Today I met a (new to me) nursing home character, "MeMaw." She's a broad shouldered, white-haired woman. I was sitting beside Mom's bed, alternately showing her my knitting and gossiping with her roommate "Sunny," when MeMaw pulled herself into the doorway.
She teetered sideways a bit, and fingered the wall for balance.
Sunny fussed at her to go get her walker from the Bistro dining area. "You know you need your walker, MeMaw," she said. "Where is your walker?"
People do what Sunny tells them to do. MeMaw tottered out of sight but soon came lumping back with a walker. Based on how quickly she obeyed, I expected she wouldn't be able to say much — the nursing home has many vague, wandering residents — but MeMaw parked herself at the foot of Mom's bed and proceeded to cajole and coax her to smile.
"She always smiles for me," MeMaw informed us.
Sunny wasn't annoyed by her presence in the room, so I decided that it could be useful to encourage this lady to want to come in more often, talk at Mom more frequently.
So I got Mom to show off how well she wiggles her nose.
Mom's proud of her nose wiggling, which is an adorable sight, it truly is, and she has always known that it is. She used to know that it makes people like her, and I think she still does know it. She can wiggle it with her mouth open, so it looks like only the tip of the nose moves.
Right away, MeMaw began urging Mom to wiggle her nose again, and Mom of course wiggled her nose.
The three of us were very proud of our manipulations.
I glimpsed Sunny's expression out of the corner of my eye. She was looking at us like we were idiots.
Sunny is my age. What must it be like to live in a nursing home when you are 30 years younger than the rest of the residents?
Today she told me about someone who had been taken away to a hospital, but then came back, and about a person who had pneumonia and had been dragged out of bed for dinner by an aide who didn't know she was sick. Also, someone has a UTI, which is bad. "He's sinking," Sunny said.
I replied that it was interesting how people decline, and she said, "I sit by myself at dinner now that Gladys can't feed herself anymore."
"Jean," Sunny's closest friend, lives across the hall, wheelchair bound but still in possession of her mind. Jean's roommate has dementia, and the other day she tried to get into her wheelchair alone and fell on her face. She looks like someone took a bat to her. But she's no more dazed than normal and can scoot her wheelchair up and down the hall.
Sunny and Jean commiserate about their demented roommates. Jean's roommate wakes up in the night and wants to go to the store. They agree that my mom is a much better roommate because she's immobile. She just lies in bed staring at the ceiling. If she does talk to herself in the night, Sunny can turn up the white noise machine I gave her, say, "Julia, listen to the rain," and Mom obediently closes her eyes and pretends to sleep.
Right away, MeMaw began urging Mom to wiggle her nose again, and Mom of course wiggled her nose.
The three of us were very proud of our manipulations.
I glimpsed Sunny's expression out of the corner of my eye. She was looking at us like we were idiots.
Sunny is my age. What must it be like to live in a nursing home when you are 30 years younger than the rest of the residents?
Today she told me about someone who had been taken away to a hospital, but then came back, and about a person who had pneumonia and had been dragged out of bed for dinner by an aide who didn't know she was sick. Also, someone has a UTI, which is bad. "He's sinking," Sunny said.
I replied that it was interesting how people decline, and she said, "I sit by myself at dinner now that Gladys can't feed herself anymore."
"Jean," Sunny's closest friend, lives across the hall, wheelchair bound but still in possession of her mind. Jean's roommate has dementia, and the other day she tried to get into her wheelchair alone and fell on her face. She looks like someone took a bat to her. But she's no more dazed than normal and can scoot her wheelchair up and down the hall.
Sunny and Jean commiserate about their demented roommates. Jean's roommate wakes up in the night and wants to go to the store. They agree that my mom is a much better roommate because she's immobile. She just lies in bed staring at the ceiling. If she does talk to herself in the night, Sunny can turn up the white noise machine I gave her, say, "Julia, listen to the rain," and Mom obediently closes her eyes and pretends to sleep.
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