behind the times

February 8, 2008

Patty was waiting for me outside the office as I made my way into work today.
“I got her legs up on the bed but I cain’t get her ass up too.”
Her statement was made in such a matter-of-fact fashion that it took me a moment to grasp what exactly she was telling, or asking, me. Turns out she had been helping one of the less mobile of the residents in the daily commute from bed to wheelchair when the procedure went rather awry.
So I followed her up to Bertha’s room wondering what exactly I was going to find. Sure enough, my entrance revealed Bertha’s rear end lodged precariously in between the chair and bed, sheets carelessly draped so as to partially conceal her bare bottom. “Sorry about my butt, honey,” she said as I surveyed the scene. “You know I just can’t sleep with any clothes on. They always bunch up on me, and I just can’t take it.”
Often I’m afraid I struggle with following the workplace regulations that forbid me to physically intervene in resident crises. Today, however, I somehow resisted that tendency, dutifully calling the EMTs so that the proper procedure could be followed to remedy the predicament.
When the two gentlemen entered the room, they stood at her bedside with Patty and I. Bertha began to speak again, and the following interaction ensued:
“Now honey, I want you to tell your wife something for me.”
“Well Ma’am, how do you know I’m married?”
“Why everyone’s married to somebody. So now you can go home and tell her that women are all ass and you can prove it!”
So much for the women’s liberation movement.

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