So yesterday evening, when Dad and I were in the nursing home feeding my mother dinner, another elderly lady sat at the same table opposite us. She was tiny and perky and sparkled with intelligence. And my goodness, she loved to chatter. (I don't know her name, but for purposes of this blog post, I'll call her Jane.)
The CNA (certified nursing assistant) who was sitting with Jane was trying to encourage her to eat her dinner, but Jane would have none of it. She kept telling the CNA to turn around and look in the courtyard outside the dining room windows, because the universe would tell the CNA the best way the rainbow unicorns could adjust her elbows, or something similarly nonsensical. The CNA – who was the soul of patience – kept trying to get Jane to eat her meal, but Jane kept demanding answers from the CNA about why she wasn't letting the magical marbles fix the overhead lights. And I mean she was demanding answers.
And so, I'm sorry to say, Dad and I start to giggle. We were trying not to be too obvious about it, but as Jane's observations got more and more creative, we started laughing harder and harder.
And then – really, it could hardly get any better – Jane burst out singing with a unique rendition of "Onward Christian Soldiers," belting out the tune with lyrics touching on sidewalk bricks and telephones. To be honest, she had a very decent singing voice (certainly better than mine).
Well, Dad and I lost it. Just lost it. We were laughing so hard, I kept having to wipe the tears from my eyes with a bandana.
And then, those rainbow unicorns really DID adjust some elbows, so to speak. My mom started laughing too. And I mean full-out laughing. She was giving great big belly laughs, just like she used to. She wasn't laughing at Jane; she was laughing with Dad and me. It was a magical sound.
When Jane finished singing, the entire dining room burst into applause which, to be honest, I don't think Jane really connected to her singing. She just kept demanding to know why the CNA was allowing those purple salamanders to lodge in her hair.
"Dinner and a show," I remarked to the CNA, wiping my eyes.
Dad and I finished feeding Mom her dinner, then took her down the hall to the "activities room" until she got sleepy enough to put to bed.
But we agreed we're going to try and sit at Jane's table whenever we can. She's a gem.
Some of the most inadvertently comical scenes in my life, etched in my brain, are from my days practicing as a physician in nursing homes. Oh my goodness. I count that as one of the darkest years of my life for many reasons but those nursing home moments? Joyous!
ReplyDeleteHaving experienced, more than once, what you and your family are going through...wringing one's hands is futile. Find love and laughter where you can. It's so much better than crying and can provide further good memories! Bless 'Jane', her CNA and all of you!
ReplyDeleteHow wonderful (and I'm glad Jane didn't get upset). Do they do music therapy at that nursing home? https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fyZQf0p73QM&pp=ygU0TXVzaWMgdGhlcmFweSBBbHpoZWltZXIncyBpJ2xsIGJlIGhvbWUgZm9yIGNocmlzdG1hcw%3D%3D
ReplyDeleteI was 15 when I visited my grandmother in the nursing home with my mother, and there was a lady in the bed next to her who wore one of those support belts that help orderlies lift her out of bed. Tucked in that belt were several small dolls, which apparently were her children. Every time an orderly lifted her out of bed they were yelled at for trying to squeeze her children to death. This woman also gave me a hard stare and said, "Are you here to help me plow?!?" in a shrill, nasal, southern voice. I told her I didn't know how, and she said, "Well, bring your tools and I'll show you how! Daylight's burnin'!" I didn't know what to think. It was good practice for me 20 years later working with the elderly schizophrenic I had a conversation with who identified himself as the Sheriff; Walt Disney; Jack Ruby; and the owner of the Ruby Tuesday chain whose mother installed purple brains for a living and whose father was a greyhound. It was an informative 15 minutes to be sure. I'm glad you and your parents were able to share a laugh.
ReplyDeleteMy late mother used to be a nurse at a nearby nursing home before she transferred to the local hospital. She kept hearing a strange noise. Something like sploit sploit sploit sploit. It was after midnight and all was previously quiet. Suddenly one of the elderly dementia patients ran across the hallway sploitsploitsploitsploit. She was completely naked and had somehow acquired some bright yellow rubber gloves, the kind for washing dishes, and was wearing them on her feet. Mom said she looked like a very skinny duck. She laughed and laughed. Then she helped her back to her room, got her dressed in her gown, reluctantly took her duck feet (trip hazard), and helped her back to bed.
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