Ever since my car, Dolly, vanished have been wearing out my souls, you know the ones on your feet. Already I have ridden on over one hundred buses, lost ten pounds, and feel a whole lot better. My brother Mel ended up at the French Park Care Center inside old downtown Santa Ana . I felt eager to see him, my last link to my family. In no way should he have ended up in the nursing home.
My bus trip began at about eight forty five. The #760 or Talbert bus run every one hour and goes as far as Newport Beach before circling back. I love letting Hertz...oh I mean the Orange county buses do the driving for me. It gives me time to check out the passengers and perhaps make a date with a pretty blond.
I descended at Bristol where the Orange Coast Shopping Center is located and then went north on the 535 Express bus. I listened to the passengers to see if anyone spoke English. The bus had filled with students going to the City College and laborers. Julie, from the nursing home, told me to get to Main and Washington in downtown Santa Ana.
Does anyone here no how to get to downtown Main Street? Standing in the aisle, a tall heavy set told me he knew the way. I followed him out the door on First Street and walked across the street. Was this my lucky day? While we waited for the #64 to take us to downtown Mr. Smiles asked me where I was going.
"I am looking for the French Park Care Center?"
"Let me google it...Is that where you wish to go?"
"Exactly!"
"You are in luck. I am headed for the same place, but across the street. Need to pick up some pictures..Do you like Mexican food?
"Love it...In fact some people think my roots are part-Mexican."
On the corner was a Spanish Tienda. The counter had several types of Mexican food and inside the back had lots staples like in a small market.
He returned with two taco combination plates. I don't know when I have had such an appetite. Mr. Smiles spoke about his life. To save time I will summarize what he told me. He finished his plate long before I had barely begun mine.
"I was born in the U.S.A and my aunt kidnapped me, She took me at four years old and abused me. My parents got me back but the damage was done. I suffer with a host of physical and mental problems...But now I will sue my family. I have a lawyer."
"I had been fired from my paint job and now am a picker My employer fired me from my job restoring old cars and now I have a job as a piker. My bosses air mail me to states with the types of cars they are looking for anything gold of bygone days..."
After the meal and my stomach pleased, we walked down Washington Street. I felt like I lived in the late Nineteenth Century. Three or for story old Victorian homes thanked me for company. All had porches, gables, and attics. Why I even thought I saw King Albert kissing his bride, Queen Victoria.
The fronts were one hundred feet wide and at least one hundred a fifty feet deep lots. They must have have lived during the time of Teddy Roosevelt and Taft. George took pictures with a high water tower in the background.
The French Park hospital was built in 1902 and had over two hundred beds. With white the prevailing color, a sea of evergreens and large park greeted me. I felt serene and overjoyed that Mario had taken me there. White hallways with the usual corridors greeted me. Nurses, case workers, rehab workers but no doctors walked the hallways. Of course a few immobile wheel chairs sat in the hallways.
I thanked god for sending me Mario, who not only understood English, bought me a Mexican combination and also led me to my destination. He had told me that he had been disgusted that so few Mexicans wished to learn English.
I left Jorge and entered the 1902 hospital. A grandfather clock thanked me for being on time. The big hand of Big Ben struck twelve. It was now eleven o'clock. I thanked the clerk for providing me with directions-of course I lied to be polite.
"Mel can be found in room 153." After two left turns, I found corner room 153. A man watched T.V. in the second bed. Yet no Mel existed. A case worker told me that he might be in rehab.
Inside the rehab room, a young lady sat immobile in a wheel chair, and her graphite leg sat on a bed. She did not show any emotion but simply sat there implacably. What appeared to be a young drug addict lay stretched on a table. A worker twisted his feet.
Mel did not appear in the rehab room so I asked for assistance.
"Mel is over there on the bike."
It just could not be Mel. Instead of a rotund face, his changed to a narrow one. He could barely see me but when he did he screamed.
"You should not have sold the house. How is Jenny doing?"
A nurse told Mel he had another six minutes on the bike. In front of him a gadget measured his oxygen I felt pissed that the Fountain Valley hospital and later the Kindred did not administer any medication but happy at least the pneumonia was gone.
"Good Mel, your oxygen is 90 percent. I pushed Mel to his room, well really not a room but a large closet with two beds. Since I could not find a chair, I needed to stand. . The T.V. was of no use since he was blind. The leaky left eye had not been given a shot.
"George, Edward was here and I signed a paper that I wished to return to the Assistant Living Center.
Earlier I had spoken with Case Worker X and she told me that I could not get a power of attorney. Mel needs the OK from a doctor before he can sign anything. I wondered why Edward had been given permission to get Mel's signature but not I. Of course all Ed wished for was another month's pay from the government. His job is to fill beds.
Mel gave me the OK to push him to the dinning area, I mean room where mush was served up. Most of the patients sat in wheel chairs. None could walk or move .One lady sat reading a book A T. V. was on. I fed Mel but after a few bites of gruel, He wished to return to his bed. No wonder he had lost so much weight.
A month earlier at the Fountain Valley Hospital he had a great appetite. He was anxious since the hospital did not know what medications he needed I suspected a stroke had occurred rendering helpless. The Assistant Living Center did not know the name of the hospital. I told Angie that it was Kindred.
Case worker Z wiggled into the room. Her name had been on the intercom several times. "I have only two minutes to give you." I followed Mrs. Wiggles to a private room One of her eyes went one way but the other looked at me. She seemed distracted and wished to rid of me as soon as zi sat down.
"I am here to make sure Mel get a shot in his left eye. "
"I have it taken care tomorrow. Got to go!"
Mrs. Wiggles eyes were not in alignment but her figure did not miss a beat. Whereas many of the staff were doing a good job. I felt let down. to be a witness of what once was a thriving-good- looking young man.
Hell I had known Mel, my brother for over 75 years. I will miss his singing and his favorite Mack the Night or Chances Are.
As soon as i left the facility, my mind tried in vain to remove the dread of Brother Mel remaining there until the end. I felt in no way could he sing again. The medicine ball had been dropped. I felt pissed that Edward would not allow me to sit with him at the dinner table. Too bad that Edward needed so much control.
The Metro I found a bit too far and my legs told me to bus it back to Huntington Beach. I climbed aboard..or tried to climb aboard the Main Street bus that would drop me off at Mac Arthur. Even though I had ridden on thirteen buses-I did see my brother Mel!
I had left Surf City at eight and returned at five o'clock. I paid twenty dollars for a thirty minute massage-of course for my tennis shoes.
Nuts and Bolts for today: It is a disgrace how we treat senior citizens today. Back in the day, they remained with their family until the end.
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