Friday, March 18, 2011
It’s been an unusually newsy week:
1) I started a new (second) job on Monday, back at The Seattle Times. This is exciting news on every front, except for its impact on my Soldiers Home time: I now have only one work-free day a week.
2) I visited Mike in the hospital Sunday and warned him I probably wouldn’t see him again till Friday. He was very excited about my new job, but I felt bad abandoning him. He has charmed his way into the hearts of the staff, but otherwise, I’m afraid you could count his visitors on two hands—and I would be six or seven fingers on my own.
3) I called Mike Monday and Tuesday, when he was one of the first patients moved into the new hospital tower—he loved his 50” TV screen and panoramic view, and he seemed really settled into the routine of things. I guess that’s natural, after more than two weeks there.
4) On Wednesday, my second day of my second job, a nurse called to tell me Mike was being released from the hospital. I couldn’t tell whether he’d improved enough to leave, or whether they’d done all they could for him.
5) I saw Mike today at the Soldiers Home, and I still don’t know. At one point, he was in bed reading a Hospice brochure with a horrible title along the lines of, “So … You’re Dying!” But he’s been through Hospice before and outlived his welcome, so, again … I just don’t know.
6) I sat at Trivia for a while today while Mike caught up with a couple of staffers. I said hi to Dick and a few other residents, but I felt asea without my smart (and smart-ass) Mike anchor.
7) I broke the news today to the Activities Coordinator that I no longer can work Wednesday-night Bingos, and that I’d need to miss a couple sessions over Spring Break, too. This also jars me, because I am the only Home Bingo volunteer. If I don’t show up, and nobody else comes to help … no Bingo for you.
Last week, after that miserable Bingo night of The Lost Man, I called my mom to commiserate. “Maybe you’ve done your time, Honey,” she told me. I told her I probably still had more to do—and then, the night I connected with Dick, I took that as affirmation. But this whole up-and-down-and-then-down-some-more experience with Mike has left me a little unsteady. I really do not want to drift away from the amazing people at the Soldiers Home—but caring can be awfully hard.
It’s been an unusually newsy week:
1) I started a new (second) job on Monday, back at The Seattle Times. This is exciting news on every front, except for its impact on my Soldiers Home time: I now have only one work-free day a week.
2) I visited Mike in the hospital Sunday and warned him I probably wouldn’t see him again till Friday. He was very excited about my new job, but I felt bad abandoning him. He has charmed his way into the hearts of the staff, but otherwise, I’m afraid you could count his visitors on two hands—and I would be six or seven fingers on my own.
3) I called Mike Monday and Tuesday, when he was one of the first patients moved into the new hospital tower—he loved his 50” TV screen and panoramic view, and he seemed really settled into the routine of things. I guess that’s natural, after more than two weeks there.
4) On Wednesday, my second day of my second job, a nurse called to tell me Mike was being released from the hospital. I couldn’t tell whether he’d improved enough to leave, or whether they’d done all they could for him.
5) I saw Mike today at the Soldiers Home, and I still don’t know. At one point, he was in bed reading a Hospice brochure with a horrible title along the lines of, “So … You’re Dying!” But he’s been through Hospice before and outlived his welcome, so, again … I just don’t know.
6) I sat at Trivia for a while today while Mike caught up with a couple of staffers. I said hi to Dick and a few other residents, but I felt asea without my smart (and smart-ass) Mike anchor.
7) I broke the news today to the Activities Coordinator that I no longer can work Wednesday-night Bingos, and that I’d need to miss a couple sessions over Spring Break, too. This also jars me, because I am the only Home Bingo volunteer. If I don’t show up, and nobody else comes to help … no Bingo for you.
Last week, after that miserable Bingo night of The Lost Man, I called my mom to commiserate. “Maybe you’ve done your time, Honey,” she told me. I told her I probably still had more to do—and then, the night I connected with Dick, I took that as affirmation. But this whole up-and-down-and-then-down-some-more experience with Mike has left me a little unsteady. I really do not want to drift away from the amazing people at the Soldiers Home—but caring can be awfully hard.
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