at 10:04 pm
Thanks, Con. Given Alice’s and my relationship in the distant Midwestern past, I never thought anyone would ever say those words to me, but I’m mighty glad to hear them (especially when I have my doubts still in this regard).
July 3, 2012 at 8:28 am
Poor Alice, there will be better days I am sure but for now, I hope the hearing aids get fixed and that Alice finds another dinner companion she can relate to. Oh and I quite like Kerry’s idea of a pimped up walker. Debbie x
July 3, 2012 at 10:02 pm
Tonight on the phone Alice recounted more of her conversations with Celia and said she loves her as much as she’s loved any of her closest friends. I hope, too, that someone will come along she can relate to, but I have my doubts. It would be better if they could all pick their own dining partners, but that’s not the way it is at The Place.
Best of all, of course, would be Celia’s return. It’s happened before when things got very dark. Maybe it can happen again.
July 3, 2012 at 6:30 pm
I love that note from the “tired old white-haired mother,” Andrea, especially after such a dark day. The desire to make others smile in the face of everything – like mother, like daughter.
July 3, 2012 at 9:55 pm
Thanks, Jo. What a sweet thing to say.
July 3, 2012 at 8:37 pm
I, of course, only know Alice through your wonderful stories, and, I’ll take your word for it that the “tired old white-haired mother” is meant to make you smile, but, at the end of such a sad story, those words just sound so very melancholy and sad.
Tell Alice that though I’m not there to pass notes back and forth at her dining room table, I’m a good note passer… my friend Mary and I passed notes back and forth through most of our high school years. So, I may be far away, but, I can tell good stories via a note.
Sending some positive energy your way — you sound as if you could use a bit of it.
Stay well…
July 3, 2012 at 9:54 pm
Thank you, John. I remember a blog post of yours that included Mary. I get tired of the Internet, but I do love it that people we meet in this cyber world become part of our lives and we care about them. Thank you for caring about Alice and about me, too. I’m way behind on my blog reading. I’ll be checking in soon.
July 4, 2012 at 7:41 am
Nothing to add ‘cept I am loving you.
July 4, 2012 at 9:38 am
Alice’s craving for story and connection seems so visceral, so much a part of her. I love her appreciation for the telling detail! And I feel for her on her very bad no good day. Those are the days that DO make you feel tired and worn out and wondering what else life has laid by to spring on you all unsuspecting. But soon, I hope, things will take an upward tilt. Hearing aids replaced, walkers mended, Consuela returned…and Celia too, I hope.
July 7, 2012 at 11:52 pm
Hi Andrea, I was going to say duct tape also – but I’m not sure which plastic latch broke. I was a caregiver for awhile so knew my way around walkers before I had to use one. I have had 2 hip replacements so far this year so I have had a lot of walker time!! I don’t think we’ve met but a friend in common is Meg Glaser who I know because of photographing the Cowboy Poetry Gathering for over 20 years. Then I got this danged arthritis and am needing to take care of it so I can continue on! If Alice would like some cards or emails I have some down time still and could send some… let me know if it’s a good idea or not.
Best,
Sooz
July 8, 2012 at 11:35 am
You’ve had quite a year, Sue. I am sorry about all that you’ve been through. I know from Alice’s experience with hip replacement that it is a lot of work to come back to normal. I wrote about her hip replacement a while back on the blog. (If you haven’t read that post, it’s called She Walks). But two in one year topped with arthritis…oh man.
Alice would have welcomed more e-mail at one point, but now she’s having a bit of trouble reading it sometimes, but thank you for the thought. You’re very kind to offer. She called Celia today and even though they couldn’t hear one another very well, they loved being in contact. Celia is anxious to come back, but she said it’s impossible for her to say what’s ahead, and perhaps no one has told her.
I’ve seen many of your photographs. You bring the Gathering alive. Great work. Thanks for that too.