William lived through the horror of residential school. He was stolen from his family and culture at the age of 6, he was beat for his language, his best friend was killed after a priest shoved him down a flight of stairs, he never got any presents at Christmas, and he was starved just because. His stroke took out much of his right hemisphere (especially the frontal lobe) so he has little motivation to work on rehab. He's willing to talk about his past, but mostly he just wants to go home where he can sit and wait for his end. He'll be sent to long term care next week. A circular, sad bookend to his life.
Frank never fit in. He finished school, but he didn't learn to read. He never married and he moved through progressively lower paying jobs until he was homeless and jobless. He's delivered your mail, driven your bus, built your fence, filled up your car with gas, and mowed your lawn. His family have control of his government money so he doesn't spend it all on booze. He had his stroke on the left side of his brain, so he has trouble walking, talking, and doing anything with is right hand. He managed to tell me the hardest thing about his stroke was going through the DTs.
Then there's Paul. I don't know much about him except he's been referred to as the town drunk. "I don't know how he survived all these years." "He's just a bum." "I seen him around for the longest time. Isn't he dead yet?" He did have a stroke, but that's the least of his troubles. There is a tumour growing along the back of his throat. I first saw it last autumn when we were doing an x-ray of his swallow; a gentle bump starting at the voice box level and moving up to where the soft palate meets the nasal passages. Now it's threatening to close everything off. He'll get a tube in his stomach first and it won't be long before he needs another in his trachea. He doesn't drink any more. Can't. Weighs 80 lbs.
These men range from 58 to 62, but their creased faces and ruined bodies look like they've lived to a ripe age of 80. They almost seem glad to be done with it all. Gentle conversation partners, they are grateful for the smallest kindness. Somebody finally cares about them. Food, cleaning, shaving, dressing, pain, it's all looked after. It ain't real love, but after a lifetime being excluded and scorned maybe it's close enough.
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3 comments:
You do important work. You really do.
yeah - and you remind us that everyone has a story.
I remember as a kid my uncle used to play songs like "A pub with no beer" just to annoy my tee-total gran
"It ain't real love, but after a lifetime being excluded and scorned maybe it's close enough."
Maybe it is. I hadn't thought about it like that.
My guy works in hospitals, often with the senile old men whose meanness comes out after all these years. His job is to make sure no one gets hurt. He talks and calms and cajoles, but mostly listens; takes an interest; shows respect. It doesn't always stop them taking a swing, but it almost always makes a difference.
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