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(Note: Left as written at the time, in the present tense.)

I'm just full of thoughts today... mostly from the run-of-the-mill things that I usually do on a Saturday afternoon, but this day in particular has really struck me. Since December... I've volunteered a few hours of my time, every Saturday, to the deed of visiting the elderly. Okay, so it's not a deed.. it's not something I force myself to do. I rather enjoy it... I signed up knowing that I would be exposing myself to a hospice setting, and seeing things that would perhaps be enlightening, intriguing... and of course, saddening. All three of those things, I've felt today. These hours are spent at a place known as the 'P*******' (kept obscured, for privacy)... it's a relatively posh place in Victoria, here... a very open, well-maintained hospital for elderly folks.

Now I've been exposed to places like this before; one place, back East, was a constant setting for a certain point in time. During my grandfather Wilfred's stay, I was there often... but it was a terribly depressing place. He spent his last days there, with Alzheimer's... I was exposed to that, and I had seen many of the other folks who stayed there... unfortunately.. they were visits that were drawn from a gloomy spectrum. The people I /had/ seen were long since gone... severe dementia, paranoia, unhappiness... my dear grandfather's case included, I had witnessed the human condition in one of it's most unfortunate, painful circumstances. I never expected to be faced with it again... I still remember some of those people... and years down the road, I ultimately decided to do it again /willingly/.

So, again.. back to the here and now. The hospital in which I'm situated. The setting, honestly, is not as melancholic... big, beautifully sunny windows... lots of flowers, sounds, and trees. I've encountered people who were cognitive, reasonably content, and filled to the brim with wisdom and history. I sat with many, had chords struck by a few... but today had to be my most profound experience there, to date. I arrived sometime in the afternoon, finally received my rather tacky, newly acquired photo ID badge from the wall, and looked at the logs. 'Mrs. S', the coordinator for volunteers, had left me a note in regards to residents that she wanted me to check in with... people I hadn't met before. But before I continue with this...

I /cannot/ reveal the names of these people online. I've promised confidentiality to the residents, the people who work there, and the hospital itself... so the names of the two residents with whom I had visited won't be disclosed here. I'm going to use different names, and not reveal the real ones. These people have a right to privacy, and I'm going to respect it... so in this recollection, I'm going to use the names 'May' and 'Ella' for these two ladies.

I had met with Mrs. S in the hallway, and she had led me into a particular ward within the building that housed the patients with different levels of dementia and other degenerative mental illnesses. While I was used to working in another ward that housed rather cognitive folks, this was all pretty new to me. She led me first to this rather frail, distant looking woman who was sitting in her wheelchair, quietly. Alongside her sat a couple of other residents.. one of whom was in a deep sleep, the other reaching out/gesturing wildly and speaking --- sadly, in an incoherent fashion. But this little one who I was to be introduced to --- 'May' --- was very quiet. I pulled up a chair, and began to realize that this was a woman who was living in a completely different world. Perhaps one in which she was happy, and unaware of the surroundings she was in... while they were clean and attractive, they were still an institution. People were groaning, wandering, sleeping.... LPNs were bustling around, tending to those who couldn't take care of their own needs.

I couldn't get over how fragile this woman was, and how distant she seemed to be... her hands were so tiny, and it took her a while to form her words. She did, alas, understand me... and it turned out that once upon a time, she was a teacher. She was speaking randomly, as if talking to children... she was reciting some mathematical musings, as if teaching a class. That was all I could gather from her... but eventually, I decided to help her get comfortable, and take her for a walk through the hospital in her wheelchair. After a few minutes, we reached the aquarium with all of the fishes... and I settled her down in front of it and sat at her side. It was there that May showed a bit more awareness, and she spoke to me about the fishes... their colors, sizes. I, in turn, told her all about the types of fish that I had seen back East.. about lobsters... stuff like that. Truly, she was such a dear woman... if only I could have known more about her. Eventually, it was time to bring her back to where I had first met her... because it was nearly 2pm, and it was time for me to meet up with the resident I was assigned to. After assuring May that I would see her again next week, I went on to move a little ways down the hall to see who I would be spending some time with.

The first thing I noticed was her expression. My God, I've never seen such a degree of happiness, and how it could light up a face like that. To see someone so enthralled with the thought of having someone to /be/ there with them... to be as grateful as this lady had been. She had to be in her late eighties.. maybe early nineties. I remember her expression well... she was being wheeled towards me, but she didn't seem to be looking at me. Still, she was smiling... and one look at her eyes with their pale irises, and I knew... this was the resident I had read about, after seeing her name being stuck onto my identification badge with a post-it note. This was 'Ella', and she was blind. The first thing she did, when she was close enough to me was grab my hand and squeeze it. She looked right up at me, as I said hello... and while the LPN introduced her to me, and vice versa... I couldn't help but feel amazed. For how fragile this woman looked, she was full of spirit. She was aware, and she spoke to me... first asking how old I was, and looking surprised when I told her I was twenty --- to which she replied 'I thought you were fourteen!' and laughed thoroughly.

When I sat down beside her, she continued holding my hand tightly... and we told one another about ourselves. After a moment, she wanted to walk with me awhile... and after telling her that I was moving behind her to push the chair... I took her around the hospital, all the while conversing with her. Shortly after, I took Ella to the dining room and we sat to have a cup of tea together. There, I learned that she was from the prairies... she told me about the winters, the fun she had as a child, how her daughter ALWAYS visits her. In turn, I told her I was from Nova Scotia... and following her statement that she was never there but ALWAYS wanted to go.. I told her all about it. The Atlantic ocean, the coastline, the people, the weather... the sunsets, sunrises... as much as I could, before we finished out tea. Afterwards, she asked me what it was like outside... what I looked like... and what she was wearing, laughingly claiming that "I don't know how these people dress me, nowadays!"

We then resolved to go for another walk, and I stayed with her... and with every room we passed, I told her what was in it. What the people were doing, what their names were... every detail, from what they were doing to how they were dressed. I told her when we passed a window, and what was out there; told her every detail that I could without overwhelming her, and caught many of her smiles as she heard about the world around her. For that moment in time, I became her eyes. Doing what I could so that this woman could see again. Never, in my life, had I done something like that... how such a small, selfless act could feel so profound.

After a while, Ella became tired... and her back was sore, from sitting for so long. I then vowed to take her back to her room and fetch a nurse so that she could lie down. After wheeling her back --- and explaining everything we passed along the way --- we reached her room, and I set her aside her bed. After settling her, I went out into the hall and caught the attention of one of the LPNs who, upon arriving, told Ella that she could not lay down until 3pm, until the shift change began. It was only 2:40pm.. and this poor woman /wanted/ to rest... and now she had to wait? I could understand that these workers were tired, had long hauls, and perhaps lifting a resident for the hundredth time into their bed was daunting... but I felt melancholic, at that point. Ella was not pleased, and I sat with her and let her hold onto my hand. I told her I wouldn't leave her until /someone/ came in, and helped her lie down. As minutes went by, there were still no staff members coming to help this woman... it felt as if there were too many people to care for, and too few people to DO the caring. I realized this as I stood outside of the door waiting for an LPN, after assuring Ella that I would find someone... and when I looked in and had seen this blind, tired woman sitting in her chair, holding a teddy bear that I assumed was given to her by her daughter...

Needless to say, I felt so sad for her. After a moment, I went back and sat with her again... and after consoling her a bit longer, I went back into the hallway... got a hold of the first unfamiliar staff member that I had spotted... and a few minutes later, a cheerful gentleman FINALLY showed up and offered to help Ella lay down. The appreciation upon that woman's face was priceless... and after promising that I would visit her again next week, I left so that she could finally rest. It was then that I realized that these people /need/ contact such as this... I did not realize the magnitude involved in sitting with someone many times my age, who cannot see a thing, and letting her just hold onto my hand. To give her that reassurance that I was there, and not leave her side until she was happy and comfortable again. I learned a lesson that day, honestly... from both May and Ella, it seems. When I got my eyes lasered, there was.. of course.. a degree of selfishness there. As human beings, we're all selfish in some way.... how easily things can be taken for granted. By being someone's eyes for the day, I have a new appreciation for life.. and how quickly things can change, as they had with Ella. Therefore.. the PRK surgery was.. indeed.. the best $3000 I've ever spent. Not for the convenience... not for the trend... but from this experience, to help someone else. To be able to sit with a dear woman, who simply wanted to hear about the world around her, to know what was going on around her... and to just hold someone's hand.

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