Vancouver was a very trying and exhausting experience. My father was swollen and battered and bruised. Stitches down his face and a goose egg on his temple. A massive black bruise creeping down his neck. His speach was slurry and at first he didn't recognize me. He had knocked himself out when he fell so he had no recollection of how he went down and what came up to meet him. He and my mother had gone for a walk. It was a lovely evening, a walk seemed like such a lovely thing to do. Although they live on a hill, coming or going it is always uphill. A walk around the block is tiring and being chronologically challenged and unwell the walk proved to be too much. Dad has suffered from having to go to the bathroom very urgently lately and that combined with his kidney disease made getting inside the house to go to the bathroom an urgent matter. He rounded the corner and either tripped or passed out and tipped over but the end result was that he dragged his head down the wall and floor moulding and crashing onto the top step leading to the basement. He was unconcious when seconds later Mum found him and called the paramedics. They took him to hospital where he waited in emergency for 5.5 hours before he was triaged.
When I arrived he was confused and tired. His kidneys are barely working and are at a level the hospital considered failure. He is facing this dire circumstance valiantly but fatigue takes over. However he is better off at home with carers than in the hospital where they were feeding him a diet that is toxic to kidney patients. In hospital he was wolfing down chocolate pudding and mashed potatoes, all foods that are very high in potassium and could probaby kill him.
The staff was compassionate at the hospital and very patient and kind. The ward was crowded and Dad was in a room for one between two female patients. One off her head and the other wished she could be.
Dad was in hospital for 12 days. I arrived on his 6th day in hospital and I stayed until he had been home 3 days. I tried to be as helpful as I could, I cooked and hired a cleaner and went shopping for them and drove Mum around, I did some weeding and some organizing. Ironing and washing. I helped with the heavy stuff and sorted out some of the garage and did the recycling. And helped them understand the wonderful help that was available to them through the Burnaby Health Dept. I did some research for their next move and drove around with my brother in the late evenings to pick a few good places to show Mum when the time comes.
Eventually, although still in need of constant care we got Dad discharged back home, just before the long week end.
At home he has his TV and his comfortable chair and the never ending attention of my wee little mother.
The stress level is very high as my father is so medically needy and my mother is like a little tiny house fly, jumping to conclusions here and there and bashing herself into the figurative glass. They refuse to wear their Life line alerts...they call them horse collars. This just cracks me up.
They own a 15 year old German built Eurovan. A volkswagon van by any other name. It is in mint condition, but lacks some of the modern conveniences like air conditioning etc. It was hot in Burnaby for a couple of days, and being that my mother weighs not much more than 75 pounds and she is always cold, she wanted the furnace on in the van and in the house, I spent most of the time sweating like a chicken pulling rails.
One day we parked right in front of the hospital. This is worth noting because parking spaces are rare and good ones could probably be sold, I think some people live in the good ones. Mum lept over the front seats of the van and into the back and started storing stuff in the fridge. Her secret hiding place. She put her purse and the groceries that we had just bought etc in the fridge. She said that there was room for my purse as well and I passed it back to her and continued to struggle to put the goddamn Club safety bar on the steering wheel (the van really is a target). Mum and Dad don't just use the club to be difficult, although that is the first thing that came to my mind. She slammed the fridge shut and, backed out of the van tripping over the walker that she won't use but keeps in the middle of the floor, I locked it up and off we went up to Dad's floor.
After about an hour I thought I better go back and put more money in the meter and I opened the van and fumbled around in the back and opened the fridge. Nothing was in there, Nothing. Oh Shit I thought the goddam crackies that hang around the parking lot have turned over the van and taken everything. I looked around and found nothing, no purses, no groceries...nothing.
I slammed the door shut and locked it, second guessing myself, did I lock it before? I was sure I had, but maybe not, maybe in all that shuffle I forgot to lock it...damn, it is my fault! I have really messed up. Although I was sure it was locked when I got here the second time.
I rushed back into the hospital and went to the security desk, which was closed, I had put my phone in my purse so I had to go to the gift shop to use their phone. I called 911 and they said that I must call the Burnaby RCMP. I got a busy signal. I tried again and again, finally got a recording to leave a number where they could reach me. I called 911 again, They said there was nothing I could do but to keep trying the RCMP. Finally someone at the RCMP answered the phone and put me through to robbery which turned out to be the front desk aswering machine. And that person was on a lunch break.
Now, I am wildly angry, if I had seen a crackie I would have beaten the tar out of him/her right there. I was anticipating the nightmare of getting my ID back and how dare those bastards steal a purse from an 88 year old lady and how hard it will be to cancel our credit cards. This is all I need!!!
Then I saw the security guy walk by. A little Indian guy, looked like Ghandi in a uniform. I hung up from the RCMP circus and ran up to Mahatma. He said oh no no no (insert your best Indian accent here) he does not do security outside the building only inside the building and that I must call the police. I told him I can't call the police because they won't answer the phone and he said. I must calm my self and please to sit down and that there is nothing anyone can do because the terrible drug people are always breaking into cars and stealing things. I said in a low screech, why doesn't anyone do anything about this?
I went back to the gift shop and called the RCMP once more. This time someone answered and after listening to my tale and what I thought my tax dollars should be doing to protect the citizens, she gave me an incident number which she said I should use to call the credit card companies, insurance companies etc and report the theft. Her tone was cool...can't imagine why.
I called my brother to brace him for the horrible job of cancelling all of Mum's cards and Id. He was fit to be tied, now, he was ready to kill a crackie. My brother has been a brick with all of this and I felt sick having to tell him this horrible tale on top of all the other hard work he has been doing day and day out to help Mum and Dad.
I went back to the van to collect myself and to think about what might have been in my purse.
This time I noticed my water bottle on the floor and after I drained that I thought... I'll do one more search. Funny how one clings to the hope that maybe the last half hour was a nightmare, that maybe I just couldn't see them and the purses were momentarily invisible and were hiding in a corner and that magically everything will be put back in place. I tore the van apart, I didn't know it had so many friggin closets and drawers. Way in the back behind the furthermost closet was a little cubby in which all of our things were sitting.
I reached in and pulled them out, then I sat back and kissed my purse.
I raced back up to the ward and contemplated telling my mother the story. In the end I thought everyone could use a laugh and I told the tale. She said oh yeah I thought maybe I should store them in my really secret place and not the fridge. I forgot to tell you because you were so busy fighting with that Club on the steering wheel.
I took my purse strap and wound it around her neck and tightened it until she crumpled to the floor, not breathing.
No, I didn't do that.
I was so relieved, both at finding the purses and not having to tell her that they had been stolen that I just sat back and smiled.
I never called the RCMP back to report that the van hadn't been broken into afterall. I never will. Maybe this is the incident they will need to get out of the coffee room and out onto the streets and bust some crackie heads. Over the following few days I would occasionally catch a glimpse of the little security guy, slithering behind doors and hiding around corners, never catching my eye. I think he was beginning to develop a nervous tick.
And I will never leave anything of value in a vehicle again.
