Today has been the only day where we've done what we expected to do in Alabama, and what we expected to do turned out to defy all expectations. In the morning, we visited Country Cottage, an assisted living facility in Huntsville. Apparently, they didn't expect us there, so it was very awkward finding things to do. The Activities Coordinator showed us the game and crafts cabinet and asked if we had any crafts ideas. Being 50% English majors and 50%PreMed, we said we had no idea. So she asked if we could paint nails. We said we could do that.
They split us into three different groups of two for the three different buildings. Tasha and I ended up in building with pretty reticent and solitary residents, but I know the other two groups met a lot of cool ladies and gentlemen in the other buildings.
Our experience began with painting the nails of three women: Joyce, Frances, and Oeeta. Joyce had shaky hands which she kept apologizing for. She only wanted clear nail polish. While communication was completely lucid, her memories were all very far away. She couldn't remember why she came to Huntsville from West Virginia or where her kids were or her grandkids names. It seemed to me, though, that Joyce was the sharpest one there. Even Oeeta told me that Joyce was the kind of person you could confide in and expect some communication in return. Though her memory wasn't very good, she seemed to have the greatest grasp of what was going on in this place. She watched Frances and Oeeta with a motherly eye and told us about their habits and affectations like she had studied them well. Joyce ended up being the only one who stayed out to talk to us much, and I got the feeling she was doing us a favor rather than us doing her service. She seemed to sense that none of her neighbors were particularly chatty and that we couldn't leave until we had talked to some people.
Oeeta was a sweet old lady, very giving, and very particular. She was quite excited to get her nails done, but she was disappointed by the color selection. The Activities Director only gave us two shades of bright pink and clear, and Oeeta wanted color, but light color. I found myself a little frustrated, too. I couldn't believe that they would only keep two obnoxious and similar colors around when it was clear from their hands that most of the women preferred more muted, subtle tones. Oeeta went back to her room to search for her own nail polish and brought back some candy and a photo of her family, as well as a little red, heart shaped ring. She gave us the candy and then told us about her son who lived on a ranch and taught the Bible to troubled boys. She kept bringing up her ring, and it was obvious that she cherished the cheap little object. While we waited for her nails to dry she asked me to get her one of the fake flowers from a bouquet in the dining room. I did so hesitantly, and Joyce said, "Miss Oeeta, are you sure you're supposed to take those? That's a bouquet." And Oeeta assured her that she could remember who, but someone had told her she could take whatever she wanted. I took it back to her room with her, figuring a nurse would put it away later, and it was then that I realized that Oeeta was a bit of a kleptomaniac. She showed Tasha and I all her collections of things she had found. Rocks, candy, flowers, little toys. She hoarded them in room like treasure. But for all the taking she did, she was also very generous. She looked through all her drawers for things to give us. Peppermints, chocolate kisses, Reese's, candy sticks, peanuts, fruit and nut candies, cookies. Tasha and I kept saying, "No, you're given us enough. These are yours!" and she just kept saying, "No, dear. I want you to have it. That's why they're here." I gathered she didn't get many visitors. She showed us clothes her daughter had bought her and the menu from the restaurant they had gone to on her birthday, but it seemed she was being such a gracious hostess because she rarely had guests. With our hands full of treats, we invited her to come sit with us in the TV room, but she said she had things to do and she'd see us later.
Frances only wanted her nails trimmed, and kept asking if her nails were alright. She told us over and over "If there's anything I can do for you, you let me know. I'd love to do something for you." After that she just wandered around the building asking about breakfast and picking up the same snack from the snack basket and showing it to us. Sugar-free chocolate cookies. Joyce said, "Frances is what you would call a character. She just walks around all day."
After that, Joyce just sat with us and watched TV with us. The TV was boring, and honestly, so was conversation. Joyce told us she had grown up in West Virginia, daughter of a coal miner and a teacher, but she couldn't remember anything at all about her life. We tried to share stories with her, but like I said, it seemed she was just trying to be nice to us. A few times Oeeta wandered in with more treats she had found for us. At the end of the morning, Tasha and I put many of them back without her noticing.
Meanwhile, Kassy and Lisa met Jean and Dot and sat on the front porch men-hunting. From what I gather, Jean said some pretty hilarious and raunchy things. Caroline and Meghan met some war vets and soldier's wives, and Meghan was labeled a Yankee for being from "the North."
I'll admit a little disappointment with the Country Cottage visit. It would have been nice to have met more residents and shared our time amongst the buildings. As our only morning among the age group we're supposed to be helping, it was really shame to not get much chance to interact. I wish we could have spent more time at Country Cottage to get more experience with the elderly instead of banking on one morning to fulfill all our expectations.
It was a learning experience certainly. I was struck by how much more difficult it was to talk to the old women than it was to talk to the mentally disabled at 8th Street. I thought a mental disability would make communication impossible, but it turned out memory loss was much more difficult to deal with. With Joyce, it was so hard to have a two-way conversation when she couldn't remember anything about who she was. It wasn't that I got impatient about hearing the same information over and over again, it just was difficult to make connections or find more to say.
It was also sad how much they talked about their families, and how little they got to see of them. Many were brought to Alabama from their hometowns to be near family, but their family was too busy to stop by. It also seemed to me that they did very little at the home. Obviously, the pace of life is slower in a retirement home, but the women kept to their rooms and didn't have TVs or anything. They just seemed to sleep until meals. It really sort of annoyed me that the Activities Director was shocked to see us and had nothing planned. It made me wonder if they ever have activities planned when volunteers are not expected to come. Visiting Country Cottage made me really rethink assisted living facilities and if they're the right decision for my grandparents, my parents, myself, or anyone really.
In the afternoon, we went to Manna House again. It was mostly the same as the first visit, except this time I got to work in the produce room. It was pretty depressing to see the line of people picking up rotten food, food that I would never eat. There was a woman there who was both volunteering and picking up food for her family. It was her fifty-second birthday, and she had just gotten chemo that morning. She had been fighting cancer of 6 years. The thing is, people keep confusing poverty with bad choices and poor work ethic. Sometimes that's part of the story, but a lot of the time it isn't. A middle-class person like myself could easily be put out of work by one serious illness or injury, and go seriously into debt with the expenses. This is why we need programs that protect people, not money.
Later that evening we made pancakes and watched another movie. We have it pretty good as volunteers.
Ciao for now.
