Jul 12
Done seen a ghost.
There’s nothing obviously wrong with her. She isn’t bleeding, her breathing comes without effort, her face is pink. But her eyes are puffy and red, her hands and legs bounce against each other uncontrollably and she rolls her eyes back and forth across the room like headlights over the lumps of a Midwestern back road.
Rejuvenated by her own unhinged terror, she shinks from Pally and me, strangers in her house, uninvited, matching uniforms in santatorium green, shaved heads and a foot and a half over her.
My fingers burn like lye, if her panicked retreate into the armchair is any indicator. Cocooned in chintz, she’d be the image of every perfect grandmother were it not for her fearful cries and flapping limbs. Snowy hair, soft cheeks with a little too much rouge and modest pearl earrings. A nighty, stained house coat and slippers with the tang of stale piss complete the ensemble.
There’s only so small I can make myself, but I give it a go, folding my legs into a half lotus on the floor, dipping my shoulders, compressing my pass into the least threatening space available. I am her obedient servant, a dog at her feet, the humble student at the throne of the master.
But I’m wearing a disguise, my shrunken form lowers her guard, allowing me to penetrate her fear.
“You’ve a hospital bracelet on your arm, may I see it?”
It’s the wrong way round and turning it allows me to casually rest my hand on top of hers, slip fingertips against her pulse. A surreptitious, fraudulent way of imposing care, my attention like cholera on New World blankets.
I’m still chatting to her when she points across and the room and, unsettingly, begins to shout my grandfather’s name.
“Pat! Oh, Pat!”
“Her late husband…” mouths a concerned neighbour.
It’s uncomfortable to watch this woman’s mental state unravelling like coils of rope at my feet, less comfortable still to imagine her spectral husband over my shoulder. My imagination fills in details; a long overcoat, sharp suit. Sepias, browns and silver nitrate. My memories of a man I never knew but have met through pictures under golden cellophane in crackling spined albums.
I shush her gently and together, Pally and I wrap her in blankets and strap her to a wheelchair. Funny how comfort and restraint sit either side of such a tenuous line. It’s not clear which we’re doing.
Maybe both.
Pat follows us into the vehicle, she reaches out to him several times. Her conviction is unwavering, she holds conversations with him, asking questions and apparently hearing answers.
I begin to doubt myself - if 50% of the room sees someone and 50% don’t, who am I to say that my experience is the only accurate version?
We share a moment of lucidity en route, when she stops chatting to Pat and turns to me.
“He’s dead, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.”
“But he promised he’d never leave me…and he never has.”
July 12th, 2008 at 2:42 pm
Wow Kal nicely told. Creepy yet palatable.
July 12th, 2008 at 3:11 pm
Ah you sod -you had me crying at that.
July 12th, 2008 at 3:25 pm
Its the lost ones that get to you…………….. but at least we’re there when it all gets too much.
July 12th, 2008 at 3:53 pm
Every death I have witnessed has had an inexplicable moment. Something goes on, though I wouldn’t dare place a label on it to describe what.
Thank you.
July 12th, 2008 at 4:22 pm
Touching. Moving. Poignant. Very well written.
I’m only a MOP, coming here via Tom Reynolds’ blog, but this reminds me so strongly of caring for my mum & then my father in law. Seeing members of that uncomplaining “wartime” generation slide away, who somehow retain a sort of dignity (despite their hallucinations), is awful. All we could do was care for them, care about them & hold their hands to the end.
July 12th, 2008 at 9:37 pm
I used to work in a theatre that was once a funeral home. I’ve seen my share of ghosts and let me tell you, I was not a believer before that. So yeah, I can get in line with Pat hanging out. Doesn’t sound like he has much longer to wait, though.
July 13th, 2008 at 7:00 am
I’ve often wondered whether or not the ghosts that my husband sees are hallucinations. I haven’t quite made up my mind.
July 13th, 2008 at 9:21 am
It’s the weaving of words like this make you an amazing writer. It’s moments like this that make you an extraordinary human. It’s the combination of the two of these things that make your’s the best blog I’ve ever read.
July 13th, 2008 at 11:55 am
What a touching story. We are so blessed to get such intimate glimpses into our patients’ lives.
July 13th, 2008 at 6:58 pm
…unravelling like coils of rope at my feet … amazing stuff Kal.
July 14th, 2008 at 8:07 am
Touching writing. Sensitive report with imaginative descriptives for impact.
Well written and empathic display of real care.
10/10 colleague.
JB@ Australia.
July 14th, 2008 at 10:46 am
And i blame Tom for bringing this to my attention.
Very poignant and moving. Had a lady only a few days ago. Quite a similar situation. Alzheimers etc - so very very cruel.
All the best, Kal, from a welsh Tech.
July 14th, 2008 at 11:06 am
You made me cry. You bastard.
Thank you.
July 15th, 2008 at 6:07 pm
This post made my monitor go all blurry
July 16th, 2008 at 2:12 am
nicely written, We walk the places between sometimes in this job, and the lines get blurry and sometimes they really are one foot on either side and we see a bit of it somehow, I certainly have on some calls.
July 18th, 2008 at 5:53 am
A bit spooky, this one.
July 19th, 2008 at 6:54 am
Nice post Kal with excellent skills in writing. ‘Cholera on New World blankets’…like that one.
Take it easy mate….Kingmagic
July 30th, 2008 at 8:49 pm
Awesome post. Beautifully written. Wonderfully touching.
You have an amazing gift, truly.