Fire! Fire! Pants on Fire! Pour on Water! Pour on Water!

Where do YOU think is one of the worst places to be when there is a fire alarm and subsequently, a fire? Oh, pick me, pick me! I know the answer to that one. It’s not the library or even a crowded subway platform. It’s not the 35th floor of a non-descript office building nor is it the top of the CN Tower.

Rather, it’s on the 3rd floor of a retirement residence in the ’secure’ unit. The secure unit is a locked wing that takes care of mostly elderly people who tend to wander, experience dementia symptoms and alzheimer patients. It takes a lot of patience to work here and I have nothing but praise for those that do. I’m only there for about 45 minutes once a week while others work there day after day, shift after shift doing all sorts of things to care for this special and challenged population with little acknowledgement or thanks in relation to all they do.

That being said, today offered even more challenge than usual. The fire alarm started going off right in the middle of a Barry Manilow song. We had just finished all of our warm-up stretches and our yoga poses and were getting to the beach ball when everything suddenly came to a halt. And just so you are clear, there was no regular panic here. Heck, most didn’t even realize what was going on BUT the residents that did made up for those that didn’t and they were loud and agitated. Mr. Cheese grabbed his jacket and marched down the hall to the family room area where we had gathered (the psw’s and I) and stated that he had it from a reliable source that we were under fire and the he needed to get out. We assured him all was okay and he kept saying he wanted to go somewhere so we directed him to the family room with the others but he would have no part of that. I have to leave he kept saying. But with nowhere to go and a locked door at the end of the hallway, his options were limited. He headed back to his room where he contemplated the window (3rd floor) and then realized he should just stay put.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Mr Cranky D was shrieking and yelling. Mr. Cranky D always shrieks and yells and overall, is very rude and obstinate to everyone unless he is snoozing. Thank God he snoozes a lot. So, he’s yelling and getting real shrill and then we realize he’s waving his razor around. At this point one of the psw’s scurries down to calm him and remove the sharp object.

Back in the family room, a few of my students have left. One, Ms V, takes Miss M by the arm and leads her out. She thanks me for my time and says they may be back again but that they have to get home. Get home together? Are you related I ask? Yes, says Ms V, she’s my daughter. Whatever, Miss M is older than Ms V but at this point I am out of energy and the clock is ticking and I am just looking for my own way out. The alarm finally stops and I make my mad dash for the door, waving and smiling and promising to be back next week. They won’t remember any of this in 10 minutes. Sometimes forgetting is good, no?

You’re only as old as you feel…or, er, um, you look!

Class is finished and everyone is filing out of the room. Except Mrs. Berger. She is new and dressed to the nines. Even if nothing matches I can still tell it’s all expensive stuff. A hello fuschia coloured silk top under a very detailed and embroiled vest made from expensive boiled wool-you know the type. She is also wearing expensive ‘blinders’ aka sunglasses. On her way out she stops and pulls on my sleeve and whispers, I am soooo much younger than all of them. How old are they, she continues, I’m much younger than THEM! She nods her head, agreeing with herself and standing just a wee bit taller. The entire time she is talking I just stand there and smile. I tell her that my oldest student is 99 years old which makes her a very young 85. She smiles and saunters out of the room. She’s got it going on (in her own mind at least).

We all need a nap…and a beer, from time to time!

So it’s Mrs. Sos birthday today-88 years young. I suggested a happy hour in her honour after class and everyone else agreed. So what if one student wasn’t 100% clear on what happy hour is. It’s the vote that counts right?! I mean at the end of the day it’s always 5 pm somewhere in the world. But I digress or should I say, get me back on track. So Mrs. Sos had only been up for 20 minutes before class today. The activity coordinator went to get her, brushed her hair and sent her in. Mrs. Sos grew up on a farm and lived on a farm until she came to live at the residence so while she is slight, petite, a bit frail looking, she comes from rugged farm stock and up until recently held her own quite well. But she is getting tired lately and asked to go lie down 20 minutes into a 30 minute yoga class. Both the activity director and I kept her up with the lure of birthday cake and a special lunch and perhaps some sherry later on (okay the sherry part is my wishful thinking for myself after an extra loooonng day today). It worked and she finished class and headed to lunch. Happy birthday princess.

Mr. M&M lives at the same residence but on the secure unit. Usually he is waiting for me when I arrive. Sometimes he’s been waiting half hour or more. Today he wasn’t so I went to get him. He was in front of the tv when I found him. I asked him if he was coming to yoga and announced with a smile that he was almost late. ‘Well, they aren’t doing anything here and someone died.’ He pointed to the tv on that last statement. ‘Someone died?’ I asked. This was really silly because although the room was full of residents, none of them really knew what we were talking about (and vice versa). Someone yelled something about Mr. Pava something which meant the opera singer. ‘Oh, he died already,’ someone else said. More confused I asked the nurse if someone on the unit died. ‘Not today,’ was her reply. At this point I grabbed Mr. M&M and we scrammed to class.

And finally, as Jack the pilot said during my last class today, ‘no offense but I’d rather be on the brewery tour than here.’ Me too Jack! Me too! Cheers

Time Out!

So Mrs RC likes to keep to herself at class. Or so it seems. She always sits in the same spot and lines her walker up in a very precise manner. She sits kinda behind and to one side of the beam in the room. I don’t know why she does this as she is very hard of hearing and can be quite ‘fresh’ about it. Actually her behaviour is getting worse every week. She talks out of turn and quite loudly AND she yells at me all the time saying, ‘I can’t hear what you are saying’ and ‘well you are only speaking to them and not me.’ Everyone rolls their eyes and while I usually have lots of compassion, I’m about to join in on the eye rolling if things don’t improve.

Today Mrs RC took the cake ( I just wish she would have gotten up, taken the cake and left the building or at the very least, the room) when someone sat in the chair next to her. See, the chairs are staggered back and forth to allow room for arm movement. So, when someone sat in that chair the tirade started. ‘Well, look at her, with her back to me’ and so on. I stepped in and said Ms MM didn’t do anything wrong and that she’s just sitting in one of the chairs that was set up for class and that if she felt that she had been ‘backed out’ and if she felt left out of conversations then she should hustle her buns up to the front of the class. Everyone nodded in agreement and so she got up and moved her chair forward two inches. Progress…..I must remember to practice what i preach and breathe! Chill out Mrs RC! You are putting all redheads to shame:)

You are my Sunshine

Rosa always sat in the same chair. She didn’t own it. Her name wasn’t on it but everyone knew and THAT is saying a lot on the locked ward where most days the residents don’t know what day it is or who I am or that I come there once a week to teach yoga, blow bubbles, play with feathers and throw beach balls, usually to the tune of Barry Manilow muzak. Now I don’t know if Rosa was first up or first to the family room after meals and that’s how she scored the brown winged chair. All I know is that she always sat there, kinda like Archie Bunker and his chair.

Another thing about Rosa. She usually always had ‘good hair’ and nails painted a dramatic red or a pretty pink. She went to the salon once a week whether she liked it or not and trust me, there were many weeks she did not want to go, especially if she was going to miss ‘the ball’ fun.

Rosa didn’t speak very much English and for some reason I thought she was Italian. She dressed like what I thought an older Italian woman (who wasn’t in mourning/a widow) would dress like and she wore her white hair in a style that I thought an older Italian woman would wear her hair. Plus, Rosa is surely a strong Italian name, no?

German. Rosa was German (I should have known since I am married to one) and once I caught on, I would say a few words in German and she would smile and say something back ( I have no clue what) and then she would motion for the ball. I saw Rosa last Thursday and she was having an especially super morning. She participated fully in class-stretching, throwing and catching the ball and even throwing it to one of the other residents. It was a great session.

On my way out I went over to Rosa, like I do to all the residents and I took her hand and smiled and thanked her for spending time with me and for working so hard and told her I would see her next week. She smiled and chewed (on what I don’t know-Rosa always seemed to be chewing on something-leftover breakfast perhaps) and said something I didn’t understand and that was that.

This week, just before I hit the code to get into the unit, a psw (personal support worker) asked me if I knew about Rosa. No, what about Rosa? She sat down and told me Rosa passed away last Saturday. I was shocked as I had just seen her on Thursday and she looked so good. The psw told me that Rosa always used to sing ‘you are my sunshine’ to her and that after they called the ambulance (she hadn’t been well all that day) and she was leaving, she grabbed Rosa’s hand and said see you soon and Rosa said, goodbye sunshine.

Goodbye Sunshine. RIP Rosa G-94 yrs young.

Powder me nose

I knocked on Mrs W’s door on my way to class. If I don’t stop on the 2nd floor and pick her up, she doesn’t get the opportunity to come to class. That’s because Mrs. W is on the secure unit. She is harmless and usually pretty happy and ALWAYS dressed to the nines BUT she forgets a lot and is a bit prone to wander so she is on the secure unit. So, after I knock on her door I open it and am greeted with a big smile and that look. That look that says, I know you from somewhere. What’s your name again, she asks me. So I tell her and she smiles. Are you coming with me, I ask her. Well sure, she answers. Just have to powder my nose. And powder her nose she did-with baby powder. She then proceeded to put her lips on and fret about her outfit for a moment before we head out the door. I compliment her on her knitted vest. I made that years ago she says with a smile. We head to the elevator hand in hand.

Noise? What noise? Oh, THAT noise

It’s a part of life. Doctors say it’s normal and good for you. Dr. Oz of Oprah fame says it’s something you have to do….But I think when and where you do it plays a role here. Yes, I am talking about passing gas-something that seems to increase with age. And unlike a fine bottle of wine left to age, this aging thing isn’t always to be celebrated.

One day at the end of class, everyone starting gettting up to leave and Ms E was farting and farting. Everytime she took a step there was another one. Mrs K looked at her and looked at her and finally caught her ey and Ms E looked at her and said it’s my knee, very painful today, to which Mrs K answered, that is not your knee!

What? WHat? WHAT!?

Okay fine, our parts wear out. Teeth fall out, hips slip, kneecaps break (even without associating with The Sopranos) and then there’s hearing. What? I said, and then there’s hearing! Oh, okay but you’re gonna have to speak up louder if you expect me to follow anything you are doing.

I hear this a lot from my older students. They can’t hear me and sometimes I don’t want to hear them. You know, when they are telling me to be quiet or yellling to the person beside them that everything that I am doing is stupid (hey, it’s you that is deaf, not me AND you’re hurting my feelings!). So, it’s always a fine line between creating a relaxing and peaceful environment for class and barking loud enough for all to hear.

But as always, there is a funny side. A few weeks ago one of my fave students, Mrs. K, brought a gentleman to class to observe. I didn’t think much of it as often a prospective student will come to watch from the back row. BUT this was different. At the end of class, Mrs. K introduced me to Mr. MuzakMan. She brought him to class to see about music in class. I was puzzled for a moment and asked for clarification. Mrs. K tells me that Mr. Muzakman is willing to provide some nice muzak to compliment our exercise class. Trying to be diplomatic and hoping not to offend anyone, I casually mentioned that the music I played during class is specifically designed for the exercise we do. Mrs. K looked right at me in disbelief and said, I didn’t know you played music in class. I have played music in that class since day one….bless her soul:)

Candyland

Today, after class, Mr. M & M asked me to come back to his room. He wanted to show me something. I had a few minutes so I followed him. He carefully unlocked his door, turned on the light, opened the closet door, removed a ziplock bag and offered me a strawberry candy. How sweet! No, not the candy, well yeah, the candy, but more Mr. M &M was sweet! He then proceeded to show me his official certificate from some fancy politician acknowledging his latest birthday milestone. Sweet again! Mr. M & M made my day today. He more than made up for Mrs. B M trying to kick me during class ( I know she was not aiming for the beach ball-she has a good aim and if she wanted to kick the beach ball, she would have. She wanted to kick my leg and she did).