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| The 'bag lady' who was really a lady. Part 1
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I looked at her face on the pillow, her face a deathly pale, congealed blood at the side of her mouth. Her hair was dishevelled, strewn across the pillow in a mass of tangled curls. Her arms lay on top of the sheets, tiny pricks of blood, dark against her fragile skin. I touched her hand lightly and she stirred from her sleep. I stroked the back of her hand and slowly she opened her eyes. I was probably the person she least wanted to see in the world but, taking a while for recognition to flood her conscious state, she managed a ghost of a smile. I looked at the side of the bed where a pile of plastic bags sat, full of a disorganised mixture of clothes. Purple suede, fur lined boots jutted ludicrously from one, a pair of sandals from another. She was in a bed by the window, separated from her neighbour by only a few inches. The crowded ward smelt of stale cooking and disinfectent. Nurse's voices reached me from a bed across the room, laughing, discussing the pub they would go to that night. From the window I watched workmen load a lorry with bags of waste in colourful plastic bags. Normal people working in their normal world.
'I've come to see what I can do to help Marcia,' I explained, when she tried to pull herself up on her pillows. 'Margaret 'phoned us yesterday but Bryan is in Italy, so I came alone,' I told her. 'Robin is on his way, driving down to see you.' She nodded to let me know she understood before averting her eyes to the window. She had chosen to tell no one, had asked them not to inform even her closest of family. Now she was discovered and the reality had hit her. I gently told her that I had telephoned her ex husband and that he, too, was going to make the journey from the south of England to see her. 'People want to help Marcia, and you've got to let them,' I tried to sound gentle. Speaking was an effort, yet somehow she managed to thank me although I could not really tell if she was pleased or not. Thankfully, at that moment Robin arrived. He stood awkwardly looking at the figure in the bed. He didn't touch her, but he managed to say Hi Mum. She attempted to sit up and talk to him and it was clear to me that she did not want him to see her this way. They discussed the drive down, the traffic, the weather, anything but what was wrong. I told her it was
time for us to go and have a cup of tea, that she should rest.
It was hard for Robin to see her this way. She had been looking poorly for the last few years, but that meant that she was pathetically thin with bags under her eyes and tiny, wasted arms and legs. This was something else. Robin bore the scars of her addiction. She had drunk secretly throughout her pregnancy, and Robin had all the features associated with Foetal Alcohol Syndrome, a legacy he had to live with. It had set him apart at school, made his social life non existant and caused him to withdraw from the rest of his family. He had retained communication with her, meeting her from time to time and visiting her once in her cottage on a tiny Hebridean island in Scotland. He had always searched for an answer from her but none had ever come. Now he wondered if he would ever get one. We were shown into a waiting room while a doctor was found who could bring us up to date with her situation. Whilst we waited, nurses came and talked to us and it was obvious they were overcome with curiosity.
On her admission, Marcia, in her lucid moments, had refused to supply any names of next of kin. She told them she did not want anyone to know she was there. She had been airlifted off the island and brought to this hospital in Glasgow where she was thought to be just one step up from a bag lady. Some kind soul had packed whatever clothes they could see in plastic bags before the air ambulance had arrived. No one had come to see her. I told them this lady was a highly regarded psychologist, came from a privileged background and only latterly had chosen the seclusion of the island when she realised her looks had disappeared, that she held no further attraction to the opposite sex. Like a sick animal she had gone where she could hide. Sadly, she met other alcoholics who fuelled her addicition and in the end she had collapsded. Someone had found her, alerted the doctor on the island and this is where they had sent her. I could see attitudes change when they heard this and I was determined not to leave the hospital until I had seen a doctor and ensured she would receive the best kind of treatment. I felt grateful to the kind soul from the island who had decided to phone us and let us know the situation.
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| Blog Comments
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So sad Kiddo what a person will do themselves. Coming from a long line of alcoholics, I've had the disservice of watching those I care about drink themselves to oblivion.
Though late in life, maybe she will let those walls come down and give her son the answers he seeks.
You're a good person E, good girl for stepping in:)
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Posted by pitapie50
on 2008-07-24 07:59:15
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Thanks Pita - actually you will have to read Part 2 for the outcome. Only get time every now and then to write as PJ is with us this week. That must have been tough on you - how did you turn out to be such a well rounded gal? lol
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Posted by overthehillandfar...
on 2008-07-24 08:06:27
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Auntie E. Wow. Great write. I felt the emotion of this poor lady, only to have my sympathies turned to her son Robin. That is so sad when women do that, drink while pregnant that is.
Something I never did do, and never would do.
I'll await part 2. thanks.
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Posted by EasyToSay
on 2008-07-24 08:34:14
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I wish more people could realise what can happen if you do. Thanks Easy for stopping by.
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Posted by overthehillandfar...
on 2008-07-24 11:29:55
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This was well written, I could not tell if it was real or fiction. I assumed real because of the names.
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Posted by prelude2it
on 2008-07-24 13:20:58
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I thought this was fiction and now I am confused as well, but whatever it was
I was mesmirized, well done!!!
over the hill and far away!
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Posted by roe
on 2008-07-25 02:27:59
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mesmerized
I repeat
I was mesmerized
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Posted by roe
on 2008-07-25 02:29:24
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Wow - this story just goes to show that addiction does not show favorites. I can't believe Marcia was once a highly regarded psychologist. How tragic.
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Posted by Meredith
on 2008-07-25 12:30:56
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| Views: 95
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