Sign in the parking lot.
Front Entrance.
Left side outdoor sitting area.
Donna's room.
Dining Room where Bingo is played.
Bingo card.
Retirement Complex next door to Culver West, owned by the same people.
Fountain at the retirement complex where I ended my visit with Gail.
On Sunday, August 22, 2010 from 1:00pm – 5:30pm I volunteered again at the Culver West Convalescent Home. I led the Bingo game again at 2:30pm (as enthusiastically as possible). Residents received nickels as a prize if they won. I saw all my acquaintances from the day prior: Lydia, Ruth, Gail, and Donna. Amina was not working, but a Hispanic girl younger than me named Daniella became my supervisor. Toby, a Russian lady who didn’t speak English, repeated every number I said in the Bingo game. She couldn’t seem to stop talking in Russian to everyone, and no one seems to be able to understand her. Lydia was irritated and felt the game wasn’t going fast enough. She kept trying to tell me what to do. I was actually getting a little annoyed with her and had to remind myself she is just a cranky old lady. One little lady next to me tried to take off her top but I talked her out of it. She kept telling me I wasn’t allowed to do whatever I was doing so I apologized and shifted Bingo cards around, which seemed to appease her. I think I can state quite honestly that if most of these patients were 20 years younger they would be calling this a mental institution rather than a nursing home. After Bingo I helped Daniella with place settings for dinner. Paper napkins, a pink rose in a plastic vase, plastic cups and mugs. They ate one slice of bread wrapped in plastic, with small servings of breaded fish, brown rice, and chopped broccoli. I served them coffee and hot tea while Daniella served the food.
At the end of the day I went to say goodbye to Gail, whom I felt was the most mentally intact and whose company I enjoyed. She asked to be wheeled outside for 15 minutes (on her wipe-way board). This time we went past the bench where we had sat yesterday, and over just another 30 feet or so to the retirement complex owned by the same people next door. We sat in front of the fountain, and she played Whitney Houston’s The BodyGuard song “I will always love you” on her i-pod. The song and the sound of the fountain were sort of competing with each other. I told her I hoped she had a son visiting her soon. She wrote that the drive was far for them; they live in San Diego. I asked if she would prefer to be in a home in San Diego and she wrote “I’m stuck here”. I said to tell her sons to work on moving her closer. I gave her my cell phone number so that she could have a nurse call me one weekend if she wanted a visitor, but she is very much a caretaker at heart in spite of her disease. I doubt I will receive a call. I also doubt I will make it back there out the goodness of my heart because it was so depressing. I felt trapped even as a visitor. It’s just not one of the nicer nursing homes. Even a nice hospital like UCLA or Cedars would feel like a trap, though it would certainly be a huge improvement. I think the energy of so many sick people is really the feeling I am trying to avoid. I don’t like thinking that Gail can’t breathe properly most of the time, and it is only going to get worse. It makes me crazy trying to figure what on earth some of these people are thinking, like the little old lady who strips randomly. I wonder what on earth is going on in her mind. I guess there are some things we’ll never know.
I guess the impact of these 10 hours was that you have to be strong. The toughness of life doesn’t get easier with age, in fact, it could get much harder, and you have to be able to physically and mentally face the challenge of growing older. As usual, after hanging out with the elderly I am reminded that I need to take good care of myself. I would like to be able to have teeth at age 87, like Ruth, and to not be so heavy that I can’t support my weight using a walker. I think in essence, we all have a part of ourselves, which we feel is difficult to express. Where we may literally feel like Gail, unable to speak or move. It is a reminder that the ability to listen is important for all, but especially those who can no longer express oneself coherently. I remember asking one woman in a room if she needed help, she was moaning and seemed frustrated. When I told the nurse at the nurses’ station, she said “Oh, she’s fine”. Now, maybe this woman does this all day every day, in which case the nurse’s response is appropriate. However, it is pretty scary to be alone in a hospital and ask for help and not receive it because no one thinks you’re capable of expressing how you feel. Feelings are so important to health. I am sort of proud that I was there in support of feelings of the elderly, which are all too often overlooked or ignored in a clinical setting.
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