And I Was Having Such A Good Year...
Well, I was. Compared to this time in 2006, January 1st of 2007 presented me with mostly optimistic outlooks. Aside from a severely stressed-out credit card (the aftermath of Christmas and a few other nasty surprises that had to be paid for), things were looking up for my family. Medically we seemed to be doing all right - okay, we have Nicole's foot which has a bad rash on that the doctor has FINALLY consented to send her to a specialist for, we have Mum's ever-present sore knees, and we have Dad's sore back. But nothing too serious, certainly not daily bandage-changing or colostomy bags to deal with on a daily basis like last year. Lana is due to give birth in a month or so, making me practically an auntie (in every way but blood, really, and those are the ways that all count.) Oh yes, I thought, things were looking up.
And then came today - January 2nd, and it all went downhill.
I stepped into Nareen Gardens nursing home today as usual on a Tuesday to spend a couple of hours volunteering. I'd been told before Christmas that I didn't have to come back until the 8th, that it could wait. But I said "No, I wanna come straight back". I'm very glad now I did.
Have I ever talked about Joyce Wilson? She's the Aboriginal elder for her tribe and one of the best, wisest and most down-to-earth souls you could ever meet. Combining her Catholicism with her tribe's beliefs was no problem for her - the Lord's Prayer written out in her tribal tongue sat laminated in pride of place on her little bedside table. She knew what the weather would be like by the behaviour of animals and by her own senses. She fed the birds and loved them. I adored her, and she in turn was very fond of me.
So, as usual, I go to Joyce's room. Now, Joyce and I (and her group of friends) usually sit down outside and share a quick smoke and a cuppa before I start my 'shift', but lately she's been in a lot of pain and I knew she was in hospital the last time I went to Nareen last year, so I left my present for her with John (one of her friends) and asked him to make sure she got it.
Last night I got a strange - premonition, for lack of a better word. I saw John handing me back the present, unopened, and saying "I'm sorry, luv, she's gone." I shook my head and thought "Don't be stupid Jenny, of course she's not gone." And I went about my business, ignoring my bout of 'paranoia'.
Bzzt.
So, this morning. Hoping she'd be back from hospital, I stuck my head in the room, beaming when I saw her bed occupied... except, not by her.
Now, when someone else has taken over a resident's bed, that means one of two things. Either the patient's been moved somewhere else, or, well. So I went to the nurses station, sure they'd tell me that, at the very worst, she'd been moved somewhere else. And I saw a flier that had been printed up with her name and photo on it.
Those only ever mean one thing.
It took about thirty seconds for me to process the fact that the flier stated that her funeral was on tomorrow before I broke down and started bawling right on the counter. The poor lady at the desk (who was on the phone) was stunned and completely at a loss, until an AIN (assistant in nursing) that knew me well hugged me and figured out that it was about Joyce.
I talked to John. He was pretty shaken. He said several times that he didn't know what he'd do without her, and that he'd automatically look out to their area where they always went to have a smoke, but she wasn't there. She did get the present though - I asked. (It was a big carton of cigarettes - she always enjoyed smoking and she always shared hers out, and she was never allowed to withdraw money as she pleased to buy what she wanted, something that PISSED HER OFF hugely, I might add.) He said she was delighted to have gotten long-distance kisses (on the cards) even though she probably never got to smoke any of the cigarettes.
I do remember last year a group of nurses told me not to buy cigarettes for Joyce and her group, because she had angina etc and it wasn't good for her and it was 'for her own good' that they limited her supply. And I smiled and nodded, and kept on buying them for her anyway. Because you know what? A few smokes a day was one of the few small pleasures she HAD. And she damn well DESERVED a small pleasure. That and the weekly lottery. She and John, Brian and Bruce played that every week without fail. It was their hope that one day they'd win, use the money to buy a big house to live in, get out of the nursing home and John could grow chokos in the backyard. Joyce talked about this often, always saying "When we win", not "if".
I'll still bring in smokes for John and Bruce (Brian is the only nonsmoker in the group.) And if any of the nurses have a problem with it? FUCK THAT. That would be Joyce's opinion on the subject (if not her actual words) and I'll honour that.
Goodbye Joyce. So many people loved you and miss you. I miss you. My mum misses you, even, and she never really met you. Your funeral is tomorrow. Elizabeth from Pastoral Care is kindly picking me up so I can attend. I will say goodbye and I will face the rest of the year in the spirit you'd want me to - with strength and optimism.
But forgive me a few tears.
And then came today - January 2nd, and it all went downhill.
I stepped into Nareen Gardens nursing home today as usual on a Tuesday to spend a couple of hours volunteering. I'd been told before Christmas that I didn't have to come back until the 8th, that it could wait. But I said "No, I wanna come straight back". I'm very glad now I did.
Have I ever talked about Joyce Wilson? She's the Aboriginal elder for her tribe and one of the best, wisest and most down-to-earth souls you could ever meet. Combining her Catholicism with her tribe's beliefs was no problem for her - the Lord's Prayer written out in her tribal tongue sat laminated in pride of place on her little bedside table. She knew what the weather would be like by the behaviour of animals and by her own senses. She fed the birds and loved them. I adored her, and she in turn was very fond of me.
So, as usual, I go to Joyce's room. Now, Joyce and I (and her group of friends) usually sit down outside and share a quick smoke and a cuppa before I start my 'shift', but lately she's been in a lot of pain and I knew she was in hospital the last time I went to Nareen last year, so I left my present for her with John (one of her friends) and asked him to make sure she got it.
Last night I got a strange - premonition, for lack of a better word. I saw John handing me back the present, unopened, and saying "I'm sorry, luv, she's gone." I shook my head and thought "Don't be stupid Jenny, of course she's not gone." And I went about my business, ignoring my bout of 'paranoia'.
Bzzt.
So, this morning. Hoping she'd be back from hospital, I stuck my head in the room, beaming when I saw her bed occupied... except, not by her.
Now, when someone else has taken over a resident's bed, that means one of two things. Either the patient's been moved somewhere else, or, well. So I went to the nurses station, sure they'd tell me that, at the very worst, she'd been moved somewhere else. And I saw a flier that had been printed up with her name and photo on it.
Those only ever mean one thing.
It took about thirty seconds for me to process the fact that the flier stated that her funeral was on tomorrow before I broke down and started bawling right on the counter. The poor lady at the desk (who was on the phone) was stunned and completely at a loss, until an AIN (assistant in nursing) that knew me well hugged me and figured out that it was about Joyce.
I talked to John. He was pretty shaken. He said several times that he didn't know what he'd do without her, and that he'd automatically look out to their area where they always went to have a smoke, but she wasn't there. She did get the present though - I asked. (It was a big carton of cigarettes - she always enjoyed smoking and she always shared hers out, and she was never allowed to withdraw money as she pleased to buy what she wanted, something that PISSED HER OFF hugely, I might add.) He said she was delighted to have gotten long-distance kisses (on the cards) even though she probably never got to smoke any of the cigarettes.
I do remember last year a group of nurses told me not to buy cigarettes for Joyce and her group, because she had angina etc and it wasn't good for her and it was 'for her own good' that they limited her supply. And I smiled and nodded, and kept on buying them for her anyway. Because you know what? A few smokes a day was one of the few small pleasures she HAD. And she damn well DESERVED a small pleasure. That and the weekly lottery. She and John, Brian and Bruce played that every week without fail. It was their hope that one day they'd win, use the money to buy a big house to live in, get out of the nursing home and John could grow chokos in the backyard. Joyce talked about this often, always saying "When we win", not "if".
I'll still bring in smokes for John and Bruce (Brian is the only nonsmoker in the group.) And if any of the nurses have a problem with it? FUCK THAT. That would be Joyce's opinion on the subject (if not her actual words) and I'll honour that.
Goodbye Joyce. So many people loved you and miss you. I miss you. My mum misses you, even, and she never really met you. Your funeral is tomorrow. Elizabeth from Pastoral Care is kindly picking me up so I can attend. I will say goodbye and I will face the rest of the year in the spirit you'd want me to - with strength and optimism.
But forgive me a few tears.