Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Wild Women

I am happy to report that Bea’s bedsore is better. Nurse Jane decided to remove the DuoDerme and apply Bag Balm instead. I have been conscientiously turning Bea from side to side. The combination seems to work: the lesion is almost healed.

I’m on the phone with a prospective bed & breakfast guest when Jane arrives to check on Bea.

“How are you today?” I hear her ask in the next room.

“I’ve been feeling lonely,” Bea says.

Lonely she will be no longer as Jane settles in by her bedside. Today our favorite nurse is wearing a red and white checkered shirtsleeve dress, ornamented by a brooch of a wild woman with electrified blue hair. I ask the origin.

“Picked it up at the Wild Women weekend in Provincetown,” she tells us. “Bet you would have liked that, Bea. A wild weekend with the girls?”

“No,” Bea says, in a quite-sure voice.

“How about spending a wild weekend with men?”

“Yes. That’s much more likely …”

We do not pursue the topic further, although the twinkle in Bea’s eye indicates the idea has sparked pleasant memories.

Before leaving, Jane examines Bea’s bedsore and exclaims over the results our miracle balm has produced: “We are miracle workers!”

“And I have a miracle daughter.”

Bea smiles up at me with pride as Andrea Bocelli begins his serenade, the melodic voice creating a seamless seguy from our peaceful conversation.

Such moments make it all worth it.

But elderly care can be a rough ride ...

Bea has had so many good visits of late. Her mind has been totally there until tonight, after ice cream, when she asks this disconcerting question:

“Do you have any more little playmates for me?

“Playmates?”

“Somebody to talk to.”

“Oh, you mean the ladies who have been coming in, like Lisa and Jane?”

“Yes, playmates. Because I’m a little girl now ...”

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