My Elderly Lover

Ah my sweet elderly lover.

Your skin, soft like velvet and squishy like a beanbag.

Your hair long and stringy like hay (your old, its ok my dear).

She really was a sweetie tho, quite gentle. Judging by her murmurings she seemed to think i was someone she had known or spent some time with. She had quite a bit of energy as did her roommate. Where she was focused on doing her chores (which included folding blankets and arranging bits and pieces), her roommate was more focused on doling out orders and long conversations (with noone). Often, interspersed with the commentary/conversation, she would bang on the bed in a matter of fact way.

Please note that that differs GREATLY from nonsensical banging in which the patient seems to be banging with no goal in sight and more often then not simply for the noise. In this case, the patient was banging almost to punctuate certain points.

As the night grew longer new activities were found by my lovely lady. With her neighbour passed out from all that babbling and ordering around (its tough work you know, people test the patience more than you can imagine) we found a new activity. Stuffing a matt into my shirt sleeve. I really truly wish I could figure out what she was doing/thinking.

Everything up until that point had been menial tasks that one would do if one was spending alot of time around the house, folding, wiping stuff down etc etc (all from bed, not necessarily with actual objects). This activity of all things did not register as anything I had heard about in the past or present time. Could it have been her alzheimers kicking in?

After she 'finished' her chores, she would attempt to get out of bed in a feeble well intended manner. Each time, i would help her back into bed, she would immediately forget she was trying to get out and lie back down for a moment.

It was maddening.

Each time this occured i would ask if there was anything i could do for her. Finally, after the 100th time, she looked at me dead in the eye and said

"All i want to do, is hold you tight".

I responded (playing it cool) "Thanks"

Her immediate response was "I love you" which was obviously followed on my part with "i love you too".

I should have known things were headed this way when she kissed my wrist.

Please stay tuned, i promise the next entry will be a treat, its about Ol Scotch.
Dude was AMAZING.

Deathbed

For the most part the patients were either bedstricken or capable of walking but not necessarily all there mentally. I did however have 2 particular exceptions 1) a man who was a doctor and on suicide watch (ill tell you more about this fellow later) and 2) a man who was on the brink of death (who i will tell you about here).

With most other patients you had to entertain them in one manner or another, whether it was parcheesi or stopping them from tugging at their tubes and or hitting you/themselves. This situation was a little bit simpler. The poor old bird was laid up in bed dying slowly from what i diagnosed as cancer. Granted im not a doctor so it was probably something other then cancer. Regardless I had to keep an eye on her machine and should she flatline i was to alert the nurses.

The nurses by the way were absolutely adorable. I spose it comes with the job of working in the palliative unit. I somehow doubt families would be comforted with the thought of Nurse Rachet watching over their dying relative. Regardless these women were sympathy incarnate. It was as if i was dying and they were to look over me. Theyd walk in every 20 minutes offering pillows, juice, blankets and breaks. Christ, they sent me home 2 hours early AND i got paid for the whole 12.

God bless em all.

Admittedly it was a grim situation so really someone had to make the best of it. The poor thing looked as if she was ready to expire (not in the sense that she was sick but in the sense that she looked a thousand years old). It was at this point that she really was a shell of a human. There was nothing left for her in this world. Thankfully she wasnt hooked up to lifesupport so it wasnt a matter of someone pulling (or not pulling) the plug. It was more an issue of when she decided to go.

Im not lying when i say these things, I may be understood as twisted having written and thought this at the time.

I wanted her to die.

Now there are two reasons behind this, the first being the most obvious.

She was using up alot of electricity.
Just kidding.

As mentioned previous She looked as if it was her time.

It really did.
Now for all the hurt that one feels when a loved one passes away there is always the knowledge (or sometimes the knowledge) that they are in a better place.

I can first hand say that ANYWHERE was better then that room at that time.

Then again i was alive, able to breath and run and was paid to be there, so i suppose one could argue that that hardly counts as a valid opinion...

The second reason was that I wanted to experience death first hand.

Now before you get carried away i dont mean that in the sense that I wanted to watch her gasp for her last breath as I forced a pillow down on her soft face. It was more the case that I was genuinely curious to see someone that im somewhat detached from (im not a total sociopath here thank you) pass in a relatively natural manner.

It was genuine curiousity, not a god complex.

I suppose in hindsight that palliative care isnt really the place to look for that as most people there are in particularly shitty situations. Then again that could be used as a justification for a desire to see them dead. See the vicious circle? Prob not, YOU prob dont wanna see anyone die.
Fffft.
Prude.

DM 2

Over our 12 hour shift i seem to remember only getting a half hour for lunch (as far as breaks were concerned). If im not mistaken this is pretty illegal, i think youre entitled to at least 2 15 minute breaks and a half hour for every 8 hours. Whatevs, i was getting peasant wages anyways so details like breaks and such are quite minor when one thinks of it.

Obviously with a 30 minute break there wasnt much to do. You were more or less limited to the room you were in, the common room down the hall or the cafeteria (which most likely wasnt serving food not that you wanted to eat there anyways).

If the patient had cable it was most easiest to eat and watch tv. Granted there were several health implications that came with this (like c. difficile) so it wasnt necessarily the wisest thing to do.

The cafeteria was not bad, always lit with neon lights and decorated in a 70s manner reminiscent of a David Cronenberg film. If they were serving food it was most certainly better then what you were currently eating and you could not afford it at whatever inflated prices had been chosen.

The common room was always filled with uncomfortable furniture, old magazines (such a fucking cliche in any medical office), pamphlets on different diseases/illnesses/religions and sometimes childrens toys. If there was a tv it would either get several channels (it may have cable access but godforbid anyone takes the time to actually program the tv, surely there is SOME room in the budget to pay a technician to do this) or it got 4 channels. In this circumstance the tv got 4 channels.

Needless to say i was less than pleased to find that the only thing worth watching on these 4 channels was a fucking show on surgery as the other 3 channels had turned off for the evening.
Christ sometimes Nova Scotia seemed like it was a million worlds away. Like i had been shipped off to a Siberian Gulag. Was this a test?

Once i returned to my patient (the fore mentioned DM) I realized i may not have it quite so bad.

Admittedly this shift was uneventful (apart from the tv test). I did find out that hes the ripe old age of 92 (he looks as if hes 70 something). Rather then spend the evening acting aggravated and picking fights, he was happy as a clam and spent it singing. To add to incoherent babble, he would cough dramatically (which was rather cute). It would seem that although our comprehension skills were set quite low we managed to amuse ourselves late into the night. Its amazing how a night of the good meds can affect a body.

DM I

Ive always been fascinated with buildings at nighttime. I love the concept of these giant corporate structures empty/void of the usual human life that temporarily inhabits them. The only noises beeping security alarms, cameras and lights. One night watchman who reads for his 12 hour shift, does rounds once every two hours and spends the rest of his lonesome time reading, eating and flipping through magazines. Ive always wanted to run around these buildings rooting through peoples desks (finding secrets) pretending something was chasing me like a scene out of a horror movie. Down emergency stairs, hiding under desks.

The hospitals are a variation of this.

They are quiet except for the soft hum of machines. Patients are like poltergeists kicking, screaming, sighing sporadically then going silent for short periods. The nurses are like silent spectres that hover from room to room, periodically murmuring amongst themselves. Every sound is crisp and clear. The hall ways are dark except for the faint glow of nurses booths and bathroom lights. Wheelchairs lie empty tucked in corners.

When sitting next to a patient one quickly grows knowledgeable of their sounds. Most of the time they are kept to a minimum as these people have lost a majority use of their functions.

DM was no exception, in fact there seemed to be only one sound that came from him, the gurgle of fluids. He regularly expelled urine and needed his traech cleaned. He would lie completely immobile with exception to when there was a forced suction of his traech. It was at that point that he could muster a high pitch squeal not unlike the one emitted from a stuck pig. Really, hes not unlike that video by metallica.

All the gurgling of the liquids and drinking of fluids (one would have to, its incredibly dry in hospitals) would cause frequent trips to the bathroom. It was there that you would be temporarily blinded and would smell a heavy bacterial cleanser scent. Like a fucking scene out of Alien autopsy or Fire in the sky.

This scent follows you where every you go, it attempts to mask the scent of illness but fails constantly to do so. From Dusk to dawn its bloody well there. Finally after two days off, it disappears (your work clothes smell of it tho). Doesnt matter as you have to go back tomorrow, and the scent returns.

My 'work' time is spent reading a thick book on the Third Reich, which im sure isnt going to endear me with the nurses. Ill admit i was somewhat paranoid that I was going to be thought of as a neonazi. Having just read about the Nazi's treatment of Romas, Jews, Gays and Jehovahs Witnesses, my attention is drawn to some pamphlets on a darkened sill. Whats odd is that ive seen these before in the common room. Arent the Jehovahs witnesses against modern medicine or something to that effect? Do they really spend their free time going into hospitals teaching the evils of healthcare? God the title of The Watchtower is frightening.

Sweet Sweet WS

Judging both my notes and memories mustaches seem to be quite popular amongst those born in the 1920's and 1930's. Granted the women at that age cant really help it (lack of estrogen you see).

From what ive written here in my notebook it would seem that WS was quite a treat. For the most part he remained quite still and content as the nurses seem to have fed him enough pills to sedate a small elephant (or kill a small dog, your choice really, you sick fuck). This, as mentioned previously only really results in one of two manners.

The first being the most preferred, spending the rest of the 11 or so hours watching television (particularly A&E, they have American Justice with Bill Kurtis), eating the patients dinners (he doesnt want them, hes nearly comatose and the nurse said you can have it) and reading your big book on Nazis.

The second being far from preferred but the most likely to occur. In the second situation the patient will take turns tugging at his tubes (whether feeding, breathing or peeing) and giving him self induced panic attacks in which his heart rate speeds up so much that the nurses are in every 10 or so minutes to make sure he doesnt kick the bucket. If in fact the panic attacks dont kill him, the nurses surely will. As a result you will have to hold his hand, calmly stroke it and tell him that it really will be ok (although even the medical professionals at this point in time highly doubt that is true).

Ideally the fits wont last too far into the night and at about 4am or so he will slowly close his eyes, grin, gurgle and not die. Sleep tight precious angel.

DF

So far throughout my entries my patients have seemed harmless or amusing. I spose even for the most part i havent really painted much of a picture with these brief stories.

Fair enough, i havent really got to the juicy bits of my hospital escapades. Let alone come upon entries with great detail.

Regardless there were moments in which the patients themselves were particularly difficult to sympathize with. Most often these moments would occur early in the morning with a relatively detestable patient. Please note that often these people are not sound of mind; whether a reaction to head trauma or medication. However after 10 or so hours with these people; constantly guiding their hands away from their tubes (as they try to pull them out), dealing with their squawking voices (or lack their of, spose grunts might be a more appropriate description), and even being hit (granted its by a weakened bedridden patient), ones patience is tested.

Without a doubt one such patient who was such a test (and an introduction to this type of shift) was the gentlemen known as DF.

Immediately one thing i must note is the fact that the first bullet i have written down is the fact that he loved to kick and punch me. Admittedly this was always from a position in which the patient was lying back (and most most likely tied down, im not kidding) as well as in a weakened state. None the less, its not quite the introduction one would hope to have with a person that one is going to be spending 12 hours with.

Often the fact that he was tied down would seem to be a source of agony. His granddaughter came to visit for a short bit and most of the time was spent listening to him egg us on. It came to the point that he was almost begging us to laugh at him.

Now, I, like most people im sure, have seen close family members in various states of sickness. I have to admit that at this point i felt worse for the granddaughter than for the actual patient. Not only is the poor girl having to deal with her grandfather (who, im assuming has been put on a pedestal, as most grandparents are when in healthy relationships with their grand children) in his sickness, she now has to see the full extent of its effects.

To only endear the reader more with the patient will now provided the only other two bullets i had written.

- He keeps licking his lips like a child molester would at his prey (obviously overdramatic, but to a certain extent truthful). I do recall him regularly licking his lips, in fact it was common for alot patients to have quite a few repetitive habits. For instance my sister and ex at the time had both taken care of a female patient in the psyche ward. Whatever illness she had caused her to a) regularly drink water (when i say water, i mean quarts and quarts of water to the point that if it wasnt regulated, she would drown herself) and b) smear vaseline all over herself (which made for a mess in obvious and non-obvious ways, thats right, ewww). I wont go into detail but it involved poop (dont worry, not alot, regardless nasty) and menstrual fluid (also not alot, but still nasty).

- 'Cold dead eyes that stare at me from the dark. The hospital is creepy enough, reminds me alot of Lady Lazarus'. It also doesnt help that im reading about a serial killer in New Hampshire.'
I like how i snuck Lady Lazarus in there. Makes me sound educated doesnt it? I think i read it once in some uni english class. Christ i was pretentious then. Granted i still am now, but i realize it. Doesnt help that i would have minored in film if i could have. At least i wasnt a philosophy student. Blech.

Just so you know, im not particularly happy with this post. It does need to be printed for sake of consistency as well as it never hurts to practice writing. None the less, its hardly my finest of the lot. Now if you'll excuse me, im going to watch Rambo 4.

JR

Oh my god im pissed. Tuesdays is my day to wake up early, go to work for 8 hours then go to school for another 3. Its fucking exhausting and i usually lose interest into about 1/3 of the day. Im particularly pissed as my alarm went off and I woke up an hour earlier then i was supposed to. This means i woke up at fucking 5.30am. Useless. Its not even like i can do anything at this point in the bloody morning. Really not cool. I at least wish i had some orange juice.

Even tho its early in the morn i do remember the following character JR. There are several reasons for this. He had the same name as a czech footballer (he was polish though, this was verified immediately), he was openly distainful of women (although he had been married and had a daughter, or so he claims) and he seemed to have a fear of soap (or at least smelt like he had a fear of soap).

Outside his misogny (and foul smell) he really was a quite pleasant man. He had been an architect in both the iron block and in Halifax at the time and had helped design one of the cities universities. I took great interest in his old time experiences in Communist Poland and he was all too happy to oblige. Oh lord how he loved Russia and he still considered them a world power.

Its at this point that I will write a sidenote but in the middle of this piece.

If im not mistaken at the time (2003) that this was written Russia was still undergoing some significant changes. Granted Putin was in power and the oligarchs had already raided the government for its goods but Russia was not quite butting heads with Western and Eastern countries, particularly the US, as it is today. As a result I had written the following, which at the time wasnt too far off (and to a certain extent still isnt).

"Maybe my North American Upper Middle Class mind has been poisoned against Russia's current glories? No, they are still fucked"

Since then Putin has been nominated as Person of the year by Time (granted so was Hitler, Stalin and Chang Kai Shek, even then that means something), their economy has boomed significantly, Russia has started to meddle with the likes of Ukraine and Georgia's (the country, not state) national elections, theyve been accused of sending spies to England and poisoning Politicians and expats. Regardless the country has become a world power (once again) along side China. That didnt take very long did it?

It should be noted that the dialogue between him and his roomate was like something out of a sitcom. She too was a lovely little thing probably bordering on the age of 107. In between the bickering she let it be known that I was allowed to read her National Enquirers and Weekly World News, which i was all to glad to do. The fact that she had called them smut made it very hard to resist.

Ech, i apologize if this post is a bit more scattered then usual, im really tired and have to go to work now. Blech, what a long day this is going to be.

Oh yeah, also this.