The End of Bathing
This is about my mother. She is fragile, in her late 60s, vacant - the doctor said so. He said she was empty, but the meaning is the same. She stares a lot, says little, except when she remembers to take her pills. On those days, she speaks with hypermania. It's a challenge to keep up.
Her red skin is contoured with blue veins, just like her father's. She wears a red and blue map on her face. Her grey hair is tinged with yellow from 50 years of cigarettes, 50 years of exhaling into emptiness. I remember her portrait softened by smoke, stinking of stale tobacco. She is old now, older than her years.
She found her way into the bathtub, managed to lower herself with her frail arms. Bathing is out-of-fashion in the house she shares with her mother. They prefer to stand over the sink and sponge bathe. Installing a shower is too expensive, not that there is any shortage of money. The bank accounts are full, the house paid, but my grandmother still buys her clothes from thrift shops and lawn sales as though it is 1935.
I try not to picture it - my mother clawing at the side of the white enamel, failing to achieve any kind of grip, her feet finding no purchase in the slick tub. She calls for help from her 87 year old mother. Maybe she can lift her out, but my grandmother is too weak herself, with her two plastic knees and two plastic hips. She looks as strong as ever, kind of like an ox or a streetcar. She is thick, heavy, with fingers that point in all directions of space at once, thanks to her arthritis.
The next thing to do is call to the neighbour to free my mother. I am reminded of that old folk tale, the Enormous Potato. They will form a chain: my grandmother, the neighbour all pulling. Soon, there will be a dog, a cat, and a mouse all lending a hand. Instead, the neighbour fails and they resort to contacting Emergency Services. Someone dials 911. An ambulance arrives with two paramedics. They hoist her from the tub, leave the stretcher by the door, and retreat to talk about that one with their colleagues. This is the one about the woman who couldn't get out of the bathtub. It's not an urban legend.
Technorati Tags: mother, grandmother, bathing, bathtub, 911, emergency, trapped
11 comments:
Holy tamales. That is my nightmare. I thought I was going to suffocate reading that entry...
Suffocate? Really? I'm glad you liked it.
moving and sad. i like the connection to the fable and turning it around so that in the end, the fable was about your mother.
Yes -- evidently you struck a chord.
Heavy.
Interesting thing is, the ages. My eldeste sister is 60. she is not an old woman.
I'm sorry. This is a sad post.
How sad and degrading life can be at times.
Your poor mom...that makes me sad.
It seems so wrong that our reward for putting up with years and years of life's crap is getting old.
Oh gee, only in her 60's and unable to bathe.This reads like a nightmare. Fear and sadness combined.
It's even worse that they can afford a shower with handicapped access and are not installing one. I hope they change their minds and no one is hurt.
Interesting perception about age, thought. In society now, most of us do not consider 60 as "old" since so many live well into their 80's and 90's now.
Um... the story about the enormous potato could easily be about my mother. Scary!
Zebby: Yes, she is.
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