I have to talk about Max because he became a big part of my life while I was in the hospital, even though we have never met and wouldn’t know one another from Adam, God, or the Jackson Five.

See, Max was my next-bed neighbor in Room 604 of Six North in Richmond hospital. That meant I got to hear everything that went on over there.

After all, the only thing between us was curtains, and they are not exactly soundproof.

I fell a little in love with Max the first time I heard him. He arrived at the hospital not long after I did, and so I was there when he was moved into room 604.

He’s chatting with the nurse when he accidentally bumps into her or something and says “Aw, gee, sorry Chief. ”

For those who are not old and/or cool to get the reference :

It’s a catch phrase (one of many) from Get Smart

And that blew my mind. To hear that reference out of the blue like that immediately made me like the guy. And so I began to listen to whatever was going on over there as a matter of course.

I can’t help it. I’m a lifelong eavesdropper. I am too insatiably curious about people’s lives not to be. I always want to know what really happens in people everyday actual completely real lives.

It’s the writer in me, I guess.

So I start listening in. And Max is fun to listen to. He’s very funny and charming to the nurses in a LArry David kind of way. He has the gift of gab. He seems like he would be a fun guy to be around and terribly embarassing to his kids.

My kind of fellow.

I particularly liked it when his daughter brought her husband and some of the grandkids to Room 604 so they could celebrate her birthday together.

Now Max was in his element because now… he had an audience.

And it was clear that his relatives really loved and cherished him. There was a lot of love in that room. He even made the grandkids laugh, and I don’t think they wanted to be there (what kids wants to visit an old man in a hospital bed?) so they were definitely a tough crowd.

He was such a charmer that day that I wondered why he was in the hospital. He seemed to be doing fine to me.

I didn’t have to wonder long. It soon became apparent that Max, well, he was not all there any more.

In fact, there were times when he wasn’t all here, either.

He would get confused. At first, just a little confused. He’d ask when supper was when he had just eaten it. ^[1] He’s call a nurse by the wrong name. He would ask to see the big game on his rented TV, and then ask out loud who put this crap on?

But he got a lot worse. He would slip back in time, thinking he was at some patio party from long ago, complaining that all the kids expected him to feed them when “he’s not a fucking cook, okay?”. He would talk to people who were not there.

And when it got really bad, he would just call out his daughter’s name like a lost child looking for its mother.

In fact, it reminded me of something from when I lived with Angela. One of her cats, a big tough longhaired grey tabby named Harley, was quite elderly. And Harley, too, would get lost sometimes. He would start meowing like kitten, sounding so very sad and lonely, and Angela would have to go find him and pick him up and pet him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

Max did not have someone like that. The nurses looked after him, of course, but they are always super busy and so they can’t spend a lot of time with individual patients.

So most of the time, Max was all alone with his dementia. I felt really bad for him because I know what that knd of fog of confusion can be like. And it’s terrifying. He was clearly very lonely and frightened and lost, and there was nobody to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

I wanted to do it myself. I wanted to reach out to him and tell him, in my best calm, centred, clear voice, that he was in the hospital now and being looked after by good people who wanted him to be healthy and so he should just relax because he’s safe.

Or something to that effect.

But I didn’t, of course. I am far too shy to do that kind of thing. Imagine trying to explain that to his family.

“And who are you again?”
“A random guy with pneumonia. ”
“And you know my father because….?”
“Because I’m a busybody…. listen… ”

But even that is too optimistic. That is how it would work in a sitcom. It would be funny and awkward and while initially mistursting me, the family would get to see that I care about Max and want the best for him, and by the end of the episode, we would all be together sharing a laugh and maybe some cake.

But life is not a sitcom.

It’s sad how often I need to remind myself of that.

Eventually. Max’s problems became discipline problems because his confusion made him agitated and that made him want to stand up, and standing up was not good for him and definitely not what the nurses wanted him doing.

And the thing is, no matter what we know to be true, human beings tend to react to other human being’s behaviour by the standards of “normal” people. So the nurses were getting mad at Max for “not listening” and “not doing what he was told”. They would get him calmed down and agreeable then the moment their backs were turned, he would forget it all and be lost and trying to get out of bed again.

Eventually, this one nurse got so frustrated with him (quite unprofessionally, in my opinion) that they moved him to some other unit in the hospital where someone could keep an eye on him all the time.

The worst part was that I could tell he was ashamed of this.

I, too, know what it is like to be ashamed of the mental mistakes you make and the trouble it causes others when you also feel there is nothing you can do to stop it.

Now that I am home, I won’t get any more updates on how Max is doing. I hope he is doing okay. I hope he finds his way back to the light, at least for a while, and I hope he gets to spend lots more time with his loving family.

I will miss you, Max Who I Don’t Really Know At All And Will Likely Never See Again. It may sound strange, but it’s true. I won’t be there as you flirt with the nurses and I can’t be there for you when you get lost in the darkness of your mind.

But who knows. Maybe we will bump into each other out there some day.

Then we can help each other find home.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.