Captain's Log #48 - The Embrace

The Embrace

With the arrival of the coronavirus I have a new ritual I perform with every interview - I bring the center piece. Out of my bag I pull a box of tissues and a bottle of hand sanitizer and announce that this is my Japanese Tea Ceremony, then ritually sanitize my hands and the pen we will both use to sign the documents. Last week one of my interviewees responded with a greeting in Japanese.

"Oh, you speak Japanese?"

"Just a few words."

"Me, too. How is it that you know some Japanese?"

"I spent a month in Japan studying Aikido."

"Is that so? I studied Aikido for 5 years in the 70s, I got pretty good."

"I went with a teacher of mine. We went to different dojos and practiced. Some of the dojos didn't have mats, only linoleum floors. I worked with these 10-year olds who had no trouble falling on the floor and rolling, but for me it was ouch, ouch, ouch."

"I know what you mean, rolling on a hard surface points out all of your bony parts. I got good enough to roll painlessly on the floor of a basketball court."

"Aikido is like ballroom dancing."

"Yes it is. Do you ballroom dance?"

"I used to with my wife who has since passed."

"I dance, too. My ex-husband said dancing with me was like pushing around a sack of potatoes!"

"Well, that's probably not something to say out loud."

"No kidding."

"Now I'm interested in learning Tango."

"You don't say."

"Yes, it's a lot like Aikido, working with someone else's energy and movement, flowing together. In fact, the first step is called The Embrace, where you join and become one with the other person."

"Really?" Putting my hand on my stack of papers knowing I had 45 minutes of explaining ahead of us, I said, "Well, we have embraced. Shall we begin?"

This is the natural end to this story but right in the middle of my explanation of the Codes that tell us how to operate he asked if I'd ever been to Japan. We spent the next 10 minutes transported there: how nice the people are, how accommodating they are to travelers, the scenic beauty, "They even have a word for the air in a forest." I said that I am more formal than the people in my office, he said "You'd fit right in."  Well, not in this lifetime, but maybe if I win the lottery. We finished our conversation and bowed a closing to each other since we couldn’t shake hands.

Mr. Blue Eyes

We had a transfer from the West Los Angeles veterans home last week. He had lived here before for 20 years but wanted to go to LA to be near his brother. Well, he changed his mind after a while and made a stink to come back here, to "the Veterans Home in Yountville." He was in his 90s, slight, skinny and pushing a walker.  He'd been 6 hours in a van with a driver and caretaker he knew, and had wet his pants. They disembarked at our hospital where he was to stay until some problem with his legs healed then he'd be evaluated and possibly moved to a lower level of care. He was having absolutely-none-of-it. "This is a hospital! I want to go to "the Veterans Home in Yountville." He would not accept that he was there. "This is a hospital! I'm not living in a hospital! I want to go to "the Veterans Home in Yountville!"" He thought he would travel back in time 20 years and live in the residential, independent-living rooms. "I used to throw big parties with over 100 people. I invited movie stars and politicians. I'm not staying here. I'm going to get a cab, go to the nearest airport and fly to Hawaii where I can let the ocean heal my legs."  The six of us in the lobby nodded and thought, "Yeah, I'd like to go to Hawaii. Take me with you."

Stupid me and my Nonviolent Communication work that develops empathy, and my knowledge of the Resident's Rights that says we can't force people to stay here, I piped up, "You must be really disappointed!" And, "You don't have to stay here, you can leave at anytime." Right, and you ask why there are homeless vets living under bridges. I wonder how Hawaii deals with people living on the beach? Fortunately, he didn't take my suggestion, and nobody chastised me (like they could have.) The most effective person was the pretty, young ward nurse who cajoled him to come take a look at his room. He listened to her. On our way up to his room we ran into several people who remembered him and told stories about his parties, and cartoons, and fedoras, and singing, "he was always singing, has a lovely voice, Frank Sinatra was his favorite." He loved it. 

His room was small. His area was no bigger than two twin-beds; no one else was living in the other side, yet. I was able to muscle in and get the bare minimum of my papers signed before quitting time and left him to his complaint, "I don't want to be here! This is not..."

I understood how very disappointed he was not to be transported back to a time when he was on top of the world and here he is in some c----y hospital. It is a pretty miserable existence living in a hospital, but most of us will end up there. Pack light. He had 12 cardboard boxes of stuff in the hall. I wonder what the Fire Marshall will say?

I heard the next day that someone had gotten him into a wheelchair - that he claimed he didn't need - and taken him to the dining hall for lunch. "It was like walking with the President. Everyone came up to greet him, and reminisce..."

(Make your memories while you have the time, and include others.)