Book- Resident

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I also fondly remember Mrs. Steele. She used to be a high school English teacher. We always got along well  because I was honest and fair when she had a concern. To other staff and fellow residents she could be difficult. Mrs. Steele was feisty and opinionated, and  it didn't matter if it was a nurse, a dietitian, another resident or even her own physician, they all  faced the wrath of Mrs. Steele at one time or another.

For instance, if she wasn't pleased with her lunch she would wheel out of her room, fuming, and head right down to the kitchen with her issue. No one dared get in her way

Mrs. Steele was angry about her stroke, which left her paralyzed on her left side; angry  her family forgot her, only visiting on special occasions; angry  she had to be on a unit with less functioning residents, even though she had a much-coveted private room.  I could understand her anger. I would be pissed too. Maybe that's why she never gave me much grief?

She admitted to me what I suspected- she was lonely. She liked her private room, but she also isolated herself from others.  She missed her cat, China Blue, who she was forced to give up after the stroke.

" I never bothered anyone," she confided. "My son never visited that much when I had the apartment. I was happy with my cat. Everyone else could go to hell."

I found that two things eased her fury: books and animals.

She loved to read. Books were stacked in her room everywhere. I kept her supplied with reading material from the Activities Department, anything from paperbacks to magazines. I suggested she may want to start a reading group with some of the other residents on the Third Floor.  Why not hook up with neighbors on the unit who also liked to read or discuss books? Plus it would give her a purpose  in life again.

The Manor had a "community cat", a pretty orange tabby feline who visited those residents who liked cats. "Bootsy" could be found on any of the three floors. Bootsy somehow sensed which residents needed a friendly visit. I  witnessed this special cat get on and off the elevator with visitors and staff, and calmly stroll the units, stopping into certain rooms ( probably for treats as well).

Pet Therapy was an important piece of a resident's care plan, especially for someone like Mrs. Steele, who  secretly wept for her own China Blue.

Bootsy  had her own little "apartment" set up in the Activity Room: water, food, cat toys and litter box. Everyone knew where Bootsy hung out when she wasn't visiting.

  Bootsy and Mrs. Steele  were introduced and they hit it off right away. Mrs. Steele would save part of her lunch for her daily afternoon visitor, especially if fish was on the menu.I would make my rounds and find Bootsy on her lap, content as Mrs. Steele gently stroked her silky fur.

One afternoon I headed up to the unit to have a heart-to-heart with Mrs. Steele. It was cool that she loved to read but her books and magazines were presenting a problem for the nurses and aides who could not walk in her room. Stacks and stacks of paperbacks  were cluttered  alongside  her bed.The nurses also noted scraps of food hidden all over the room, probably for Bootsy The books were a potential fall risk and the  morsels of tuna fish presented a health issue as bugs were beginning to visit Mrs. Steele too.

I always hated to be the bad guy, but  Mrs. Steele wasn't confused and knew the rules. Problem was when I tried to assist her in tidying up her room she opened her bedside cabinet and out fell everything under the sun that she had been hoarding: salt packets, plastic forks and spoons, paper cups, old newspapers, boxes of opened half-eaten cookies, cosmetics, tons of paper towels and napkins, pieces of soap, pens, pencils, paper clips and old milk cartons. You name it- everything fell on the floor.

"Oh, no! That's still good!" she shrieked as a nursing aide helped me clean up the room. Throwing out the moldy candy took a bit of negotiating.

It seems Mrs. Steele was always a hoarder, even in her own apartment. We agreed to weekly cleaning sessions to make sure things didn't get out of hand again. The roaches would just have to go somewhere else for their snacks.

Towards the end of her life, Mrs. Steele's son started to visit more often. I know that made her happy, almost as much as visits from Bootsy. When she suffered another massive stroke, this one  mercifully  taking her life  quickly, she left us with peace in her heart.

Interestingly  enough, about a week before she died, she asked the charge nurse to  page me to her room. Apparently it was an "urgent" matter she needed to see me about.

When I arrived she presented me with one of her prized classic books: "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats" by T.S. Elliot. It was the basis for the musical "Cats."

" I want you to have this to remember me by," she said, smiling.

I wouldn't need a book to remember Mrs. Steele. But I appreciated the gift and cherished the book.

 On the  morning of Mrs. Steele's funeral, Bootsy  peeked into the darkened, empty  room, just in case Mrs. Steele  had returned. Bootsy  let out a soft "meow" and continued on her way, making her daily visits and spreading much-needed love and  joy.