Parkwood had all kinds of people/characters. There was Agnes, the little woman who wanted to help no matter, if she was REALLY helping. Gladys the busybody wanting to s to compare her progress. She was alsovery demanding and kept the nurses busy. A woman I love to this day for a comment she made to me. We were in the dining room when she said to me. Such a shame..... you’ re such a pretty girl. Who wouldn’t love that kind of compliment? However my favourite is the ‘crazy’ guy. Also known as the guy with scrambled eggs. (A highly technical term for a head injury)
His stay started out with a lot of commotion. He was causing a disturbance with his yelling and creaming.I was returning from supper at home when I saw the police on the unit. Which had never happened before. Gladys ( she seemed to have her thumb on the pulse of things) informed us that the new guy was being sent to the psych hospital in St. Thomas. Things were calm for a few days until he returned.
Apparently he wasn’t ‘crazy’ just had a head injury (aka scrambled eggs) and when he was readmitted his room was at the end of the hall next to mine. One mornig I had woken up to some loud Def Leppard. He had brought his stereo with him this time and decided to rock out that morning. The stereo was promptly taken away. In the mornings I would see him wandering, more like staggering to and fro, the halls to take care of his personal hhygiene and shower. He would have messy hair and mismatching PJ’s that just didn’t look right. Even though he had the opportunity to shave and change he would stay in his PJ’s and not shave. As he got better his appearance began to change. It became more clean cut. The staggering reverted back to just walking. He exchanged his askew PJ’s for clothes.
I found out why he was hollering and yelling. Calling out for people help him. Not just a few times but for hours. The problem.....he was secured to the bed. He couldn’t be trusted with his own safety (and likely others) As he started to settle down he wasn’t secured any longer but had a nurse at the door guarding him. Eventually I would see him in the lounge area playing pool with a recreational therapist. He always had a staff member with him.
One day during his fuzzy times, he appeared at my door while I was watching TV and wanted to know if I wanted to go to a dance. (I wonder where he got that idea?) I replied that I didn’t dance since I was in a wheelchair. ‘That’s OK’ he said ‘I’ll push you around’ Why would anyone want me to go to a dance???? I likely was the best prospact since everyone else on the unit was almost 30 years older. Well at leasr someone asked.
He may have been there a few weeks. Time wasn’t that all important to me. Each day was much like the one before. I heard him talking to doctors trying to convince them he was fine since he knew the date and where he was. A few days later I heard him begging to go home. I’m sure time was standing still for him. I was happy for him at least he got to go home. I would stay for a few more months.....
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