The Oppenheimer Report 7/22/13

 

Dad Taylor has shown some miniscule improvement, most notably that he seems to acknowledge his loved ones. He is still mute, we do not know what he is thinking or if he is thinking, and he is still essentially paralyzed on his right side. This is a very confusing time for our family, because lthough the neurologist has painted a grim picture of Dad Taylor’s future, we have already seen clear evidence that he can understand us in some basic ways. Shauna and her mom are worn out, and there is little I can do to help them through this troubling time.  

After two weeks in the stroke ward, one becomes familiar with the inmates. There is a lot of down time for family members waiting in a hospital, and we have begun to talk to some of the other patients and their families. Tom down the hall, a man I’d guess is in his late sixties, lives up north not far from where we live. Shauna told me he introduced himself as “Lord Tom,” but lest I think he was a Royal, he confided that any putz with sixty bucks can buy a square inch of land in Scotland online, fill out some paperwork, and become an official lord. Sounds fishy to me, but it would not surprise me if he is right. Lord Tom was in the early stages of hip replacement surgery when he had a stroke during the operation. The doctors had to cement his mangled hip back together, the one they were in the midst of sawing apart. They sewed him back up, and sent him down to Sunnybrook. Needless to say, Tom was in excruciating pain and he was screaming and ranting whenever the morphine ran out, which it often did. I felt badly for his bedmate Boris. Then again, Boris was fairly well out of it and did not complain much.

Then there was the Notebook Couple a few rooms away from us. They appeared to be very old, and the man, who always wore those big, all-encompassing, post-eye-surgery sunglasses, hardly ever left his mate’s side. She looked as if she might be suffering from some form of dementia, and he always seemed caring and attentive. He was there in the morning and did not leave until late at night. On one rare occasion, when the man was not in the room, I watched her for several minutes as she stared blankly at an egg salad sandwich she was shakily holding inches away from her mouth. I wanted to help her, but on top of the fact that the hospital would not allow it, the man was fiercely protective, allowing only nurses to enter the room. I later discovered why he was insulating them when she called me into the room to ask who was in charge. She told me she got better food when she was living in the concentration camp. I had a déjà vu moment and for an instant saw my mom in her advanced stages of dementia. I suddenly felt bad for sunglass guy. It all comes down to the lack of control, and one quickly learns that, in a hospital, one is almost completely out of control. Living with dementia and brain trauma is extremely challenging.

I made friends with an elderly lady named Betty, who was in a nearby room. She was born in Timmons Ontario, in the Great White North. She’d had quite a few strokes which had left her half blind but in control of most of her other faculties. She was funny and intelligent and I think quite alone. She was also unfortunate enough to be in the same room with a guy whom we dubbed Ghandi. He really looked like Ghandi and chanted incessantly at full volume. Ghandi quickly won the most-annoying-patient award, prying the honor away from Lord Tom. I think one of the nurses must have killed him in the middle of the night, because one day he simply disappeared. Everyone had a story, most of them were interesting, and each was living in their own square inch of Hell.

Final notes on the nation-gone-mad department: I could not believe George Zimmerman was found innocent in the murder of Trayvon Martin! Once again justice is deaf, dumb, and blind, leaving me and a lot of other baffled onlookers more than a little concerned about the state of the criminal justice system in America. What is with Florida; if you decide someone is threatening you, you automatically have the right to kill him or her? Talk about a stupid law that encourages vigilantism. And Boston bomber Tsaranov is on the cover of this month’s issue of Rolling Stone Magazine. It doesn’t make him man of the year, but it does seem a little weird and yellow journalistic. Why give a misguided zealot so much press? Is anybody still covering the victims? In Great Britain, The Royal Bun is almost out of the oven, and Kate, the Duchess of Whatever is about to pop out a monarch. There are reports that the Queen has arrived at the hospital today with The Royal Catcher’s Mit.

 More notes from my altered universe next week. Hope you are all enjoying your summer.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED