The Accused and Their Accuser

After supper, which Screaming Mimi picked at and murmured how the white bean soup that came with her salad adorned with chicken was "crap," she was given a dose of two tramadol by the RN. Ah...sweet solitude once again. For a few hours. You'd think a dose like that would knock out a tiny frail dry-skinned old lady for at least a day. But no. By around 10:00 p.m. Screaming Mimi was screaming again.

"HELP! HELP!" You would have thought I was wrapping her oxygen tubing around her dessicated neck. She had been shown the call button. Screaming Mimi was no stranger to hospitals. But she preferred the dramatic route to get her way faster. The staff came running. "I need to go to the bathroom."

Now, the earlier crew had told her that she was not to get up. She was a fall risk. That's why she was admitted, for falling. They told her to use the pad on the bed. This new group offered her a bedpan. "I'm NOT using a bedpan! Where's my walker?"

"It's not here. Nobody brought your walker. You're not supposed to get out of bed."

Screaming Mimi started to get up. That recording went off. "Do not get up. Lie back down. A nurse will be here to help you." They persuaded her to stay put. Told her she was not going to the bathroom. Then they lost their heads. In their empathy, they offered Screaming Mimi a bedside potty. That meant someone had to help her on, and help her off. A production as detailed as this has not been attempted since the invasion of Normandy. Housekeeping was called for the potty. Three staffers tried to get Screaming Mimi up and out of bed. Gently. I could hear them apologizing to her. Faintly. Because mostly all I could hear was Screaming Mimi, screaming.

"OWWWW! YOU'RE HURTING ME! DON'T TOUCH ME THERE! OWWWW! YOU'RE KILLING ME! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

That's the short version. You know the staff is trained in helping eldsters in and out of the bed. That they do all they can to keep from hurting them, lest a complaint be filed. Screaming Mimi was a champ at plinging the guilty heart-strings. They got her up and on the potty. Then Leslie, the patient care technician, was left to attend to Screaming Mimi. I was on pins and needles. Not just from the stress of listening to Mimi's screaming. Leslie was a pleasant black lady who cheerfully answered the call button, and took her time to put you at ease before taking vitals. I was quite afraid Screaming Mimi might hurl some racial insults her way. Thank goodness, she did not. Attempted murder accusations was about as far as it went. Screaming Mimi was an equal opportunity abuser.

Leslie spent over an hour at Screaming Mimi's bedside, waiting for her to pee. Screaming Mimi told Leslie all about her childhood, how she became a dancer, had a suitor she was in love with and loved her, but had an affair with another woman and did not ask Mimi to marry him. Screaming Mimi married another guy, but she didn't really love him. She spent time in Rome and Paris. Leslie nodded and "uh huh"-ed in all the right places. Let the record show that before Screaming Mimi had eaten supper and been dosed with tramadol, she had asked for books to read. The RN had said she would get Mimi two books, a mystery and a romance. Screaming Mimi said to that, "I WANT FIVE!" So she had a stack of books on her nightstand, and was wearing her glasses from before she fell asleep and subsequently got on the pot. I had heard one patient care technician mention, as she was getting vitals from a drugged-out Mimi, "She looks so cute in those glasses." Like children, I suppose, the cranky elderly look so innocent while they're sleeping.

Finally, her stories told, Screaming Mimi deigned to pee. Leslie was on it in no time. "Oh, you're done. Good job."

"THAT'S WHAT YOU TELL A KID!" spat Screaming Mimi. "My son did that with his boy. EVERYTHING was GOOD JOB, GOOD JOB. FOR NOTHING! DON'T TELL ME GOOD JOB!"

Leslie was calm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"THEN WHY DID YOU SAY IT? GOOD JOB! LIKE I'M A LITTLE KID!"

"I was just encouraging you. That's my job, to try to encourage people. I won't say it again. I'm sorry I offended you." Leslie helped Screaming Mimi back into bed, with loud screams of torture ringing around the room. Another patient care technician came in to check on the hubbub, and together they got Screaming Mimi repositioned. Then the other one left.

Leslie stayed a minute. "There. Now you're settled. I'm sorry if we hurt you. I know your skin is irritated. Look! Our glasses are almost alike!"

"YOUR GLASSES ARE CHEAP!"

"Did you just call my glasses CHEAP? I appreciate your honesty. You are something else. So how long have you been married?"

"Fifty-nine years, and I would NEVER do it again! All he cares about is his GODDAM FUCKING FISHING BOAT!"

"You've got a mouth on you!"

"I KNOW! That's what my mother always said. She made me wear a sign around my neck." Screaming Mimi sounded almost proud. Smug.

"I've got to go check on other patients now."

"You'll NEVER come back!"

"We'll be back. And if you need us, just push your red call button here. I'll leave this right beside you on the bed in case you need anything." Leslie popped around the curtain to see if I needed anything. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. But never once did I hear her or any other patient care technician be anything but sweet to Screaming Mimi.

The next morning, Screaming Mimi was having another bout of vitriol over the bedside potty when the phlebotomist came in to take five more vials of my blood. She grinned from our safe side of the curtain. "Sounds like you've got a live one there." Yeah. She didn't even spend the whole night with her.

Screaming Mimi was so belligerent that when the pulmonary specialist came in for morning rounds, and stopped to talk to her, he would not stand for it. She insisted that she had her own doctor, and didn't need to tell him anything. "Then why are you here? I'm going to talk to your neighbor." And just like that, he stepped from her side of the curtain to mine. Dismissed.

The new RN came in to see what Screaming Mimi was up to. She had a different RN than me this time. One who asked her if she could do anything. Turn on the TV, perhaps? "I HATE TV!" I turned mine off and lay staring out the window. About a half hour later, with nobody to berate, nobody to con, Screaming Mimi said to me, in a childish little voice. "I'm sorry about last night."

"Oh, that's all right. I know it's hard to be in pain."

Yeah. Screaming Mimi knew exactly what she was doing. I did not start up a conversation, and left it at that.

Tomorrow, we near the end of the Screaming Mimi saga, and see Val make her grand exit from the hospital.