When I arrived at Park Terrace, Suzie was reclined in bed, visiting with Kevin. I pulled out a heart-shaped box of Hersey's miniatures and yelled "Happy Valentine's Day." At that moment, from behind the pulled curtain, Suzie's roommate began to cry. I wondered if the roommate understood what I had said -- that she was missing Valentine's Day and would be, most likely, for the rest of her life.
"It's a bad day," her mother said.
Her cries were tough to listen to: a moaning wail, desperate and loud and tragic. I feel terrible whenever I see the roommate (I think her name is Joan) and her mother, Mrs. Lee, who is tireless in her devotion to her daughter, and in her support of Suzie. The young woman was apparently in a car wreck and appears to have lost a good portion of her skull. It's hard to look at her without gawking.
But, at the risk of sounding uncaring, I wish Suzie was sharing her room with someone else. I wish she was with someone higher functioning, someone who might engage her in conversation, someone in less dire straights. Suzie has always been something of an empath and I think her current state has only heightened that. She is clearly affected by her roommate's plight, and not, I believe, in a positive way.
It became clear to both Kevin and me that getting her out of the room was the only way to allow Suzie to focus. So, with her dad's help, we moved her from the bed to her wheelchair.
A clarification on this: Suzie can stand, with assistance. She is more mobile than she was last Fall, but less than I hoped she'd be after 6 months of physical therapy. Her right side remains largely immobile, but she appears to be able to partially support her frame while standing.
If you have any question about Suzie's mental acumen, you need only watch her with the Matisse sticker book that Kevin brought. After Kevin jumped on his Schwinn for the Tour de L.I.E., Suzie and I worked on a Matisse picture and her laser focus in duplicating the art was startling.
This was a great learning experience for me. Asking her to be engaged by a Dora the Explorer coloring book, I think, entirely misses the mark. Understanding that Suzie is still an adult woman -- and an artistic one -- is vital to her engagement and to her healing. Brilliant choice on Kevin's part.
I have fought the urge to take a picture of Suzie to post for all of you who have not visited. I have a sense that she would rather I not do that, if only because of issues of pride. But I did take a picture of the sticker art that we worked on. The left side is the original artwork. The right is Suzie's version, comprised of more than 20 stickers:
Suzie's work was limited only by the dexterity of her left hand, which still trembles when being put to use, and the difficulty in working with stickers one-handed. But mentally (and artistically) she was spot on. And she was talking too. Last Sunday, I visited along with Janine, Mia, Kay Hayward, Suzie's friend Betty and Betty's husband and adorable son Alex. It was a big group and, I think, a bit overwhelming for Suzie. She didn't do much talking last week, but yesterday, she was working hard. The words didn't come our right, but she kept at it. She even mastered "Shut the fuck up!" which we prompted her to say to me whenever I get too aggressive (which is always).
Around 5 PM, after Kevin had left, Suzie became noticeably distracted. I asked her why.
"The clock," she said.
"It's 5," I said. "Why? Are you hungry."
"Yes. Dinner," she said.
I spent a while in the hospital a long time ago and I can attest to the comfort of routine, and the importance of mealtime. Even if the food isn't very good, it's still a high point of the day. So we headed back upstairs and Mr. Moon helped Suzie prepare for dinner.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Suzie said, as I put on my jacket.
"Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Suzie," I said. "And what's my name?"
"Will," she said, unprompted, for the first time since all of this happened.
No comments:
Post a Comment