Mr. Perryman
His name is William Perryman, from Room 113B. He is a stroke patient whose tongue hangs out & constantly drools. He is a klutz-- goes around the facility riding his wheelchair scooter driving like a maniac, knocking most of the tree displays out. Orderliness is something alien to him; all his things are scattered in his room occupying every inch of space. He had a mouse for a visitor one night, under his wheelchair, & he did not even care about it when I frantically told him he needs to clean up.
He’s not one of the well-loved patients in the facility. Oftentimes, the administrator will have Mr. Perryman’s presence for breakfast, univinted, & there he would give her a litany of his complaints. She hated him because he knows his rights & fights for them. On the nursing floor, the GNAs & even other nurses label him as "difficult", because he hits the call light when most of them are already in the nursing station waiting for the time to get by. I did not really have a hard time ignoring the impression formed in my mind of him, because I always scratch the surface anyway-with people, with things. This comes with my gift of discernment, which had not failed me so far. So Mr. Perryman is a million things to people but he is one thing to me-a friend.
He is a friend because I stashed away 3 pieces of lumpia roll for him during the Philippine festival we hosted in the facility, because I knew he loved them. He is my friend because I was always on the look out for empty boxes for him when he feels like packing his things only to be asked by him to unpack it the next day, &sort his soiled clothes. Like any normal frienships, I fought hard with him when everyday he constantly refused his medication because he said he was well. Following that, I always crushed his meds & secretly stirred it in his soup, because I wanted him to feel better. He constantly teased me everytime I visit his roommate whose condition was getting worse-he always said-“here you are again, Sheila, taking care of Daniel, is this the last time you’re gonna check on him?” He is my friend because he can see through me, when I gave him a Tylenol pill when he wanted a towel, & said-“You are a very good nurse.. I ask for a towel, you give me Tylenol, how did you know I needed Tylenol too? And we both laughed because he knew I was rushing with my work & was not listened well.
Now the bed in Room 113 B is empty. Mr. Perryman knew he was too healthy for a nursing home so he made every effort to get out of it, and move up to an assisted living facility. And although I am happy, a part of me feels sad. I guess it is just human to be comfortable in a sense of permanency, & never be prepared for goodbyes. That day he left, I kissed him on his forehead,the way I kissed my grandfather, & wished him well. And he said, “Thanks for all you did for me, Sheila..Now go home & make babies with your husband.” I laughed & wished he knew how special he has been to me. I could not express it because it was hard to be so serious. He handed me 2 articles-- one about faith, the other about hope. I thought to myself, I was never wrong for making him my friend-- despite his being difficult is a caring & tender old man. I am missing him already.