The Ex Files

Primping on Death Row

"My father's right side is paralyzed, and he can't talk. Just gibberish. They're working on him in the stroke unit but they aren't holding out much hope of improvement. They've fast-tracked him for placement in a nursing home. There's nothing open in Gananoque right now, so they're looking further afield."

Eleanor kept snipping automatically as she talked. She tried to focus on what she was doing instead of what she was thinking, but it was impossible. Her mouth kept opening, and the words tumbled out like a waterfall.

"Mom is going to live with Len and Lanyse, so she can see the grandkids every day. They included an in-law suite when they built the house. Mom and Dad lived there when they first moved to Ontario, but Dad said he felt like a king without a castle, so they bought a small house. That's going to be sold now. Dad gave Len his POA for property, because he said Mom didn't have the sense God gave a goose where financial matters were concerned, and she would be completely lost if something happened to him."

She moussed Mrs. Willoughbee's hair, turned on the dryer, and started styling, trying to make her fine, wiry hair look as bouffant as possible. The noise drowned out any possibility of conversation.

When Eleanor turned the dryer off, Mrs. Willoughbee looked up at her. "This must be very difficult for you, my dear."

"Be that as it may, I have no right to dump it on you. Hairdressers are supposed to listen to their clients' woes, not the other way around." Eleanor rotated Mrs. Willoughbee's chair and held up a mirror so she could see the back of her hairstyle. "What do you think?"

Mrs. Willoughbee tilted her head and examined her crowning glory from all angles. "It's lovely, dear. Exactly what I had in mind. I'm having family visiting on Sunday, and I will feel much better now that I don't look like an old frump. The great-grands are going to show me their Hallowe'en costumes. Will you be here to help me primp for the occasion?"

"Yes, indeed." Eleanor had the coming week-end off, but she wasn't going to let this lovely lady down. The volunteers meant well, but they weren't professionals. "What time would work best for you?"

"Eleven, perhaps. Just before lunch. I won't be lying down again until after they're gone."

"Eleven it is." Eleanor pulled her monthly planner out of her pocket. "I'll mark it on my calendar so I don't forget."

"Do you have time for a little walk around the courtyard before I return to my room? I'm perfectly capable of going by myself, but I always feel nervous."

"I'd be happy to. I have a permanent scheduled in twenty-five minutes, but I'm all yours until then. I'll just dash down to your room and get your coat."

"Let's walk together. I need the exercise."

Eleanor removed the plastic cape, brushed the last bits of hair off Mrs. Willoughbee's neck and shoulders, and swept up the debris on the floor. Mrs. Willoughbee waited patiently until Eleanor brought her walker over, put on the brakes, and helped her out of the chair. They proceeded down the hallway side by side, pausing frequently to greet fellow pedestrians and peek into open doors to exchange a few words.

"You know everybody here!" Eleanor said admiringly.

"Not as well as I used to. I used to spend a lot of time visiting back and forth, but I've been hiding out in my lair since two of my close friends died. I just don't have the heart to keep getting involved with people who are going to die on me."

It's like living on death row, Eleanor thought. Sitting and watching and wondering who is going to be next. We need to bring some young people in here to liven up the place. I wonder if Eileen would listen, or brush me off and tell me to talk to the volunteer coordinator/activities director. I haven't even met her in person, just read her cheery little e-mails. She's like a mythological being, shut up in her office networking.

I wonder what Dad's life will be like. If Mom can't visit him every day, he will be a lost soul. It must be hell not being able to communicate.

Eleanor pushed her gloomy thoughts deep down and smiled at Mrs. Willoughbee. "Let's just enjoy what we can today. We haven't had a killing frost yet. The mums are still blooming madly."

They walked around the tiny circular walkway twice. Mrs. Willoughbee's mobility improved with each step. Her cheeks pinked in the cool air, and she looked much more alert when she sat down on her walker and surveyed the flower beds. Eleanor pulled up a chair beside her.

"That was great!" Eleanor said. "You were moving much faster than the first time we came out here."

"Practice makes perfect. I really should do this more often."

"Maybe you could invite a friend to come along."

Mrs. Willoughbee nodded her head. "Good suggestion. I don't know if I'll do it, but it's a good idea. My doctor says my health is exceptionally good for my age – don't you hate that term, "for your age"? – so it's too soon to give up. The days are far too long if I don't do anything. I've been taking too many naps and having sleepless nights as a result."

"Maybe you could organize a walking club," Eleanor said.

"You mean, do something that our keepers didn't plan and execute? That's a novel idea!"

"You're not in jail."

"It feels like it most days. Most of the staff are patronizing, or bossy, or both."

"If I get that way, be sure to let me know."

"I will. You're different from the others. You haven't been here long enough to pick up any bad habits, and I'd like to keep it that way. You listen to me as if I actually know what I'm talking about."

"I love your stories and your commentary on life. There's a new volunteer who's going to cover for me on Saturday – a sixteen-year-old named Carrie. She's just had a half-hour orientation so far, so she'll be green as grass. Maybe you can educate her about life before smart phones."

"And life without electricity and indoor plumbing! She'll think I'm senile and imagining things."

"I have to get back to the salon now before Mrs. Dalton decides to perform her own science experiment. I told her I would pick her up in her room when I was ready for her, but she has probably installed herself in the chair already, waiting."

"Tell her she's welcome to drop by my room and show off her new perm. She talks too much, but she's okay in small doses."