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Show Nursing home/5 her. The sounds never cease in a nursing home. Slippered feet shuffle down the hall, heels clacking against the tiles. Nurses enunciate loudly to patients, callers plead for a commode, phones ring frequently, television sets drone on. All are punctuated by pleas of the elderly. "Nurse!" "Help!" "Die! Die! Die!" A gentle nurse came to the next bed where a stroke patient slept, ghostlike. "Rachel," she whispered. "We need to put this tube down your nose. I know it hurts and you don't want it, but it's the only way to feed you until you can learn to swallow again. Please help us and don' t fight us, Rachel." Rachel's hollow eyes urged, "No." But when your hands are tied to the bed and a stroke leaves you speechless, even your voice won't cooperate to tell the world you are hurting. So the team came in with tubes and tranquilizers. Their mission was to get the food started so a positive report could be given to the doctor. He never saw Rachel's agony while she submitted to his orders. The curtain between the event and me shielded only my eyes but I heard all the groans and choking and gagging. I also heard the warmth and goodness of nurses with incredible patience. They pleaded, waited, tried again and again, for a half-hour. When Rachel succeeded, they praised her sincerely. Each had done her task. Rachel was left motionless; the milky fluid dripped from the bag hanging over her bed into her emaciated body. A camaraderie soon developed between us and the middle-aged children of the patients. Such friendships became a support system that kept us going |
