A DEAD RINGER

The survey to see who I look like was fun but not terribly scientific or definitive. I guess I am not a dead ringer for any celebrity, but that term, ‘dead ringer’, serves to introduce a different type of blog entry.

Some believe that ‘dead ringer’ actually refers to a person who was prematurely buried and who pulled on bell ropes that were attached to his coffin in order to attract attention. Although that sounds a bit farfetched to me, sadly, the term dead ringer aptly describes our dear friend, Jack, who is currently being held captive against his will.

Before I go on any further, you may wonder what this story has to do with my cancer journey, how the predicament of my elderly neighbor relates to my story. In fact, I’m realizing that it has everything to do with Mike 2.0. Everyone has a story; everyone is on a journey. Some journeys, like mine, are public and others, like Jack’s, are very private. No one journey is more important than another and awareness of the journeys of others adds insight into our own situations. And so, here’s Jack’s story.

You may recall my description of our neighbor, Jack, in my blog entry entitled Heroes. A widower, he had a bad fall in June and was hospitalized for about a week to determine the extent of his injuries. He suffered cuts and bruises to his face and arms and seemed a bit confused when we visited him at York Central. His speech was somewhat impaired but his sense of humour remained intact. Regrettably, his family did not rally to his side with speech therapists and gerontologists. Rather, they decided at 83, Jack’s best years were behind him and that they would sell his house and have him take up residence on the Alzheimer’s floor of a posh nursing home in Markham. Although resigned to giving up his home, I know Jack was unprepared for the locked in confines of his new home.

For genuine Alzheimer’s patients, the brightness and design of the Alzheimer’s floor makes for a very positive environment. But for a new resident, like Jack, who has his wits about him, this floor, called the Reminiscence Neighbourhood, seems to mock him with its pageant of dolls, a complete tool bench for display purposes only and a large popcorn machine like the kind you see at the Exhibition.

When I walked down the hall to visit Jack for the first time, I noticed many residents in a common room. They were seated in a listless semi-circle and were entertained by a cheery Personal Support Worker (PSW) engaged in a game of balloon volleyball. Carnival-like music played constantly and seemed to drown out any genuine attempt at conversation. My sudden craving for candy floss seemed only natural in this circus-like atmosphere.

Jack greeted us warmly and Terry suggested we go downstairs to the main floor for a change of scenery. Terry entered the escape code for the elevator but before we got away, a PSW comes running.

“Please exit the elevator,” she says quietly. “I have to talk to you. You are not allowed to take Jack off this floor.”

“But doesn’t Jack’s friend Bill take him downstairs?” Terry countered.

“Jack’s family has left explicit directions that you are not to take him off the floor.” She almost seemed embarrassed to be acting like a police officer.

“I didn’t know I was a criminal,” Jack spoke up, quickly grasping the turn of events. He seemed deeply offended by the restriction and I couldn’t stop thinking of the term dead ringer.

We ended up sitting at an outdoor patio, out of earshot of the incessant music that Jack finds so annoying on this floor. We talked about his old neighborhood and he brightened with the mention of the names of some the neighbors and their pets. Indeed, he still has some trouble word finding but, don’t we all sometime? He tried to put about a brave front about his new surroundings but when I asked him about making friends, he tried to change the topic. We hope to take Jack out for lunch someday but currently his family feels that might be too disruptive to his routine. Some routine: eating meals, watching TV, taking pills and playing balloon volleyball. We simply can’t understand his family’s resistance to helpful support from Jack’s large circle of friends.

Jack’s situation reminds me of Maggie Fitzgerald in the movie Million Dollar Baby. After her tragic fall in the ring, she too is on the shelf in a rehab hospital. When her hillbilly kinfolk come to visit, her mom wants Maggie to sign a document with her teeth assigning all of her assets over to the family. Maggie’s response to her mother reminds me of how Jack must feel about his family when she says, “What happened to you?”

We will continue to visit and support Jack and pray that his family comes to their collective senses soon. We miss our good neighbor living across the street but we will never forget him.