Diamond in the Rough

On Sunday, we went to visit an institution made to be for the elderly, a nursing home. The front of the building was all you needed to see to know that it came straight out of the communist era. Basically it was a big square, outmoded, cost efficient, gray, and run down sort of place. I know that sounds harsh. The truth is that if you go someplace that has survived communism, scars scatter the surface of the country in the shape of large and not-so-pretty buildings. This one held the title well.
We walked in and a pungent smell of cigarette smoke mixed with body odor greeted us. Actually, as we walked upstairs to the “best part” of the place, a new smell came with each passing room and hallway. Most of them mixtures of things resulting from bodily functions with smoke. However, the top floor was pristine. It was their new floor that had just been finished. I was blown away by the beauty of it. Huge windows, bright rooms, big balconies on each room, pretty comforters for the beds, all wheel chair accessible, the smell of fresh paint, and the fact that it would be home for recovering stroke patients.
Immediately from the tour of this floor we were taken to the two halls out of who knows how many (150+ people in the facility, probably about 30 people per hall) that we were to work in. After splitting cleaning supplies in half and receiving dirty looks from a couple of the staff, we also split into two groups and each went to our designated hall. I remember thinking to myself that someone should open the shades, when in fact, they were open. It was just such an oppressive atmosphere that it seemed dark…it felt dark. It helped that there was no trace of the intended colors on the walls. Yellow, brown, and black beamed down on us as we walked in and as we looked down the narrow hall, it seemed to shrink with every glance. People were shuffling in and out of rooms and the hum and chatter of several televisions on at once could be heard. It felt like the set of a horror movie. The two nurses, at least I think that’s their title, came to greet us. Later we were told that two women are assigned to each hall and they do everything; from taking out the trash, to serving the patients lunch, cleaning the bathrooms and regular rooms, watching after the patients, and more. They are expected to do it all. Usually they are not professionally trained and certainly are not paid well.
So our conversation went something like this:
Nurses: “Where do you come from?”
Students: “America.”
Nurses: “What?”
Students: “America.”
Nurses: “Why are you here?”
Students: “We want to help.”
Nurses: “Really?”
Students: “Yeah, we’ve got cleaning supplies.”
Pause.
Students: “Can we scrub your bathrooms a bit? And maybe wipe down a little in the rooms too?”
Nurses: “We don’t have running water, but we’ll get you two buckets full to start.”

Needless to say, they were astounded. Help rarely comes and even more rarely in the form of cleaning sinks, scrubbing toilets, sweeping, mopping, and wiping down dusty surfaces. But there we were ready and willing, and they weren’t going to miss the opportunity, even if it was only for a few hours.
At first, Maggie and I went from bathroom to bathroom and scrubbed. It was not a pretty job. Although the water was turned off just for that day (with no prior warning), it was obvious that water is used sparingly, if at all in the bathrooms. The sinks had crusty filth all over them and the toilets, well they had wet filth. You could see the bacteria without a microscope in this place. The nurses weren’t the only people surprised by us. The patients thought we were something else, too. They would come to the door and mutter things at us in Russian and we would just smile holding up our soggy sponges and nod, adding “da!” because that was the only mutually understood word between us (yes!) . Most of them would smile back and then saunter away. Some chose to stay and watch until the job was done. Maggie mentioned the other day that the cleaning was more about giving them back a piece of their dignity, even if it meant only until the bathrooms were dirty again. That struck me as profound, especially since I had a hard time understanding how what little we did was helping.
After we had finished the bathrooms, we started in on the rooms. Both of us were anxious to get into the rooms and interact with the patients. So the first two rooms were a little disconcerting. The first had 2 men in it. They were rather silent and watched us at work with silent, staring eyes. We smiled and tried to help them understand we were just coming to help clean a little, but before it was fully understood we were on to the next room. The next room was 3 women. Again, our presence was obviously not appreciated or enjoyed. One particular woman was very insistent on asking us question after question in Russian, following up with a demeaning glare. As uncomfortable as I was, I understood the frustration. I mean, who were we? Why did we think it was okay to just show up and clean? What on earth were we trying to do? Make a point? What’s the point? Were we really just there to observe? In that case, doesn’t that make the patients like lab rats? Would I like to be treated like a lab rat? No way. I just wished we could say, “We want to love on you!” in Russian. But at the same time, I have to think if someone said that to me I’d give them the sideways glance back. “Huh?”
Anyway, all barriers broke when we entered the third room. Including the language barrier. The most joyful and happy soul I saw all day was in that room. She (Maria) had a friend visiting and she was cleaning out the closet, sharing her clothes with her friend. We had actually seen her while we were scrubbing and she was one who smiled at us, laughed, and kissed Maggie’s cheeks with blessing before wandering off to do her own thing. We walked in on “her own thing” and she was thrilled. She talked and talked to us. Telling us who knows what. She laughed at her own jokes, which in turn made us laugh, and further spurred her on in her laughter as well. While we were squeezing past her to clean, she held a sweater up on me and I said “OoooOOh, frumos” (nice in Romanian) and she tried to give it to me. I made motions to show her it wouldn’t fit me, so she immediately brought it over to Maggie and put it up to her. Smiling she handed it to Maggie and made “Aaaah, uh huh, da” noises. It was to be Maggie’s. After that we had little choice (or desire to do otherwise) but to sit down and she went back to her closest. Looking at me barehanded she thought to herself and then said “OH, OH, OH!” really loud and excitedly. Digging deep in her closet she pulled out a floral, brown striped dress and making the same “Aaah, uh huh, da” noises she held it up to me and placed it in my hands. There was no way either of us were refusing these gifts. We knew that she wanted more than anything for us to have them. Again, she talked and talked. At one point she came over and put her face about an inch from mine, took on a serious voice, and talked for about a minute pinching at the skin on my cheeks and my chest before throwing her head back and laughing. She was beautiful. A flower amongst the withering, her soul shone.
We continued to visit in and out of several rooms. Many of the people wanted to hold a hand or just talk a little. Some just wanted to see us, but were bedridden. Others were unable to even acknowledge our presence, whether deaf or blind (or both), severely disabled from old age, or “not all there.” No matter what way you look at it, these people were starving for love. Everything said it, from their distaste to their joy. Both extremes demonstrated that thirst.
Lunch time came and we helped serve. It was a fast-paced race, it seemed, to get everyone their food and then collect all the dishes back. I made it about halfway through, until the nurses stopped at a room and pointed out a man who needed to be fed because he couldn’t do it himself. I had never done it before, but I looked around and no one else was volunteering. I think we were all a little shocked. “Who does this when we aren’t here?” was the resounding question on all of our minds. So, I went. He was so excited to have me there. I know he doesn’t have help every day. I imagine some days he goes without eating just because it’s easier. So I fed him and afterward, he grabbed my hand and squeezed hard, thanking me in a language I could understand. At first I had worried that maybe the act of feeding him could shame him, but I realized through his thanks that the opposite came about. He was just so thankful that I would take the time to help him eat. That was so eye-opening to me, yet so heartbreaking. That 10 minutes time was all it took to make him feel loved and it was obvious (again) that normally, he wasn’t getting that.
The woman who took us to the facilities said that 80% of the people there didn’t have anybody visiting them. She also said that more people in the institution die of depression and loneliness than of actual sicknesses. I just kept thinking to myself, “that is hell.” Really, seriously…it is. The feeling of complete abandonment and isolation is exactly what is feared the most. The feeling that no one is behind you, no one supports you, no one loves you is so painful, it can kill. So no wonder that doubts enter your mind when you hear this truth and see it at work. How can this happen? It felt like these people had slipped through a black hole and had no chance of coming out because they had become invisible to the world. And for some reason, we were allowed to enter that hole and come out alive with a new perspective on life and greater appreciation for our own lives, even if it came in the form of disgust at first.
The question that many people ask each day and surfaced on my mind is “how can God let this happen?”
But soon after, His still and small voice came back to me. “No, daughter, I have not let this happen. It is a broken world you live in, where I have endowed free will and choice, and sadly this is a result of that process in such a broken place. Never would I have allowed such evil and awful things to occur, but neither can I stop the pain right now. The time will come and all will be restored, but today is not that day.”