Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

Chapter 42: Desperate Times.

Chapter 42: Desperate Times.

Desperate times.

There are desperate times waiting do us dirty, when we slip off the wheels of the human machine. We become dependent and then we become institutionalized. We move our being into the schedule of the care facility. Do not get me wrong, the institutions do their best to keep a human face on the outside, but it is a job and as with all jobs there is an established routine. To survive you must fit into the routine.

The routine rules all aspects of a dependents life, mom was one hundred percent dependent on the kindness of strangers. People who went to work to do a job. We grew to love these dedicated professionals. Thanks. Taking care of an adult person who cannot do the most common task is like trying to look after triplets. Triplets that have had a double cappuccino, with a chocolate chaser. Impossible.

From the point of view of the patient the routine never fits, the rules never make sense, the care never enough, nor on time. There are times it behooves the patient to accept such an exchange of unequal power sharing. Anger is the most convenient reaction. Anger followed closely by bitterness and discontent. Generally, this creates tremendous anxiety for all stake holders. The medical profession deals with anxiety as a form of depression, as a result they prescribe drugs to take the sting out of the patient.

Ev was drugged for seven years, she became a dry, mouthed zombie. In more lucid moments she would say it was like being in a tangible dream. Occasionally she astral travelled to a resolution point, one so profound, yet simple. The answer was, to get me off the drugs so I can think. No one listened. She said to me, Jackie I cannot think straight I want to get off all my Meds, please help me.

It is not an easy thing to go against the medical establishment, but we got her off all medications. She became our mom again. She was still spirited and opinionated, thoughtful and resilient, she was once again, Ev.

The dark days were not so dark, we entered into a new phase, a more person to person communication era. It seemed, after all she was the matriarch of the family and we all had to listen to her needs and wants, that is just the way it was.

Over time we all adjusted. The most difficult thing to master was to avoid the dependency trap. Ev was always very happy to see visitors to her room, she would then work the time. She would have the person fluff her pillow, pull the blanket down or up, open or close the window, stand closer, mover away slightly, she moved you around with certainty, like a skillful chess player.

She needed to exert some control over her environment, this was a small price to pay to help her day move along. She used to say the day was so long, it was. If you lie in one spot with no attention what so ever the day passes as fast as the morning shadow moves across the room. Or as fast as the seasons change. There is not really any clean defined break in the day. One day moves to the next. She would relate that she was still a cripple, still totally dependent on the kindness of others.

The day's turned to months, the months to years, the years to decades. In essence people who thought of you at first, showed sympathy for your plight. But they were now long gone. The letters of well wishers dried up. The Christmas cards became fewer, the birthday wish card flitted away. Our mom was all alone. Her kids visited on a routine and frequent basis, but she needed more interaction with people. Her Chevy Van became a fun outlet.

It reminded me of a dear friend, a beautiful daughter of a wealthy General in Uganda. Back in the day, prior to Idi Amin, His Excellency and President for Life in Uganda. She grew up in extreme private wealth. She had servants, maids, tutors, riding lessons on their own estate. Then the State changed over night the family fled to Canada, with nothing. She took a job as a typist for the Federal Government. She knew how to speak six languages had two college degrees but she accepted the typist position because she was in a desperate situation. Need breeds the duty in this case.

We went for supper with her husband, Iqbal as well as a few other friends. We went to the four seasons in the middle of a bleak, cold winter. At the close of the meal the conversation turned to dessert. Azmina inquired, I feel like some fresh strawberries and fresh cream milk please. The gentleman waiter was dumbfounded. He was a great waiter he replied, but it is the middle of winter madam. There are no seasonal fruits at the Four Seasons at this point in the serving season.

Azmina, said of course you can, now run along my good man and dismissed him with a wave. A full twenty minutes had gone by, when what do we see? The return of our smiling waiter brandishing with a flourish a silver service with a crowning measure of fresh stawberries, fresh cream sluiced up the sides and a fashioned spike of whipped cream topped the delightful creation.

Here is your dessert mam, I now present your fresh strawberries and fresh cream. Azmina looked at him as if he just returned from Mars. Indeed, she continued, why I do not feel like it now. To be fair it has been too long, and I am tired and wish to go home. Mohammed, thank the man, will you?

Unbelievable, the tux dressed waiter held his thoughts in the air, pushed the sliver tray out farther into the viewing distance of the table. Not one to back down, he further stated, we had no fresh strawberries so he said he called two or three other restaurants in the downtown area. He found a friend in the kitchen at the Hilton. He had some fresh strawberries. Our man went outside in minus degree temperatures, ran across the block, secured the dessert, brought it back, put it into a fresh presentation and whisked it up to the table. Now he was blinking rapidly as he explained his quest. I thought man you deserve the award, truly beyond the call of duty. Resigned to the facts, Azmina looked even more accursed and bored.

She said well, since you put it that way, I will try one. She reached over picked out the most plumpious strawberry, swooped it once through the cream and bit the thin end in a rabbit like bite of a nibble.

She pronounced, I am sure they were very good now take them away. My oh my, Azmima you are strong in your own skin I thought as we casually walked from the restaurant.

The waiter did receive a healthy tip for his kind efforts, enough to perhaps buy a small car or send a child through college. I enjoyed her friendship and life outlook, she had been through many of lives changes, she had to adapt after leaving the Congo, but it did not change her. She was a unique human. I tell this story with fondness to my mom. I always include that we miss her and Iqbal. They will be my friends forever.

Ev was much the same as Azmima, sometimes she had a blind spot. When I shared this story with her she understood the situation completely. Ev was fickle at times and yet there were instances she was more  right, than wrong, over the long haul, time would tell