GROUNDED
Early in April this year, I attended a very small funeral service. There were just eight of us present, including the presiding priest. We had gathered to give thanks for the life of Mary Vallance, a resident of the Brunswick nursing home where I had been visiting since 2001. Several years ago I wrote this description of Mary, one of the most unforgettable people I have known.
GROUNDED
What a character! She brings to mind an image of a disabled bird,
alert, jerky, busy with its eyes, missing nothing but frustrated to be
grounded, unable to participate in the swooping and soaring of its companions.
She has the best room in the Nursing Home. From her bed, Mary can see every car and every person entering the property. Despite her occasional plea that she doesn’t know what’s going on, not much happens that Mary does not notice or hear about.
Mary has been on her back for over 30 years and for the last three
years she has had to receive all her food through a tube fed directly
into her stomach, and she copes with surprising grace. Her throat
condition also inhibits her speech and at times she suffers distressing
fits of coughing.
Her grey hair has been set during the week, and it sits up splendidly,
crowning a sharp, lined face, aquiline nose and large, sparkling, hazel
eyes, which are seldom still. Any noise in the corridor has her eyes
darting towards the door to locate the source of the sound and this is
often followed by the rolling of her eyes in disapproval. Her angular
chin symbolises a determined and courageous personality which has
been both shaped and tested by these extraordinary years of horizontal
life.
She has a most expressive mouth, having learned how to purse her lips to show disapproval or to feign anger. Her ears are prominent, the more so because she wears hearing aids which enable her to cope relatively well in conversation. However, Mary’s speech is indistinct, a symptom of the throat disorder which is part of her debilitating condition.
Her fingers are those of a classical pianist, long and expressive.
They are not able to grasp objects easily, so it is a painful
experience watching her trying to turn a page in her book or grasp
a handkerchief on the bed.
Mary’s sense of humour is sharp, self deprecating and eccentric.
At our first meeting we were discussing a forthcoming visit from
a Chaplain, and she confided that she was about to ask him if she
could change from being a Catholic to being a Muslim
On arrival every week, I am greeted by a cheeky grin, feigned surprise
and a mock deferential comment. I am invited to sit on the end of the bed,
pull up the bedside table and soon I am engaged in lively conversation
which ranges easily from AFL football to George Bush, from theology to
local happenings in the Nursing Home.
“How was the ballet last week,” I ask, recalling that a number of the
residents had been taken in their wheelchairs to the State Theatre for a
performance by ballet students. “ I appreciated the way they were so athletic, but the music was like a funeral. I‘d rather have gone to the football and cheered for my beloved Kangaroos.”
We tackle a crossword together and we are interrupted several times by nursing staff. Mary is all eyes. She is generous to those who are thoughtful
and capable, but to the slack or uncaring there can be a fierce grimace as
soon as their back is turned. Noticing my raised eyebrow [Mary doesn’t
miss many non-verbal responses] she explains why she is intolerant. I can
see why, having for so long been dependent, she has such a keen awareness
of not getting a person’s full attention. I am persuaded, and we continue
with the crossword.
There is a surprising lack of self-pity. While she is able to talk about the
deprivations of those long bed-ridden years, and the effect it has had on her
family, Mary has found a degree of acceptance, both of herself and her
situation, which frees her to be interested in others, to engage in their lives
and to keep alive to the world outside.
We finish the crossword. It is time to leave. I turn at the door and I receive
a cheery wave from Mary, an earthy, wise and witty woman.
Grounded indeed.
Mac Nicoll, 2006
GROUNDED
What a character! She brings to mind an image of a disabled bird,
alert, jerky, busy with its eyes, missing nothing but frustrated to be
grounded, unable to participate in the swooping and soaring of its companions.
She has the best room in the Nursing Home. From her bed, Mary can see every car and every person entering the property. Despite her occasional plea that she doesn’t know what’s going on, not much happens that Mary does not notice or hear about.
Mary has been on her back for over 30 years and for the last three
years she has had to receive all her food through a tube fed directly
into her stomach, and she copes with surprising grace. Her throat
condition also inhibits her speech and at times she suffers distressing
fits of coughing.
Her grey hair has been set during the week, and it sits up splendidly,
crowning a sharp, lined face, aquiline nose and large, sparkling, hazel
eyes, which are seldom still. Any noise in the corridor has her eyes
darting towards the door to locate the source of the sound and this is
often followed by the rolling of her eyes in disapproval. Her angular
chin symbolises a determined and courageous personality which has
been both shaped and tested by these extraordinary years of horizontal
life.
She has a most expressive mouth, having learned how to purse her lips to show disapproval or to feign anger. Her ears are prominent, the more so because she wears hearing aids which enable her to cope relatively well in conversation. However, Mary’s speech is indistinct, a symptom of the throat disorder which is part of her debilitating condition.
Her fingers are those of a classical pianist, long and expressive.
They are not able to grasp objects easily, so it is a painful
experience watching her trying to turn a page in her book or grasp
a handkerchief on the bed.
Mary’s sense of humour is sharp, self deprecating and eccentric.
At our first meeting we were discussing a forthcoming visit from
a Chaplain, and she confided that she was about to ask him if she
could change from being a Catholic to being a Muslim
On arrival every week, I am greeted by a cheeky grin, feigned surprise
and a mock deferential comment. I am invited to sit on the end of the bed,
pull up the bedside table and soon I am engaged in lively conversation
which ranges easily from AFL football to George Bush, from theology to
local happenings in the Nursing Home.
“How was the ballet last week,” I ask, recalling that a number of the
residents had been taken in their wheelchairs to the State Theatre for a
performance by ballet students. “ I appreciated the way they were so athletic, but the music was like a funeral. I‘d rather have gone to the football and cheered for my beloved Kangaroos.”
We tackle a crossword together and we are interrupted several times by nursing staff. Mary is all eyes. She is generous to those who are thoughtful
and capable, but to the slack or uncaring there can be a fierce grimace as
soon as their back is turned. Noticing my raised eyebrow [Mary doesn’t
miss many non-verbal responses] she explains why she is intolerant. I can
see why, having for so long been dependent, she has such a keen awareness
of not getting a person’s full attention. I am persuaded, and we continue
with the crossword.
There is a surprising lack of self-pity. While she is able to talk about the
deprivations of those long bed-ridden years, and the effect it has had on her
family, Mary has found a degree of acceptance, both of herself and her
situation, which frees her to be interested in others, to engage in their lives
and to keep alive to the world outside.
We finish the crossword. It is time to leave. I turn at the door and I receive
a cheery wave from Mary, an earthy, wise and witty woman.
Grounded indeed.
Mac Nicoll, 2006
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