Sawing Logs
I arrived late last night for my visit with Gram. It was around 8:45pm. It was dim and eerily
quiet in the place as I walked down the hall toward Gram’s room, looking around
for her as I always do. I never know
where I’ll find her when I arrive - in someone’s room, on the other side of the
floor (Long Term Care section), behind the nurses’ station or in the lunch room
asleep in her wheelchair.
The Gay One was walking out of someone’s room as I walked by,
maybe his own. I don’t know. It was the first time I saw him standing. He startled me with his tallness and his abrupt
appearance in the doorway to the hall. “Hello,”
he said, as if he himself seemed caught off guard.
He and the Hot One were the only two up and about.
The Hot One, like the Gay One, is a younger guy, 50’s
probably; handsome. The Gay One is loud and
talkative and clearly demented. But until
tonight, I thought the Hot One was only here for some type of rehab. He’s very quiet, so it’s been more difficult
to determine. Tonight, though, I noticed
the ankle bracelet on his leg. It’s the tell-tale
sign of a dementia patient, the Scarlet Letter of the disease. Anyone who has memory issues has to wear the
electronic sensor so that if they try to escape out of any of the doors, it
sets off a piercing and loud alarm throughout the entire facility. “House arrest” we call it. Gram wears the sensor. Luckily too, because, of course, she has set
off the alarm on several occasions trying to escape through various doors on
the floor. I was saddened to learn that the
Hot Guy also has the disease. It’s so
tragic. I hate this disease.
Surprisingly, I found Gram in bed. She’s a night owl so it’s not unusual to find
her wide awake and busy at 9pm. Tonight,
however, she was asleep – “sawing logs,” as she would say – mouth wide open and
snoring, surrounded by stuffed animals that where clearly placed there by the
staff. I took a photo of her with my phone to post to Facebook, but when I looked at the photo, I decided not to. When she sleeps like this, with her mouth wide open and so small against the bed, she looks dead. With the room being dark, it was even worse. I quietly put the laundry away,
gathered up the dirty clothes and proceeded out.
As I walked down the hall, the Gay One, now in a wheelchair,
called out to me, “Father, Father!” He
was visibly confused and highly agitated.
He didn’t wait for me to respond; he frantically kept quickly wheeling
by. The Hot One was in his wheelchair, oddly
turned toward a corner, awake, but just staring at the wall. I hate this disease.
The tall and stocky, middle-aged nurse with glasses, whose
name I don’t know, said, as I walked toward the elevator to leave, “She
sleeping?” “Yes,” I replied, “I didn’t
want to wake her, so I just got the laundry.”
“She was cantankerous earlier; she must have tired herself out!” I laughed and it reminded me of the old days. When Gram lived at home, she would tire herself
out all the time. She would go and go
and go -all day, starting several projects - inside, outside, wherever. Then she’d cook dinner and clean up
afterward. She would completely exhaust
herself. “Now I’m gonna sit down and
watch my show,” she’d say with a sigh as she plopped down on the puffy chair in
front of the TV. Within 5 minutes, the snoring
would start. I’d look over and her head
would be back, mouth wide open. Sawing
logs.
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