In the course of 3 hours, Lucy (my co-volunteer) and I met a total of 28 patients, 20 of which for under 5 minutes. Sometimes just five minutes is enough to make the patient feel valued, as Lucy says, "we bring a little bit of outside, inside". Anyway here is a snapshot from Monday - just a handful of patients to tell you about.
One of the first patients we met was John, an elderly gentleman lying in bed, softly spoken and very kindly. When I asked if he would like to choose some music, he recalled the time when his own mother was in an Old Peoples home and once a week were visited by two entertainers, one a singer and the other an accordionist. I presume John was visiting at the same time for he told us that after a couple of verses his mother signalled to him the motion of a rope around their necks and being yanked up! I asked John why his mother didn’t like the pair. He simply replied, “Too earnest”. I know exactly what he meant.
I asked John if he would like to hear Nat King Cole. He appeared to become a little upset and told us that on the day his parents married they went on to see Nat King Cole in concert and that Nat had interrupted his performance to announce to his audience that he had two newly-weds present and asked them to stand up to take applause. How about that? I could see tears in Johns eyes as we listened to “Smile” on the Bluetooth speaker. Some things are just meant to happen.
Further along was a patient called Patrick, lying on top of his bed, revealing his bare legs and incontinence pads. But what was odd about him was that he was wearing a deerstalker hat! I was trying to think how I might ask him about his hat. I asked him what music he might like to listen to and he said Ruby Murray. “Oh you like a good curry do you”, I joked. Patrick laughed. He then went on to say he had had a bleed on the brain. That’s when I asked,” Is that why you’re wearing a hat?” That made him laugh too! Thank God. Sometimes I say some really silly things.
Another guy Alex was asked by Liz, “How are you?” He replied, “I’m awful, but that’s not the point." There was a forget-me-not flower sign over the bed which signifies the patient is living with dementia. Alex was sitting in his chair at the side of the bed. “Would you like to stay for dinner” he said to us both, and, “I’d really like to offer you something”. We were both touched. He was a large man with a granite face and short combed back white hair. He had a voice like the comedian Tommy Cooper. I imagined him being a former heavyweight boxer. And so I asked him, making a few moves with my fists. He sat there and laughed whilst his left knee shook up and down. No, he wasn’t a boxer. I was so taken by him that I can’t remember what his work was. He was just charming, as Tommy Cooper would have been with an audience.
Another guy, Steve, had just finished eating a plate of beans and was about to start on a dish of peach slices. His face remined me of the English comedian Roy Hudd. I asked him “What is the prognosis?” He answered straightaway, “Death is the prognosis”. I laughed because this would be exactly how Roy Hudd might have made a joke. I’m still not sure whether Steve was being serious or not, but we both laughed together and had a short conversation. I offered to cut up the peach slices for him, but he said he could manage.
Another patient was Mary who apparently had been up a lot in the night walking about and causing disturbances among other patients trying to sleep. When I arrived, she was with 3 doctors who were encouraging her to go to the toilet. She caught sight of me, so to help the doctors, I immediately went through some gestures to signify ‘stand up and walk’. She was quite taken by my antics and called out my name since she could read my badge. The doctors (Japanese) could not believe that I had arrested her attention and allowed me to continue to converse with her. I could tell she was Irish and said I’ve come to play you some Irish music. I think the doctors were pleased that she might then become less agitated. So, I said to Mary “First go to toilet, then I will play some Irish music”. It worked. One of the doctors escorted her to the toilet.
When she returned, she lay comfortably on the bed, and I sat at a side chair with Liz opposite me holding the Bluetooth speaker. I mentioned a few tunes, among them “The Fields of Athenry” which has become a bit of an anthem in Irish folklore. “Well,” she said, “Athenry is where I come from”. Well as the song began, so some of the lyrics came to Mary’s lips and a tear came to her eyes. It was a good morning’s work and we had covered 3 wards.
