The Residents and Other Unique Seniors

Free Preview – “The Residents” Maureen Maureen, an Irish beauty despite her advanced age, has just entered her new room at the nursing facility. She has red hair, bright blue eyes and a few freckles sprinkled across her nose amid the age spots on her face. The woman is friendly and at ease, as she checks out her new surroundings. I introduce myself to the nervous woman who accompanies her. She is Maureen’s daughter and I try to ease the worry from her face. “I am one of the nurses’ aides here who will get to see your mother just about every day,” I tell her. “We will become friends very quickly. I can feel it already.” I turn to my new resident and ask if she likes to sing and dance. “Oh, sure I do! I worked at a bar in town for years. Everybody knows me, if you know what I mean!” As we become engaged in conversation, her daughter interrupts briefly to say, “Mom, I have to run some errands now. I’ll be back to see you later. Okay?” “Okay!” her mom answers cheerfully. Maureen turns back to me and fills me in on her “job” at the bar, hardly noticing her daughter’s exit. “I guess I was kind of known as a floozy back then. I really was, too!” She laughs, bending her head back, her hair brushing her shoulders. This woman has clearly been sent to me by the fun god; I can feel it! As we unpack her bag, she holds up a scarf and twirls it around her shoulders, then holds a bright paisley blouse against her as she admires herself in the mirror. Maureen has a small, pretty box filled with costume jewelry that she places on her bedside table. She sits in her recliner, sorting out her gems. Earrings and pins of every color are filling up her table as I leave this busy, happy woman. I have a few minutes before my shift ends to check out the chart displaying Maureen’s history. To my surprise, she has not been a floozy at all; in fact has never worked in a bar. She is a much-loved community volunteer and devoted mother to eight children. I leave for home a little disappointed by this revelation and plan to play along with Maureen’s version of her life when I see her tomorrow. Uncle Eddie Uncle Eddie lives in Connecticut near the home he shared with his daughter, my cousin Wendy, until a few months ago. No longer safe at home while Wendy is at work, Uncle Eddie has been moved to a medium-sized, cheerful nursing home. He has settled in very well, to the relief of his two daughters. My cousin Joan lives in Illinois and calls her father every Sunday to see how he is getting along. There is no answer on this January first afternoon when she calls to wish him “Happy new year”. Joan redials and reaches the nurses’ desk. She is relieved to learn Wendy has taken their dad to his favorite Chinese restaurant. When Joan phones him the next day, Uncle Eddie tells of the wonderful time he has had “at Wendy’s house”, where she cooked him “all kinds of food.” Amused by his mild confusion about the restaurant, Joan asks what his plans are for today. “Oh,” he answers, “I have already walked ten miles on the treadmill this morning.” “Really Dad? You’ve walked ten miles?” “Oh sure”, says Eddie. “You can do just about anything you set your mind to.” My ninety-six year old uncle has innocently placed a positive spin on memory and aging. Roberta Roberta has been living here at the nursing home for about a week. She is a lovely woman who enjoys visits from her daughter every afternoon. She gets around pretty well, but is on oxygen constantly and rings her buzzer when she needs to go to the bathroom because she fears tripping on the tubing. Because Roberta reminds me of a much-loved neighbor who has passed away, I stop by her room frequently to chat for a few minutes. She is bright and alert and I enjoy her company very much. I am delighted one morning when she is one of the residents assigned for me to take care of and help with her washing up and getting dressed. Because it is important for a resident to do as much for themselves as they can, I hand Roberta a soapy washcloth to wash her upper body as I wash her back. She tells me, “I’ll wash Possible.” I don’t know what she means, but don’t ask. I wonder if she is confused due to lack of oxygen or something and I have not realized this before. As she dries herself, I wash her legs and feet and begin to put panties, slacks, socks and shoes on her. Again she says, “I’ll wash Possible.” When she stands up, she washes her private parts and when she is finished dressing, we walk back to her recliner chair. She doesn’t seem confused, but I am. I wish her a good morning and go on my way. The nurse laughs when I tell her I am dismayed to find that Roberta isn’t as “with it” as I had thought. Nurse Kathy, a long-time caregiver to the elderly, explains, “Some residents call their privates Possible because aides tell them ‘wash yourself as far down as possible and I’ll do the rest’.” Who knew? I am relieved to know what is possible. Rude Awakening I’m stopped at a red light straining to look through my windshield at the car in front of me. There’s something on the steering wheel; a cotton ball No, wait; not a cotton ball. Someone’s grandmother driving that huge Town Car. My eyes snap open as I realize I’ve been dreaming about Florida again.