Celia felt trapped. She didn’t want to be here! These people were smelly, awkward, and in need of so much care. Their speech was slow, and often you couldn’t tell what they were trying to say. Celia knew she should change the negative view she kept of the residents of Hartley’s Home for the Disabled, but why did it matter what she thought as long as she smiled and appeared to be helpful? Her job paid well, and she cared more about that then how uncomfortable and boring it was here.
“Mskljdoij!” shouted the wheel chair ridden woman she was helping, whose crossed eyes looked accusingly at her, as though she knew Celia’s thoughts. Celia looked straight into the crossed eyes with a smug expression and thought You’re stuck with me just like I’m stuck with you. But at least I look normal and don’t drool all over myself. And I get to leave whenever I want.
“Would you like another crayon to draw with, Anna?” asked Celia, her tone dripping with insincerity.
A man entered the room as Anna took the crayon. He looked like he could be one of the doctors at Hartley. He seemed vaguely familiar.
“It’s time to go, Celia.” He said gently.
“Excuse me?” asked Celia.
“We thought maybe you could handle it in here. Unfortunately we were too optimistic. You’re getting worse. This isn’t the place for you.” When she looked at him in confusion, he stepped closer to where she was sitting.
“What are you talking about? Who are you- who let you in here?” Celia stood up. The man stood between her and the door. He was watching her.
“Please come now, we don’t want any trouble,” He took a deep breath, ”We're here to help you.” She felt he wanted her to choose to come, and yet she felt strangely like she didn’t have a choice.
Celia tried to get to the door by slipping around him. He quickly captured one of her arms and brought out a syringe from one of his long white coat pockets.
“What is this- get away from me! Help! Someone help!”
The world swirled into darkness.
Celia woke up groggy. The room around her had four plain white walls and she had a bed stand with a lamp. Where am I? She thought. A woman dressed in a uniform came in with a tray.
“How are you feeling today, Celia?” The woman seemed sincere, which comforted Celia.
“Where am I? Did I have a break down or something?” Celia asked.
“No. You’re in a place where you can get help.”
“Why would I need help? What are you talking about?”
“You're different than others, Celia.” The woman’s tone was patient.
“How am I different?” Celia asked anxiously. She unconsciously checked to see if all her toes were still there.
“You are almost completely blind. We have brought you here to see if we can teach you to use what you have left of your sight. You may one day be independent if you work hard.”
Celia didn’t know what to say. She looked around the room, positive that she saw everything like she always had. “I’ve always had good vision. I can still see everything. What are you talking about?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but there are things you can’t see. It’s such a hard thing to accept. I know this is a shock. Rest now and we will talk more about it later.” The woman left the room. Celia heard a lock slide into place after the door closed.
The days that followed were full of frustration for Celia. The man with the long white pockets came into her room each day and talked to her about what she couldn’t see. He said there were big paintings on the walls, and a big dresser on the other side of her bed. He also claimed there was a big window that showed a great view of the grounds. Celia couldn’t see any of it. The woman that had brought her food confirmed what the man said. They allowed Celia to use the bathroom, which was next door to her room. Whenever she had to go she was instructed to use a small buzzer they placed on her lamp stand. The hall outside her room was long and white with a lot of doors.
Days turned into weeks. They allowed Celia to sit in other rooms, and color or write if she wanted to. They always talked about other things in the room that they said she couldn’t see. None of the rooms had any windows. She never saw anyone else. She tried to escape a few times, but they were always quicker and once they had to give her a shot like before.
On a day in the beginning of her third week there, she was on her way to the bathroom when she suddenly saw a figure in a wheel chair slide out of one of the doors down the hall. It was Anna! Celia almost cried at the sight of the cross-eyed woman.
“Dear, didn’t you say you had to go to the bathroom?” the woman who brought food suddenly came closer behind her. She didn’t seem to notice Anna.
“I want to go to the next room please. I’d like to color.” Celia’s mind raced. Anna was smiling at her, waving. Celia suddenly broke into a run. The woman yelled at her to stop, but Celia reached Anna before the woman could catch up to her.
“Anna! Anna! Please help me! They won’t let me go!” Celia said in her few precious moments before the woman reached her.
Anna looked at her sadly. “You feel trapped too? We all feel like that sometimes. But think about it, at least they take care of you and try to teach you how to cope with your disability. You’ll get used to it. You’ll find yourself happier the more you are here.” She wheeled back into the room she came from.
Celia became hysterical as the woman grabbed her arms and led her back to her room. “I want to be free!” she yelled to anyone who could hear, “I don’t care if I’m different!”
WOW. What an amazing story. There's so much there to digest. Poor Celia. Poor Anna!
ReplyDeleteThis is such a beautiful story because it's so sad and so true. I know when I look at people with obvious disabilities I often think a little like Celia. A thought that might go through my head may be something like, "thank goodness I don't have any problems that are that bad; they're beyond hope of ever being normal." Not very nice, I know. And not very true either.
The sadest part is that Celia didn't even know she had such a major issue, much more frustrating and hard to deal with than those she might scoff at. What inspired you to write this story? I'd love to hear about your thought process.
Nat- you're quite the writer!!!! Very skilled. I was completely involved.
I agree, Natalie! What a well-written story.
ReplyDeleteIt really hits home. I remember volunteering at the hospital in Exeter in the geriatrics ward-- lots of people there who probably felt trapped, abandoned, and lonely. They didn't have the use or control of their body like they should have, and it was very sad to see. It was hard to relate to them and not feel awkward and uncomfortable around them, even though I really tried! I remember one lady in particular who could only point to letters printed on a sheet in front of her to spell things. One time she spelled out "I want to leave. I want to go home" or something to that extent. I didn't know what to say! So, so sad. It's really hard to put yourself in someone's shoes when they are so much different than you, but we really need to.
I really enjoyed this story and will be thinking about it. What a surprise the second half of the story was!
Looking at this story yields wonderful things.
ReplyDeleteMy take on the story is that it is about spiritual blindness--"spiritual" being defined as seeing each person as an infinitely valuable spiritual being, the way the Lord sees people--He looks on the heart.
The "vaguely familiar" man comes to take her to treatment in an ironic twist of how in this world we think of the disabled: thus, the parallel setting.
I really like the strong feeling of irony throughout what happens, and also the subtlety of implications of the juxtapositions. When Celia is told she is different this seems to me to speak less of Celia's normalcy or lack thereof, and more a reflection of how Celia herself was looking at the people she was supposed to be serving. And the creepiness of the setting where Celia ends up is likewise an outgrowth of Celia's own handicapp.
The reversals are striking: In our world Anna only says, “Mskljdoij!” whereas in the parallel setting she speaks intelligently and sensitively. In our world Celia treats Anna like a child; in the parallel setting she is treated like a child, with a crayon functioning as a symbol of the switching from one to the other. [This also strikes home, because when my dad was in a home, it was always very disturbing how the treated him like a child.]
In our world we focus on how Anna is trapped, whereas in the parallel setting Celia views Anna as a source for her own release, and indeed, when Anna speaks she doesn't seem as trapped as Celia.
I especially was struck by how Celia couldn't see windows or objects or scenery or other people in her clinical, white-walled surroundings. It makes me think of how we define reality by what we (in the state we are) see.
Thanks for writing and posting this story, Natalie.
It's scary. The thought that you aren't aware of something that everyone else can see, and therefore you are placed in the category of "needing help" or not being able to be "free".
ReplyDeleteI don't ever want to be in a home. It really saddens me that this had to happen with grandpa...
My mother works in the covalescent hospital where grandpa was, and she loves her job. I think it's interesting... the clinical setting. I also worked in one, and I could see how quickly the staff objectified patients. It's almost a survival thing... to be so emotionally connected to each and every sad case that passes through your doors would make life hell, but at the same time... categorizing people is never good, either.
ANyway, this story hit home for me. I bet if my mom read it it would hit home for her, too.
When I wrote the story at first, I actually had Celia go back to her apartment, and then go to the grocery store. When she went outside of her apartment she suddenly could hear what everyone was thinking- and she realized that their perspectives were their disabilities, just like hers was when she couldn't value Anna as a person. It came off really cheesy, so I decided to show it in a different way. I had come back on the day I wrote this from working with disabled people at a school that taught them how to do everyday things (that we take for granted)- like writing an email or giving someone first aid. We had to volunteer there for three hours for special ed. class and I gained a new outlook. I've realized that we all have disabilities in one way or another- I feel like our disabilities are just as severe as the physical disabilities that these people have. Some people have this awful tendency to get angry and distance themselves or some people so afraid they can't allow themselves to be happy- these emotional or spiritual or physical disabilities impair us and can separate us from others. Maybe one of the things these physically disabled people are tested with is having people know they are disabled, and having overcome the low expectations that "normal" people give them.
ReplyDeleteCam- we talked about this last night, I told you about how that guy made me so uncomfortable and that until I saw what a good heart he had (he had me make a Mother's Day card, which he couldn't even sign because he was so shaky and he wanted tp give her flowers to surprise her), I was judged him unfairly. I see Celia at the beginning as being like me, she had chosen to not see Anna as a valuable person.
Adele- I couldn't believe how sad it was to hear your story about the lady that wrote she just wanted to go home. I think about how independent I am, and what if I had these strange, busy people taking care of me all the time? Some nurses (I have a good friend that's a hospice nurse) really do put all of their energy into making life brighter, but some do it because it pays well. For those that do it out of love (like NoSurf said) you could take every person that came through your doors, and maybe by being sad for them and reaching out, you'd carry some of the burden they brought. But it could be depressing or a kind of hell, which is interesting because it's what the Savior did for us. He suffered hell for us because he emotionally connected exactly with each sad person that lived. And he asks us to lift others up because we become like him by doing what he did, not because he can't do it for them.
Dad- you saw what I was trying to get at! I hadn't even thought of Anna as being kind to Celia versus Celia being unkind to her in the beginning. I hadn't thought about the man being "vaguely familiar". We think of people who are different as vaguely familiar because we can't relate to them- so they become like aliens- with a few human characteristics. I actually wanted people to wonder if Celia had a disability or not.
NoSurf-It's amazing that you talked about it nursing as a "survival thing"- that's so interesting! A nurse, especially one working with people who will or could die, has to experience loss over and over again, because those we serve we love. But the nurse keeps doing it, because she cares about people and wants to give the gifts she has to help people, even if it costs a lot for her personally. I think mothers are a lot like that too- they know it's going to cost so much because bearing children is painful, raising children is painful (and joyful too) but she does it anyway, because she has a great desire to give.
"For those that do it out of love (like NoSurf said) you could take every person that came through your doors, and maybe by being sad for them and reaching out, you'd carry some of the burden they brought. But it could be depressing or a kind of hell, which is interesting because it's what the Savior did for us. He suffered hell for us because he emotionally connected exactly with each sad person that lived. And he asks us to lift others up because we become like him by doing what he did, not because he can't do it for them."
ReplyDeleteNatalie, that is one of the deepest, truest ideas I have ever heard. I'll have to think about that some more.
Natalie, that was a great story. It flowed really well and caught my curiosity right from the start.
ReplyDeleteAs I was reading it I did keep wondering if Celia really had a disability or if someone was experimenting with her or even if it all was a dream or aliens. I have thus since cheated and read everyone's comments and really like the perspective they add to the story.
I think almost everyone can relate to feeling awkward when going into a home or care center. We want so much to understand and to be understood and that doesn't come easily for most in a place like that. I think it is a little different when you actually know the person; you know (most likely) how they got to that point and what type of person they are. Yet I have great admiration for those individuals who just start talking and loving those people who are in care centers as if there isn't anything different about them.
Through singles-ward activities I have always been surprised at who those people are, often times they are people that I had pre-judged as insensitive and irresponsible. All this terrible judging. I really hope I fix the way I judge before I die and have to be judged by the same standard.
Again Natalie, nice story!
PS checking for the toes, hilarious