An Evening At The Nursing Home

There she laid, with her mouth wide open, motionless except for the slight rising and lowering of her chest, each of her limbs tied loosely to the bed frame with pieces of stained white cloth.

By the side of her bed stores her few measly belongings. Biscuits, milk powder, toothbrush. All tagged with her name. A name that I read but did not commit to memory.

At the other corner of the room was another woman, probably in her early 50s, with her full head of jet black hair looking out of place among the other residents. She was also lying on her bed, but not sleeping, just staring at the ceiling, presumably deep in thought, paying no heed at all to my friend and I.

An old man sat outside, his walking stick next to him, as he scribbles away on his newspaper, fiercely trying to maintain his dignity, his mind, his sanity, or whatever is left of it.

Another resident, afflicted with what I can only guess is Parkinson's disease, sat watching an English documentary being shown on the television.

These were the scenes that surrounded me when I accompanied a friend to visit her aged grandmother, her mah mah, at a nursing home in Petaling Jaya. I've been to children's home before, but I have never visited an old folks' home prior to this.

My friend visits her mah mah at least twice a week, taking turns with her family members to bring food, drinks, and company to the old lady. I requested that she bring me along the next time she went, and that was how I ended up spending an evening at the nursing home.

Tonight, she brought sweet potatoes and yogurt, and her mah mah was delighted with the sight of the former. She has difficulties talking and even recognising her family members, but you could sense a build up of excitement and approval when she was shown the brown starchy tuber root.

When I helped to wheel her to the dining table, my friend asked her mah mah to lift up her legs instead of letting it drag on the floor. I asked if she would prefer I put the foot rest of the wheel chair down to make it easier for her mah mah. My friend explained that getting her to lift her legs may be the only form of exercise her grandmother will have for her weaken legs muscles and knees.

Seeing my friend talking to her mah mah, holding her right hand gently while encouraging her to use her left hand to hold the spoon and feed herself, it left me with a lasting impression, how two women, separated by more than fifty years and two generations continue to bond for however long it may last.

The attempts at conversation my friend had with her mah mah would probably be the only intelligent stimuli the old lady has had the entire day.

The rest of that evening,  one could only hear the sound from the television and the occasional chatter of the foreign staffs, and I suspect that the days would not be much different.

My friend used a wet towel to wipe her mah mah's face after the sweet potatoes, and banana cake softened with milk.

We left after tucking her grandmother in for the night.

Many of us don't like to be reminded of our mortality. We live our life like there is always tomorrow. The truth is, there is, but it may be a tomorrow that we are not part of.

We all tend to forget that each of us has an expiry date, and contrary to what is widely believed, this expiry date is not the day we finally pass on. No, our expiry date is the day when we start to lose our cognitive abilities, our physical functions. When all you have is the air between your lungs, that is when it is too late.

One may be lucky to live a life to a hundred, but as witnessed by myself on this fateful night, many reach an age where growing old gracefully and with your dignity intact seems like the impossible pursuit of the Holy Grail.

I was reminded of my own maternal grandmother while I was at the home, and I remembered all the morning walks that me and my siblings took with her through the shops in Damansara Uptown. She passed away fifteen years ago due to cancer, and yet my sisters, brother and I still speak of her fondly, as if she is still among the living (My sister related to me how she was recently burned by an incense stick by my late grandmother while praying, as a lesson for being "angry" at my grandmother for not helping my sister win the lottery after having a bird pooped on her).

My apologies if you are searching for a lesson in this post, for there is none to be had. No enlightenment. No morality posturing. No guilt trip to make you feel like you should spend more time with your aged parents and your loved ones.

This is a mere record of my evening spent at the nursing home. I cannot claim that I left that evening a better person, a learned man, but it is an experience that I would not forget in a haste.

Note: A huge thank you to my friend who was willing to let me publish my thoughts and observations of the intimate moments she shared with her mah mah, as well as inviting me to be part of the evening. 

Faith in our generation, restored.