A Funny Kind of Paradise

by Jo Owens

  Chris stiffened visibly. I hurried to bring the lasagna to the table.

  While everyone mopped their plates with the garlic bread, Ang and Michael chattered about their plans. Chris chimed in from time to time.

  “You drove out here, didn’t you, Mike?”

  “Hell yeah, I did! It was amazing!”

  “I’ve always wanted to drive across Canada,” he said. “That’s an epic journey.”

  I was still trying to show Chris that I was sorry about being rude to Theresa, so I asked her if she’d ever travelled across Canada.

  “My parents drove the whole family from Vancouver to Toronto one summer,” she said. “It was an incredible waste of time. Everyone talks about how big and flat the prairies are, but the Canadian Shield is just as boring in its way.”

  “You’re going to take the Trans-Canada, aren’t you?” I asked, anxiously changing the subject. “There may be cherry blossoms in Victoria in February, but for the rest of the country, it’s still winter!”

  “Don’t you worry, Mrs. J., you don’t have to school me on winter! I’m from Montreal, remember?”

  “Aren’t you going to stay for dessert?” I asked as Theresa rose to go.

  “Chris and I have other plans for tonight.”

  If they had plans, it was clear Chris didn’t know about them. He folded his napkin deliberately, took his time pushing back his chair.

  Angelina got up and walked them to the door with me.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to hug me goodbye?”

  Theresa was already down the steps, but Chris stood in the doorway with his coat on. He turned and opened his arms.

  “Take care, little sister.”

  “You take care, brother. That cat might eat you up!”

  YOU DON’T KNOW HOW GOOD YOU HAVE IT

  Excitement! We’re going to have an admission! Family—I assume it’s family—are here with boxes…too many boxes. They’ll never get all that stuff put away.

  The RN is doing the honours with the daughter, a fussy little dumpling with curling hair.

  This is your mom’s bed.

  We brought her favourite duvet; can she use that instead of the hospital one?

  Oh sure, but we strongly suggest that everything you leave here be machine washable. Your mom is incontinent, correct?

  Well, yes.

  Please ensure that all your mom’s personal belongings, especially clothes, are marked. Here are her labels. There’s an iron in the laundry room if you want to use it. Make sure it’s good and hot or the labels won’t stick. This is your mom’s locker and this is her side table. Please try to keep the over-the-bed table free for trays and wash basins and so on…you don’t want wash water splashing all over your mom’s things.

  I can see the woman glancing at my bed table, and the RN follows her eyes.

  Francesca is tube-fed. We do try to maintain some flexibility with regard to individual needs.

  How diplomatic!

  Mom has an easy chair…we were hoping…

  The RN is shaking her head.

  We can revisit that when your mom gets her own room. But as you can see, we are really limited as to space, and the more crowded the room is, the more hazard to both your mom and our staff.

  Do you have any idea how long that will be? Before Mom gets her own room?

  I’m sorry; I can’t even guess.

  I chuckle quietly to myself. What a nice way to say somebody has to die first. “Excuse me—how long do you think that old girl in the single room is going to last? She’s looking a little peaked, wouldn’t you say?”

  Meanwhile the nurse is talking on.

  If you plan on bringing your mom a TV, you’ll need a table, preferably on wheels. Also, your mom has hearing issues, doesn’t she? You might consider getting a set of headphones. The nurse makes a gesture encompassing the full scope of the room.

  Oh, Mom is very considerate. She has a caretaker personality. She was a nurse too. She worked at the Jubilee for years before going into community care.

  Did she? That’s lovely. I hope she’ll be very happy here.

  Again I find myself snickering quietly. This should be interesting. I’ve heard the girls say, “Old nurses make the worst patients—they’re fussy, impatient, bossy and opinionated. They know just how every little thing should be done.”

  Just like care aides, actually.

  Just like me, for that matter.

  * * *

  Molly comes to wash me behind closed curtains, so I miss the arrival of our new roommate. Molly isn’t interested.

  “It’s not our turn,” she whispers. “Everyone else gets a go at her first!” I think of my own admission and shiver involuntarily, remembering the many people I met that day and how overwhelming it seemed at the time.

  Molly slaps a bracing cloth across my back. I can feel her tension.

  “I finally got ahold of Lily.”

  I stiffen; the new admission rockets off my radar. Instinctively I strain to see Molly’s face, and she pushes hard against my hip. “Don’t roll back,” she says, “I’m not finished yet.”

  I smack the side rail.

  “I think she’s doing okay.”

  Molly is choosing her words carefully, speaking very quietly. “She told me she took some time off to get herself together. Which she can do, because she’s casual. But financially…there’s no money. She can’t stay off work long. Come back, Frannie, I’m ready for you now.”

  Flopping, my momentum helps Molly bring my weak side over. She says nothing while she washes my hip and pulls the sling through. When I’m flat on my back again, she looks me full in the face.

  “She needs a break. She needs support, and mentoring, and a whole lot of unconditional love. But I ain’t Jesus, Frannie. I can’t save her.”

  I feel my eyes welling up. Molly hands me a tissue as she swings my table in place so I can reach my things.

  “I’ll get you up when the gridlock clears, okay, Fran? Just wait a bit for me, darlin’. I’m going to my next. You’ve got the bell for emergencies. I’m keeping the curtains closed.”

  Molly leans in.

  “I told her you’d be saying a little prayer for her. So you better get on that.”

  There’s no humour in Molly’s eyes.

  A prayer? That’s quite an assignment for an agnostic like myself, but I’ll do my best.

  * * *

  I hear the daughter telling the new lady that’s she’s going to take her for a tour, and a moment later Molly blows in, gets me up, and parks me in the dining room.

  When Fabby puts me to bed after shift change, our room is empty except for Nana, but Fabby draws the curtains around my bed anyway.

  “Stella’s going to put your new neighbour to bed,” she says. I’m dying of curiosity—after all, we’ll be living together—and I bang on my table and point at the curtain.

  “No, Frannie. Keep it closed. Just for a bit. Give the new lady some privacy.”

  I would like to pout, but Fabby keeps talking.

  “You haven’t met her yet?”

  No.

  “She’s quite with it. I think.”

  I make the more sign with my hand.

  “Um. They call her Tiny.”

  Tiny? What kind of a name is that? I shake my head.

  “I’m not sure what to say, Frannie. Best you see for yourself soon enough.”

  Fabby smiles kindly. “I know you won’t tattle, but it’s unprofessional for me to gossip about the other residents.”

  Now I’m smirking.

  “Yes. I know. We do it all the time. But we shouldn’t. It isn’t right.”

  Maybe so. But I’m straining to catch every word when Stella brings Tiny into the room.

  * * *

  Are you pretty tired?


  I really am, dear. It’s been a long day.

  The OT says you can stand at the bar. Would you like to sit on the commode before I put you to bed?

  Well, I don’t know, dear. I think maybe I’d better.

  Alright then.

  I can hear Stella wheeling Tiny into the bathroom.

  Both hands on the bar. Bring your feet back from the wall.

  I don’t want to slip.

  Yes. But when your toes are against the wall, you’re water skiing. Step back so that you can stand upright, and your legs and back will support you, not your arms. Here. I’m putting my foot between your toe and the wall. You won’t slip. Now try again.

  I’m…can’t you help me?

  You have to be able to do this by yourself. I’ll give you a little boost on the tailbone but that’s it. One more try. Or we’ll have to use the lift.

  Not the lift!

  Very well, then. I want to see how strong you are. One, two, three. That’s it.

  I hear Stella’s rapid scuffle; I know the drill. Pants off, wheelchair whipped away, commode whipped under…and plunk, bottom down.

  Well, my lady. We won’t be doing that again.

  That was hard!

  Tiny is almost wailing.

  Indeed it was. According to the OT you’re fine on days, but not when you’re tired by my eye, and I’ll not let you be a danger to me. You were a nurse. You know what’s what. I’ll not injure myself.

  I would never hurt you!

  And I shall never let you, love.

  Stella marches into our room and begins the bedtime preparations. She likes to pull the covers back her own certain way—one side folded back neatly, then the other, forming a point that Stella then pulls back, making a fan fold of the blankets at the end of the bed. It looks like origami. While she’s working, she calls to Tiny, still seated on the commode in the bathroom.

  Do you wear your own nightgown?

  Yes, my daughter just bought me a new one.

  Sweet Lord. Days will never get this off her, Stella mutters to herself.

  She stomps off, impatience radiating like a halo.

  Hello? Hello? I think I’m done now.

  Forgetting I can’t tell Tiny that Stella’s gone, I squawk like a seagull. It’s no help at all.

  Tiny begins to sob. When I bang my table, she cries louder. Then I remember my bell and ring it just as Stella comes back. She pokes her head around my curtain, eyebrows raised, and I jerk my thumb towards the bathroom. Stella stabs the off switch, tsks at me and disappears. I hear footsteps, and then Stella calls into the hallway.

  Fabby? I’ve got that bell.

  Then she swoops into the bathroom.

  What’s all this, my lady? I’ve brought you a hot blanket and a gown.

  I thought you’d left me here!

  No, my dear, that would never be. Now you’ll kindly wash your face, and I’ll attend to your back.

  Thank you, dear. You couldn’t find my nightgown?

  I found one, Tiny, but it’s too small. This one is nice and warm. Lift your arms, please.

  Do you have to put that on me?

  Stella must be putting the sling around her.

  Of course. How else am I to get you into the bed?

  I’ll walk there, of course.

  Indeed.

  I always put myself to bed.

  We’d best use the lift tonight. You’re very tired.

  No! I’ll get into bed myself!

  Leaving her on the commode, Stella wheels Tiny into the room, next to her bed.

  So, put yourself on the bed, my lady.

  I’m holding my breath, but nothing is happening. Tiny starts to cry again.

  That will be all. It’s time for bed.

  No! I don’t want that! I don’t like it.

  One, two, three.

  Tiny shrieks as Stella uses the lift to move her from the commode to the bed.

  That was awful! Don’t you ever do that again!

  Now a quick wash down below.

  Stop! Didn’t you hear me?

  I heard you. You’ll wash just the same.

  Leave me alone! What are you doing?

  I’m attaching the brief, my lady, so you don’t pee all over the bed, for then I’ll have to come in and change you, and you’ll not like that.

  I don’t pee the bed. Don’t be so ridiculous!

  And I’ve a nice hot blanket for you. There you be.

  Tiny’s answer sounds like a moan.

  Here’s your bell, my lady. Call me if you need me.

  I hear Fabby’s footsteps, and then her voice.

  How’d it go? I heard the yelling.

  I did but a lick and a promise down below, and she’s resistive with the lift, but she’ll do.

  Did she pee on the commode?

  No. Exercise in futility.

  Oh no. Is she another Gladys?

  Don’t you be worrying, Fabby. It’s too soon to judge. She’ll settle. Most of them do. Have you finished?

  I think I’m done, except for last round. But oh, I’m so tired!

  Stella is suddenly all attentive concern.

  You go rest then. I’ll finish up here. I don’t want to see you for twenty minutes.

  When will this end! It’s so exhausting.

  In about twenty years, love. Unless you decide to have more.

  Oh my God, no way. This is it. I’m never doing this again.

  Stella laughs.

  You’ll forget all about it when you’ve got that babe in your arms, you’ll see.

  Fabby is pregnant! Oh my goodness!

  * * *

  Tiny rings several times in the night. The conversation is always the same.

  You rang?

  Yes, dear, I need to use the little girls’ room.

  I’ll give you the bedpan.

  The bedpan! I can’t pee lying down.

  I can roll your head up a bit.

  Why can’t I go to the little girls’ room?

  Honey, we don’t have enough staff on nights to use the lift. It’s not safe. Only people who are independently mobile get up at night.

  I don’t need a lift. I can get myself up!

  Sweetie, I don’t think so.

  What are you talking about? I always get myself up!

  Julie lets her try to show her that she can’t, and that makes her cry. Julie rolls her over, puts her on the bedpan and tells her to ring when she’s done. Which she does, but, forgetting she’s on the bedpan, she asks to use the little girls’ room again. Finally she manages to wake Alice up, and then Julie is really angry.

  The night shift staff carry phones because there are so few of them and they could be anywhere, so Julie calls the nurse.

  Do we have anything for our new lady? She won’t settle.

  —

  Not even an order for Ativan? Does she have a sleeping pill?

  —

  I can’t get a spec. She’s not peeing in the pan at all, she’s wet when I get there. I guess she could have a UTI but days will have to spec her, and that’s not going to help me here and now.

  —

  Okay, fine then. Can you throw some milk in the microwave for me? And Alice is up.

  —

  Yeah, fantastic. I’m really enjoying myself, thanks.

  Julie gives the phone a vicious poke with her middle finger as Tiny pipes up again.

  Dear? I need to use the little girls’ room.

  Tiny, you’ve really got to get some sleep here. What do you usually do when you have trouble sleeping?

  Well, usually I get up and I do a little tidying…

  So glad I asked. I’m just going to roll you up a bit here. How about a nice cup of hot milk? Sometimes tha
t’s just the ticket when you can’t sleep.

  Well, that sounds…

  Oh, Heather. Thank God. Let’s do up this room, cuz I swear, if we ever get them settled, I’m not coming in here again!

  I hear the dream team changing Nana’s brief and positioning her on her flip side, then moving to Mary before it’s my turn.

  “Poor Frannie,” Heather whispers. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

  A wave of exhaustion rolls over me—I hadn’t realized how tense I had been feeling.

  “Don’t worry, Frannie, my love. She’ll settle. They always do eventually.”

  “One way or another.”

  “Now, Julie. Try to let it wash over you, Francesca. Do you want an Ativan? We can’t give her any, but I know you’ve got orders for one if you want it.”

  What I really want is a cold glass of Chardonnay and a cigarette…but what the heck, Ativan will have to do. I nod.

  Dear? I need to use the little girls’ room.

  Jules, grab a hot blanket, would you? Get one for Alice too.

  Heather slips between the curtain and the wall.

  Now, Tiny. How’s your hot milk?

  Oh! It’s just delicious.

  Well, you drink that while it’s nice and warm. I see you’ve got a teddy bear here, that’s a comfort.

  Oh! Give him to me.

  Here you go, lovey. Here’s a hot blanket. Isn’t that nice and cozy? You go to sleep now, Tiny. It’ll be morning before you know it.

  They leave the door open a crack on the way out. I can hear the dirty linen cart being rolled down the hall. Alice is muttering to herself, but at least she’s in bed for the moment, and Nana is almost snoring. Tiny’s plastic cup upsets on the table with a little clatter.

  “Oh dear!” she says to herself, and starts to snivel, but after a few moments, her whimpering stops, and the whole room is rich with sonorous breathing.

  When the pill nurse comes in silently, I open my mouth and she pops the Ativan under my tongue. She puts a finger to her lips and slides away; my consciousness is right behind her.

  * * *

  I wake up groggy and I can feel how wet my brief is. I must have slept through breakfast. Molly is getting Tiny up, and from what I can hear, she’s a different person on days. She knows where she is, she knows it’s September and she accepts the lift without making a peep. I hear Molly praising her for how well she stands at the bar, and when Molly washes her bits, Tiny thanks her and tells her how nice it is to be clean. Then she sits at her bedside table in her wheelchair, brushing her own teeth and fussing with her curly hair. She looks just like an older, miniature version of her daughter.