Saturday, June 3, 2006
This evening...make that this morning...I am haunted by a peculiar memory.
In June of 2004, when my mother was visiting the hospital because her hemoglobin was dangerously low and it was believed she needed a blood transfusion (which she did and she received), we spent hours in the Emergency Room before she was admitted. Her transfusion began in the ER, in fact.
Occupying the partition next to us (and clearly heard) were two Ancient women, one of whom had brought in the other. The Delivery Ancient was alert and literate, although, not having been present at the onset of her companion's health crisis, was limited to descriptions of observed symptomatic behavior rather than descriptions of what happened. It seemed clear to my mother (she was as attentive to the play unfolding next to us as was I) and me, though, that the woman who needed treatment was also suffering from dementia, probably aggravated by this health crisis.
Although I'm not sure why, the Delivery Ancient was not able to stay with the one physically distressed. Both women homed at an assisted living facility, although the name was never mentioned. All we heard was that there would be a gap in attendance demarcated by the Delivery Ancient's departure and the arrival of someone in a medical supervisory capacity from the facility.
Within minutes after the Delivery Ancient left a decision was made to perform a procedure on the woman 'suffering' (as, that's what it sounded like, although not necessarily and only the fault of the medical staff) that apparently involved a gynecological exam. The attending male staffer (probably an RN) was attempting to prepare the patient for the procedure. The patient, whose health crisis and dementia were now compounded by having been abandoned in an emergency room without a familiar advocate, immediately and loudly began resisting the ministrations of the staffer. Her resistance was so startling Mom and I stared at each other: The woman seemed to mistake the RN for someone who was attempting to rape her. She was yelling such things as: "Don't touch me there! No one is supposed to touch me there! My mother told me not to let anyone touch me there!" These cries were punctuated by vocalizations very much like those exhibited by Sally Field when she one of Sybil's multiple personalities who misunderstood a benign sexual approach from Brad Davis' character and thought she was about to be sexually abused.
It was excrutiating for my mother and me to listen to this woman's tangle of fear and memory turn what needed to be a healing experience into a theater of fright. At first, it sounded like the RN was stunned and at sea. He tried to talk sense to this woman, who was clearly senseless. Then he sharpened his voice and tried to order her into cooperating with the procedure. I doubt she understood anything he said but his voice raised her levels of fear and fight (yes, "fight", not "fright"). She resisted all the more. Finally, the RN, without apology but also without personal investment in the procedure or the patient, ordered that the woman be strapped to the gurney.
It sounded like the assistants were strapping down a wild animal. My mother and I both winced.
The assistants became frantic. The RN lost control of the atmosphere. All of them decided to abandon the woman and seek a doctor's opinion before continuing. They left a frail, vulnerable woman alone in complete confusion to try to sob and wail herself into some sense of her situation. My mother was wheeled out soon after for some kind of test, I don't remember what. I followed. When we returned, the woman, and the pandemonium, were gone.
After my mother and I returned to the emergency room we talked about what might have been going on in that woman's mind and what past experiences and acquired wisdom had informed her interpretation and reaction. We continued our consideration of the incident throughout the next few days while my mother remained in the hospital for observation.
Coincidentally, a day or so later I was at a video store with a friend taking a break from protecting my mother in the hospital while she napped. As I milled about surveying the stock, I overheard a woman much older than I, perhaps the same age as the woman in distress in the emergency room, asking about the video version of Sybil. The woman insisted that she wanted "the theater version", not "the television version," the one, she elaborated, "with Sally Field and Joanne Woodward." Because I had recently been reminded of the movie and still had it on my mind, I stepped up to correct and inform both the customer and the clerk in the store. I proceeded matter-of-factly and thought the customer would appreciate the information. I even delivered it with a tone meant to reassure the woman that whatever "version" (there is actually only one) of the movie the store had, if it involved Field and Woodward it would be the version she wanted. For some reason, this information inflamed the woman to attempt an irrational argument with me. I was too alarmed to engage. I stepped back into the aisles to locate my friend.
Then, the day after my mother returned home from the hospital, we were channel surfing and noticed that Sybil was airing on a cable channel, truly unusual since it's not one of those perennial repeats. We glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in amused surprise, and spent the evening watching the movie, then talking about what each of us remembered from reading the book.
I don't know why I've been fixated on these series of related incidents tonight but they've been on my mind so hard and so long this evening that I decided to mention and describe them.
Not unexpectedly, I suppose, I suddenly have a desire to see Sybil, again.
Occupying the partition next to us (and clearly heard) were two Ancient women, one of whom had brought in the other. The Delivery Ancient was alert and literate, although, not having been present at the onset of her companion's health crisis, was limited to descriptions of observed symptomatic behavior rather than descriptions of what happened. It seemed clear to my mother (she was as attentive to the play unfolding next to us as was I) and me, though, that the woman who needed treatment was also suffering from dementia, probably aggravated by this health crisis.
Although I'm not sure why, the Delivery Ancient was not able to stay with the one physically distressed. Both women homed at an assisted living facility, although the name was never mentioned. All we heard was that there would be a gap in attendance demarcated by the Delivery Ancient's departure and the arrival of someone in a medical supervisory capacity from the facility.
Within minutes after the Delivery Ancient left a decision was made to perform a procedure on the woman 'suffering' (as, that's what it sounded like, although not necessarily and only the fault of the medical staff) that apparently involved a gynecological exam. The attending male staffer (probably an RN) was attempting to prepare the patient for the procedure. The patient, whose health crisis and dementia were now compounded by having been abandoned in an emergency room without a familiar advocate, immediately and loudly began resisting the ministrations of the staffer. Her resistance was so startling Mom and I stared at each other: The woman seemed to mistake the RN for someone who was attempting to rape her. She was yelling such things as: "Don't touch me there! No one is supposed to touch me there! My mother told me not to let anyone touch me there!" These cries were punctuated by vocalizations very much like those exhibited by Sally Field when she one of Sybil's multiple personalities who misunderstood a benign sexual approach from Brad Davis' character and thought she was about to be sexually abused.
It was excrutiating for my mother and me to listen to this woman's tangle of fear and memory turn what needed to be a healing experience into a theater of fright. At first, it sounded like the RN was stunned and at sea. He tried to talk sense to this woman, who was clearly senseless. Then he sharpened his voice and tried to order her into cooperating with the procedure. I doubt she understood anything he said but his voice raised her levels of fear and fight (yes, "fight", not "fright"). She resisted all the more. Finally, the RN, without apology but also without personal investment in the procedure or the patient, ordered that the woman be strapped to the gurney.
It sounded like the assistants were strapping down a wild animal. My mother and I both winced.
The assistants became frantic. The RN lost control of the atmosphere. All of them decided to abandon the woman and seek a doctor's opinion before continuing. They left a frail, vulnerable woman alone in complete confusion to try to sob and wail herself into some sense of her situation. My mother was wheeled out soon after for some kind of test, I don't remember what. I followed. When we returned, the woman, and the pandemonium, were gone.
After my mother and I returned to the emergency room we talked about what might have been going on in that woman's mind and what past experiences and acquired wisdom had informed her interpretation and reaction. We continued our consideration of the incident throughout the next few days while my mother remained in the hospital for observation.
Coincidentally, a day or so later I was at a video store with a friend taking a break from protecting my mother in the hospital while she napped. As I milled about surveying the stock, I overheard a woman much older than I, perhaps the same age as the woman in distress in the emergency room, asking about the video version of Sybil. The woman insisted that she wanted "the theater version", not "the television version," the one, she elaborated, "with Sally Field and Joanne Woodward." Because I had recently been reminded of the movie and still had it on my mind, I stepped up to correct and inform both the customer and the clerk in the store. I proceeded matter-of-factly and thought the customer would appreciate the information. I even delivered it with a tone meant to reassure the woman that whatever "version" (there is actually only one) of the movie the store had, if it involved Field and Woodward it would be the version she wanted. For some reason, this information inflamed the woman to attempt an irrational argument with me. I was too alarmed to engage. I stepped back into the aisles to locate my friend.
Then, the day after my mother returned home from the hospital, we were channel surfing and noticed that Sybil was airing on a cable channel, truly unusual since it's not one of those perennial repeats. We glanced at each other, eyebrows raised in amused surprise, and spent the evening watching the movie, then talking about what each of us remembered from reading the book.
I don't know why I've been fixated on these series of related incidents tonight but they've been on my mind so hard and so long this evening that I decided to mention and describe them.
Not unexpectedly, I suppose, I suddenly have a desire to see Sybil, again.
