My Day...Part Two
Her son drove Maimie down from Detroit, moved her into the nursing home and then disappeared. He didn't leave a number for the social worker to call in case of emergency. He didn't tell his mother he was leaving, or that he wouldn't return. He did manage to tell Social Security to forward her monthly check to him, though, but they aren't authorized to release his address.
He's a drug addict.
He returns a month later with her handicapped son, dumps him in a neighboring facility and disappears again. No forwarding address. But he's that boy's financial power of attorney too.
Maimie has no shoes, none of the special soap she uses for her dry skin, no pocket change, no T.V, nothing. She is trapped in a strange town trying to remember which of her children and relatives don't have a drug problem, then trying to remember their names and phone numbers.
And she cries because she wants to go home. She misses her grandbabies.
She is not even my patient...yet.
The social worker looks at me. "I was walking past her room yesterday and I heard her talking to herself. She was standing in the bathroom, looking into the mirror and just talking away."
"What was she saying?" I asked.
The social worker gives me the saddest look in the world.
"She was saying, 'Just you hang in there. Don't you worry. I'll get you out of here somehow. I just don't know why he done this to you but don't worry, I'll take care of you."
1 comment:
That's one of the saddest things I've ever read.
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