Vivian
When I was in college, the professor of my fiction writing class would sometimes have us try our hand at writing character sketches without actually writing a story about the characters. He just wanted us to get a feel for describing them.
The following is a sketch I wrote of Vivian. She is one of the women who is a resident at the nursing home where my mother lives. I often visit my mother during the lunch hour, so I have had many opportunities to observe Vivian.
Vivian is blind or nearly so. She wears very thick glasses with big black rims, but she appears to see very little even while wearing them.
She sits in a specially designed wheel chair that reclines slightly. Her feet are elevated. One is wrapped in a soft blue boot and propped on a small pillow. She is not able to maneuver the wheelchair on her own and must be wheeled down to the dining hall of the nursing home by one of the aides.
Because of the design of her wheelchair she is unable to be pushed up to one of the dining hall tables. She is pushed to one edge of the hall, and a tray table on wheels is pushed over her lap and up in front of her.
As soon as the tray table is in front of her, Vivian reaches gingerly out and feels across the top of it.
"Coffee, I didn't get any coffee," she calls out to whomever might be listening, "Coffee, I didn't get any coffee. Coffee, I didn't get any coffee. Coffee, I didn't get any coffee."
The aides are making the rounds with the coffee pots. They have not yet arrived to her section of the dining hall. In just a few minutes, one of the aides brings her a cup of coffee.
"Be careful, Vivian. It's pretty hot, " the aide tells her.
Vivian lifts the cup to her lips and takes a sip.
"Too hot. Too hot. Too hot. Too hot, " she says and sets it back down.
She begins to count out loud, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Have to let it cool for a minute. Eight, nine, ten....."
While she is counting, she fusses with a bobby pin in her hair. She is mostly bald on the very top of her head, but she has longer hair on the sides and back and oddly enough, she has bangs in the front which are whirled around into what can best be described as a giant pin curl. This is where she is trying to reposition the bobby pin. Her hair is dark brown, which seems out of place in the dining hall sea of bobbing white and gray heads. She finally gets the pin curl secure to her satisfaction. She has a second bobby pin, a spare, fastened into one of the button holes of her blouse in case she loses the first one.
"Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six..." she continues to count out loud.
Other residents are still arriving in the dining hall. A few are able to walk in. Most are in wheelchairs though. Some can push their own wheelchairs in for meals with their feet or their hands or both. Others have to be wheeled in by the aides. There are bits and pieces of conversation that can be heard, although for a dining room with so many people in it, it is really fairly quiet. Some music from a country radio station is playing from a small player in one corner of the room. Some of the residents appear to be dozing in their wheelchairs as they wait for the food to be brought in.
"Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty," Vivian finishes counting off the seconds to make a minute and takes another sip of coffee.
"That's better," she says to no one in particular.
She begins to count her sips of coffee while she drinks them and reports on her progress to everyone in the vicinity. "I've had six sips of coffee and still no food here."
"I've had twelve sips of coffee and still don't have any food."
"Twenty sips. My coffee is almost gone, and I don't have any food."
"I finished my coffee. I'm ready for some food now."
"I don't have any food. I'm ready for some food now."
One of the aides brings food to her.
"Vivian, you have mashed potatoes at twelve o'clock, green beans at three o'clock, creamed turkey at six o'clock, and peaches at nine o'clock," the aide says as she also sets down small glasses of milk and water by her plate.
Vivian uses her hands to feel for the items that they bring to her. It appears she has done this for a long time. She gingerly finds first the edge of the tray and then carefully and slowly moves her fingers along searching so as not to spill anything. She finds a cloth napkin which she tucks neatly into her blouse under her chin and then locates a fork so she can begin to eat.
Food is served to the other residents. Some are able to manage just fine on their own. Others with arthritic hands or other problems need their meat cut or cream and sugar packets torn open to put into their coffee. Some have special eating utensils, bowls, and cups adapted to their individual needs.
Vivian feeds herself. It is a slow process. She dips her fork or spoon into her plate. Sometimes she brings it back to her mouth with just a very small bit of food on the end, other times the utensil is heaped up. She can't see how much is there and doesn't know until it reaches her mouth. She is counting as she goes. Occasionally, she announces her progress.
"I've had six bites of turkey now. I've had six bites of turkey now. I've had six bites of turkey now. I've had six bites of turkey now."
A little later she reports, "I'm not eating green beans. I don't like green beans. I'm not eating green beans. I don't like green beans. I'm not eating green beans. I don't like green beans."
When she finishes, she pulls the napkin from under her chin and carefully places it on top of her plate.
"All done. All done. All done. All done, " she calls out to the room.
The following is a sketch I wrote of Vivian. She is one of the women who is a resident at the nursing home where my mother lives. I often visit my mother during the lunch hour, so I have had many opportunities to observe Vivian.
* * * * *
Vivian
Vivian
Vivian is blind or nearly so. She wears very thick glasses with big black rims, but she appears to see very little even while wearing them.
She sits in a specially designed wheel chair that reclines slightly. Her feet are elevated. One is wrapped in a soft blue boot and propped on a small pillow. She is not able to maneuver the wheelchair on her own and must be wheeled down to the dining hall of the nursing home by one of the aides.
Because of the design of her wheelchair she is unable to be pushed up to one of the dining hall tables. She is pushed to one edge of the hall, and a tray table on wheels is pushed over her lap and up in front of her.
As soon as the tray table is in front of her, Vivian reaches gingerly out and feels across the top of it.
"Coffee, I didn't get any coffee," she calls out to whomever might be listening, "Coffee, I didn't get any coffee. Coffee, I didn't get any coffee. Coffee, I didn't get any coffee."
The aides are making the rounds with the coffee pots. They have not yet arrived to her section of the dining hall. In just a few minutes, one of the aides brings her a cup of coffee.
"Be careful, Vivian. It's pretty hot, " the aide tells her.
Vivian lifts the cup to her lips and takes a sip.
"Too hot. Too hot. Too hot. Too hot, " she says and sets it back down.
She begins to count out loud, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Have to let it cool for a minute. Eight, nine, ten....."
While she is counting, she fusses with a bobby pin in her hair. She is mostly bald on the very top of her head, but she has longer hair on the sides and back and oddly enough, she has bangs in the front which are whirled around into what can best be described as a giant pin curl. This is where she is trying to reposition the bobby pin. Her hair is dark brown, which seems out of place in the dining hall sea of bobbing white and gray heads. She finally gets the pin curl secure to her satisfaction. She has a second bobby pin, a spare, fastened into one of the button holes of her blouse in case she loses the first one.
"Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six..." she continues to count out loud.
Other residents are still arriving in the dining hall. A few are able to walk in. Most are in wheelchairs though. Some can push their own wheelchairs in for meals with their feet or their hands or both. Others have to be wheeled in by the aides. There are bits and pieces of conversation that can be heard, although for a dining room with so many people in it, it is really fairly quiet. Some music from a country radio station is playing from a small player in one corner of the room. Some of the residents appear to be dozing in their wheelchairs as they wait for the food to be brought in.
"Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty," Vivian finishes counting off the seconds to make a minute and takes another sip of coffee.
"That's better," she says to no one in particular.
She begins to count her sips of coffee while she drinks them and reports on her progress to everyone in the vicinity. "I've had six sips of coffee and still no food here."
"I've had twelve sips of coffee and still don't have any food."
"Twenty sips. My coffee is almost gone, and I don't have any food."
"I finished my coffee. I'm ready for some food now."
"I don't have any food. I'm ready for some food now."
One of the aides brings food to her.
"Vivian, you have mashed potatoes at twelve o'clock, green beans at three o'clock, creamed turkey at six o'clock, and peaches at nine o'clock," the aide says as she also sets down small glasses of milk and water by her plate.
Vivian uses her hands to feel for the items that they bring to her. It appears she has done this for a long time. She gingerly finds first the edge of the tray and then carefully and slowly moves her fingers along searching so as not to spill anything. She finds a cloth napkin which she tucks neatly into her blouse under her chin and then locates a fork so she can begin to eat.
Food is served to the other residents. Some are able to manage just fine on their own. Others with arthritic hands or other problems need their meat cut or cream and sugar packets torn open to put into their coffee. Some have special eating utensils, bowls, and cups adapted to their individual needs.
Vivian feeds herself. It is a slow process. She dips her fork or spoon into her plate. Sometimes she brings it back to her mouth with just a very small bit of food on the end, other times the utensil is heaped up. She can't see how much is there and doesn't know until it reaches her mouth. She is counting as she goes. Occasionally, she announces her progress.
"I've had six bites of turkey now. I've had six bites of turkey now. I've had six bites of turkey now. I've had six bites of turkey now."
A little later she reports, "I'm not eating green beans. I don't like green beans. I'm not eating green beans. I don't like green beans. I'm not eating green beans. I don't like green beans."
When she finishes, she pulls the napkin from under her chin and carefully places it on top of her plate.
"All done. All done. All done. All done, " she calls out to the room.
