Everyday was a bad version of Ground Hog day for Jane. Memory loss kept her living the same day over and over again. She woke up and knew enough to recognize that she was not at home, but she couldn’t remember from day to day why she was at the hospital or what was happening. Every morning it was a nightmare for her. Trying to figure out who we were and why we weren’t letting her go home. Every day we would tell her again that it wasn’t safe for her to go home alone, that we were trying to find her a safe place to stay, but 10 minutes later she was worried about the same things again. Legal complications and safety concerns kept Jane with us for an extended period of time. Putzing and cleaning, she would arrange and re-arrange that hospital room day after long day. She followed the same routine for several long months. Everyone on staff knew Jane. We would all stop in and say good morning, but she didn’t remember any of us from day to day. We knew everything about her, what she liked, what she didn’t like, but every day she felt like she woke up among complete strangers. A bit like a geriatric rendition of the movie “50 First Dates”, every morning she lived through the fear and frustration fresh each time.
No family came up to visit while she was an inpatient, several of them had their own serious health issues, but regardless, Jane was pretty much alone. Our staff became an odd family of sorts. When Christmas came around, there was a Christmas present with her name on it under our short plastic tree at the front desk. But Christmas was like any other day for Jane. Just like many patients in the hospital, Christmas didn’t change anything. It was just another day. Another day she was stuck away from home, away from familiarity, away from where her life made sense. Even though she didn’t recognize us from day to day, she became family to us. Even though her memory failed her, we greeted her every morning like a close acquaintance. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, they were all the same at the hospital. People still get sick and die. People are still hungry and needy and painful and life’s joys and tragedies go on like any other day.
But even though it seemed like she didn’t know the difference from one day to another, as Christmas approached, she seemed happier, more upbeat, more hopeful. She started walking in the hallways, smiling, giggling a bit. Her daily struggle to figure out where she was and what was happening gradually eased as the unfamiliar became strangely familiar. And she got to open presents on Christmas. Just a little wrapped gift under a fake tree, but she loved it. We had hung stars in her room with jimmy-rigged oxygen tubing and found some old red and green garland to make it feel more joyful and festive, and she loved it. Made me think of this quote, “Hope is a great thing. Maybe the best of things, and good things never die.”
