On the shutting and opening of doors ...

Baz and I worked in his garden on Wednesday, and then wandered the walkways looking at other people's gardens. As we did so, he kept bringing the conversation back to his girlfriend at his previous aged-care facility. She had not been well, he proferred. And when I agreed, he added that she may even have died, which I confirmed. This released a gush of confabulation, whereupon not only had Margaret died, but he had been there and was the first to notice that she was slumped and no longer breathing. I took all this in my stride, and we meandered back into the facility to have my nostrils enticed by the smell of raisin toast. Yum, yum. It was 10am, and I had left home at 6:30am with nowt but a cup of coffee. It turns out that on the last Wednesday of the month, the activity room is transformed into a coffee shop, replete with menu, and waitresses. All for a gold coin. Having two such coins, we both had a cappuccino, with Baz plumping for scones with jam and cream, while I woofed into ... raisin toast. Sated, we walked the corridor back to his room to get the painting equipment. That was when we bumped into Rosemary. 'Bumped' is hardly right. Rosemary made a bee-line for him, and Baz grinned and asided, 'Here comes my new girlfriend'. Ahh ... that gives context to the morning, thinks I. So, Rosemary was instant 'family', and was included in the rest of the morning. We got his gear, went into one of the many tv lounges, and Baz painted whilst Rosemary and I chatted. She is good at chatting, is Rosemary. She is similar to Barry: healthy of body, but a smidge damaged of mind. My guess is she might be in her early 70s. My guess is that she never married. My guess is she has Alzheimers. She also has a sister, Gloria, who has a number of daughters. She was adamant that her mother is 83 and not very well. She had no idea of her own age. But did know that she used to live in a house in Carlingford with her mother and father. Barry painted away, smiling all the while, but non-committal. But all is well with his world once again. At one stage during the morning, he said that he had never had a girlfriend. I do know he spent the previous 40 years living in the forest by himself. He has a stoke and moves into aged-care, and now is onto his second 'girlfriend. Life moves in wondrous ways.

Painting by numbers

He had no idea that I missed visiting him last week, well he did not say anything. But he was unshaven for the first time at this facility, and the finger nails were dirty. We rectified both these issues.

He has hit a brick-wall with his Sudoku. I am not sure who supplies him with these booklets, but he has four of them now. He cannot go past a 3x3 arrangement. He told me this, and the partial completion in his latest book, backs this up. He wants more, but only of the type he knows he can do. Okay by me, and they are on my list for this week.

We progressed his latest canvas, and at a pleasing level. I drew the design [in theory, the wing of a butterfly] and I suggested the colours. This week we were to do the background, and I suggested a lime green, but he did not listen to this. Instead, he wanted to do a .25cm band of white around the design, which he indicated would make it appear to shimmer. Okay by me. Then he choose a green, and mixed it with white, to create another .25cm band around the shimmer of white. Then he wanted something just a bit darker to do a third .25cm band. He finished at this stage, but before packing up, said that the rest would all be an appropriate shade of green. So the painting is basic, but definitely not by numbers. The next canvas is ready to roll when he is.

Finding a purpose

This week was sliced through with public holidays, and the enticement of an extra-long-weekend, so my Wednesday or Thursday visit to Barry, became a Friday visit. I know it off by rote: leave the house at 6:30am for the 267 bus that departs the Castlecrag shops at 6:51am, arriving at Chatswood railway station at 7:07am. After a 6 minute wait I catch a train via Macquarie University to Hornsby to connect with the 7:56 to Gosford. This misses the 38 bus to Wyoming forcing me into a taxi where I use my 50% disabled voucher and pay $7 out to the Henry Kendall Aged-care facility, arrived a minute or so before 9am. Thhis gives me well-nigh 3 hours with Barry before I walk down to the Maiden's Brush Road shops and catch the 12:36 number 38 bus back to Gosford Station where I unwind the entire journey.

Yesterday was an excellent example of a visit to someone in aged-care. We spent until 10am chatting, weeding, and digging in his 'garden'. He needs to be prompted with everything, and is not able to have a self-propelling thought. There is a lot of cut-through required to get him to do things without being disrespectful and condescending. As we walked through his four-[erson room, it was obvious that two room-mates had departed since Thursday of last week. As the morning progressed, another man was being bedded down into the vacancy. I expect another passing in the next couple of weeks. He was most adamant he did NOT want his hair trimmed, so we took my trolley and toddled off to the activities room.

I had prepared a canvas with a stylised wing of a butterfly for him to pain in bright, clear colours. They have canvases like this all along the corridors, and I feel certain Barry's brain and eye responds well to them. He can 'see' them. If this simple wing works and he manages to complete the task over 3 weeks, I will prepare more for him. The activity ladies helped us set up a table with newspaper, and water for our brushes. He worked, engrossed, for about 30 minutes. Next week, we have been offered the pots of paint from Hospital Art, which I appreciate. At Barry's behest, we sat down and talked through today's copy of the Daily Telegraph. The only word that I found that he could read was 'and'. So we read the pictures instead. They were about ANZAC Day and the death of Jon Mannam and whether peptides were involved. Then Barry showed me how he does his exercises, and down one end of the room, we lunged and stretched together. After a leisurely meander down the 'east wing' we returned to the activity room where a game of Bingo had been set up for 7 women, Robbie and Baz, if we could cajole him into it.

Cathy did well to get him involved, as he was mightily hesitant, not wanting to interrupt the 'chat' of the female participants, not that they chat much, it was just his rationalisation to stay on the side-lines. However, Cathy gave him 10 cards, at least one from each suit, and a swag of milk-bottle caps. Then came the hard yards. He had to 'read' the numbers AND the suits, both of which proved elusive when there were 10 cards still in play. He could manage the reading when he was down to only 5 cards. But, with massive dollops of encouragement, he stayed the course. For the last 15 minutes we wandered the courtyards literally 'smelling the roses'. We chatted about how everything we did during the morning would go towards helping his brain to remain active. He wants the blood clot to 'dissolve'. I am more realistic than that than that. But I want him to know there are things that he can wander down and 'do'.