Dorm rooms of the elderly
About two weeks before my friend Charlene died, I was visiting her and we were watching Rachel Maddow.. Piper, her little dog was in his usual spot next to her. He got up suddenly and wandered to the door, announcing a visitor. Not bothering to knock, Maxine walked in with a big bag of puffy Cheetos in her hands and wearing an equally puffy purple bathrobe and matching slippers. She waddled over to Charlene and held out the half full bag.
“This is my friend Maxine” Charlene told me “The only friend I have here”. She tells me this every Monday when Maxine visits.
“Nice to meet you” Maxine says, as she says to me every Monday. It’s always like the first time she’s ever met me. Maxine was a resident of the assisted living place where charlene had lived in her cozy apartment for the past 6 months.
Maxine’s purple bathrobe covered her old lady, long forgotten, past sexy shape. She holds out the bag and offers me a cheeto as she dips her hands in and puts a few in her toothless mouth. I prefer crunchy cheetos myself but I take a few anyway and she smiles and stuffs a few more in her mouth. Her gumming the cheetos reminds me of my grandfather after he had taken out his false teeth and sat at my grandma’ kitchen table with a quart of beer on the floor beside him. A half filled glass sat on the table. By keeping the bottle on the floor he didn’t have to offer anyone who might stop by a drink.
Maxine is more generous with the cheetos than my grandpa was with his beer.
I am reminded of my college dorm where friends would come by at odd hours with treats (usually not cheetos and usually alcohol or some other mind altering substance) to visit or for a study break. But this is not a college dorm room. It is assisted living, the dorm room of the elderly where my friend Charlene lived the last six months of her life and where she would soon die.
I met Charlene several years ago when I was a hospice volunteer for her husband. When he died, she asked me if I would come and watch movies with her. She was lonely without him.
We settled on Monday nights and watched movies or MSNBC. She disliked (to put it mildly) Donald Trump so we spent a long time discussing his shortcomings. Later after she moved to assisted living, I just listened to her amazing stories of growing up in a Greek family in the 1940’s in Utah. Like many of my elderly friends, she mourned her loss of control, her car, her mobility and her vision. Her memory became clouded but I was happy to hear her stories of growing up in a Greek family in Utah and her adventures as a teenager.. At 86 you could still see her beauty. She had, for years, dyed her thick hair a bright red but now it was a beautiful cloud of white. She had a smooth, wrinkle free face. “I couldn’t afford all of those expensive face creams so I just used egg whites, she told me.
Charlene gives her dog Piper a few cheetos. He ate a lot of people food and shared a biscotti with her every morning. He was devoted to her and she him. He didn’t care that she couldn’t get him out to go for long walks - he was grateful to just sit by her and eat whatever treats she offered him. She didn’t care if he peed on the garbage can in her bedroom, which he did frequently. He was an old dog and had been through a few other owners so she cut him some slack.
Charlene talked about dying a lot. She was ready and often said “What do I have to live for anymore?” I couldn’t really answer that question. It’s up to us to find those things to keep us going. “Promise me”. She said , “that you will have piper put down when I die”. He won’t live without me.
I couldn’t promise her that. Piper looked at me with his cloudy old eyes. He would go along with whatever was decided - a dog’s fate is too often determined by their human and not always with the dog’s best interests in mind. I thought she was being pretty selfish but maybe she knew it would be hard to find a home for an old dog who peed on bedroom garbage cans. Piper was her best friend and she hated the thought of leaving him.
Maxine and her bag of Cheetos quietly got up and left. She often ended her visits abruptly, getting up and going to the door without saying goodbye.
A few weeks after my visit, Charlene’s daughter called to tell me her mom had taken a turn for the worse and was in hospice care. I went over to her apartment to visit her and my nursing assessment told me she was in the process of dying. Maxine came by for a visit. I took her hand and led her into the bedroom where Charlene laid with Piper by her side.
I remember now, the look of compassion mixed with sadness, that crossed Maxines face. “I never saw her like this before” was all she said as she stroked her hand. I could tell she knew she was losing a friend. It struck me how much growing older involves loss - loss of control and independence and loss of family and friends. It must take a lot to find a reason to keep going.
The night Charlene died, I picked up the shivering little Piper off her bed where he had remained during the three days of her dying. Charlene had taken her last breath just before I got there and the little dog knew it. I carried him out of the room and knew that neither I nor Charlene’s daughter would be able to put him to sleep. He would survive.
Piper came to live with me. He is learning to not pee in the house and is more active than I thought he would be. The vet says he is at least 13 years old. I wonder what old dogs think - does he miss Charlene? Or is he able to do what dogs do and adjust to his new life and more activity and two other dog friends? I hope Charlene is happy for him and isn’t angry that we didn’t follow her wishes.
Maybe, given more attention, more activity, and more interaction with the world, old people in their dorm rooms would find reasons to go on. Good friends and dogs certainly give some people that reason. Or maybe you reach a point where you are done and it is okay after a long life where you made your mark on the world, to leave.
About a month later I went back to visit Maxine. She was gone - moved to a different memory care unit, a new dorm room, closer to her two daughters. I hope she is still wearing those fluffy slippers and eating cheetos. I hope she has found a new friend.
“This is my friend Maxine” Charlene told me “The only friend I have here”. She tells me this every Monday when Maxine visits.
“Nice to meet you” Maxine says, as she says to me every Monday. It’s always like the first time she’s ever met me. Maxine was a resident of the assisted living place where charlene had lived in her cozy apartment for the past 6 months.
Maxine’s purple bathrobe covered her old lady, long forgotten, past sexy shape. She holds out the bag and offers me a cheeto as she dips her hands in and puts a few in her toothless mouth. I prefer crunchy cheetos myself but I take a few anyway and she smiles and stuffs a few more in her mouth. Her gumming the cheetos reminds me of my grandfather after he had taken out his false teeth and sat at my grandma’ kitchen table with a quart of beer on the floor beside him. A half filled glass sat on the table. By keeping the bottle on the floor he didn’t have to offer anyone who might stop by a drink.
Maxine is more generous with the cheetos than my grandpa was with his beer.
I am reminded of my college dorm where friends would come by at odd hours with treats (usually not cheetos and usually alcohol or some other mind altering substance) to visit or for a study break. But this is not a college dorm room. It is assisted living, the dorm room of the elderly where my friend Charlene lived the last six months of her life and where she would soon die.
I met Charlene several years ago when I was a hospice volunteer for her husband. When he died, she asked me if I would come and watch movies with her. She was lonely without him.
We settled on Monday nights and watched movies or MSNBC. She disliked (to put it mildly) Donald Trump so we spent a long time discussing his shortcomings. Later after she moved to assisted living, I just listened to her amazing stories of growing up in a Greek family in the 1940’s in Utah. Like many of my elderly friends, she mourned her loss of control, her car, her mobility and her vision. Her memory became clouded but I was happy to hear her stories of growing up in a Greek family in Utah and her adventures as a teenager.. At 86 you could still see her beauty. She had, for years, dyed her thick hair a bright red but now it was a beautiful cloud of white. She had a smooth, wrinkle free face. “I couldn’t afford all of those expensive face creams so I just used egg whites, she told me.
Charlene gives her dog Piper a few cheetos. He ate a lot of people food and shared a biscotti with her every morning. He was devoted to her and she him. He didn’t care that she couldn’t get him out to go for long walks - he was grateful to just sit by her and eat whatever treats she offered him. She didn’t care if he peed on the garbage can in her bedroom, which he did frequently. He was an old dog and had been through a few other owners so she cut him some slack.
Charlene talked about dying a lot. She was ready and often said “What do I have to live for anymore?” I couldn’t really answer that question. It’s up to us to find those things to keep us going. “Promise me”. She said , “that you will have piper put down when I die”. He won’t live without me.
I couldn’t promise her that. Piper looked at me with his cloudy old eyes. He would go along with whatever was decided - a dog’s fate is too often determined by their human and not always with the dog’s best interests in mind. I thought she was being pretty selfish but maybe she knew it would be hard to find a home for an old dog who peed on bedroom garbage cans. Piper was her best friend and she hated the thought of leaving him.
Maxine and her bag of Cheetos quietly got up and left. She often ended her visits abruptly, getting up and going to the door without saying goodbye.
A few weeks after my visit, Charlene’s daughter called to tell me her mom had taken a turn for the worse and was in hospice care. I went over to her apartment to visit her and my nursing assessment told me she was in the process of dying. Maxine came by for a visit. I took her hand and led her into the bedroom where Charlene laid with Piper by her side.
I remember now, the look of compassion mixed with sadness, that crossed Maxines face. “I never saw her like this before” was all she said as she stroked her hand. I could tell she knew she was losing a friend. It struck me how much growing older involves loss - loss of control and independence and loss of family and friends. It must take a lot to find a reason to keep going.
The night Charlene died, I picked up the shivering little Piper off her bed where he had remained during the three days of her dying. Charlene had taken her last breath just before I got there and the little dog knew it. I carried him out of the room and knew that neither I nor Charlene’s daughter would be able to put him to sleep. He would survive.
Piper came to live with me. He is learning to not pee in the house and is more active than I thought he would be. The vet says he is at least 13 years old. I wonder what old dogs think - does he miss Charlene? Or is he able to do what dogs do and adjust to his new life and more activity and two other dog friends? I hope Charlene is happy for him and isn’t angry that we didn’t follow her wishes.
Maybe, given more attention, more activity, and more interaction with the world, old people in their dorm rooms would find reasons to go on. Good friends and dogs certainly give some people that reason. Or maybe you reach a point where you are done and it is okay after a long life where you made your mark on the world, to leave.
About a month later I went back to visit Maxine. She was gone - moved to a different memory care unit, a new dorm room, closer to her two daughters. I hope she is still wearing those fluffy slippers and eating cheetos. I hope she has found a new friend.
Comments