Then one day a sound breaks the silence woven by the monotony. It startles her from her concentration on the noon newscast, which is mostly the effort of her eyes to read lips or the news interpreters and follow script and imagery. She jumps slightly causing the remote control to tumble off her knee and the throw to slip off her shoulders. She does not recognize the sensation assaulting her domain at first. But it repeats with persistence until it pierces her consciousness. Someone is buzzing the intercom. “Probably a mistake,” she decides as she stands up to lift the receiver from its station on the hallway wall, preparing to fend off the intruder.
“Yes?” she asks the apparatus. Her voice sounds weak and thin, the notes with irritation.
“Mrs. Blaze?” asks a sharp strong voice.
“Perhaps you’re mistaken. This is not the Blaze residence,” she replies.
“Well,” says the voice with a note of exasperation, “Is your name B-L-A-I-S?”
“What now?”
The names of the letters are repeated more sharply. She is surprised to recognize them as the spelling of her own name--well, that of her husband, which she did adopt officially too many years ago to count. “Oh. Yes, it is. I’m Mrs. Blais,” she informs the communicator. “But I’m afraid that I do not donate at the door. You may mail me something if you like,” she tells it further, doing the best job that she can to be correctly cordial.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Blais,” objects the voice. “Your daughter, Lucy Wilson contacted us. We are a service for seniors,” it insists. It repeats emphatically with sluggish deliberation, “YOUR DAUGHTER ASKED US TO VISIT YOU.”
It is something about her daughter, apparently. This is highly irregular but one never knows. She decides that she had better find out what this is all about. “I’m in 200. Come up.”
She is annoyed to hear the buzzing again after having hung up the thing. “Come up!” she reminds them, whoever they are.
“PLEASE OPEN THE DOOR!” shouts the voice
She hesitates but reads the note beside the apparatus. It tells her to press six to let someone in the front door of the building.
She paces the hall and glances around the kitchen and living room. Everything is in order. No dust or trash. She wears her crisp easy-care clothing for every day, the kind that is readily machine washable and dryable, although she prefers to let her things drip dry as much as possible.
Not sure she will hear the knock, she stands by the door and places her palm on the outer panel so that she can be sure when the alien hand strikes the wood. It soon is felt.
Turning the latch to the deadbolt, she pulls the door open a couple of inches. There stand two women, a tallish fiftyish-something woman with a practical bob and in a smart but plain suit and a smaller, younger coloured woman, longish hair tied back and in mauve slacks and a banana yellow fleece jacket. Puzzled, she inquires, “Whom might you be?”
“I’m Ms. Harvey, from a community organization for seniors. Your daughter, Mrs. Wilson, called us. This is Bonnie,” says Ms. Harvey in carefully paced clear tones, gesturing to the other woman. They both smile at her. “May we come in and explain further?”
“Well, if you’re quick about it. I’m busy, you understand.”
“Oh, I do. We won’t take long.”
She guides them into the living room and points to the sofa as she resumes her seat, this time in an attentive pose, in the armchair. “Do you need water?” she asks, trying to be mindful of her manners but not wishing to appear gullible.
“No, thank you,” responds the big one, who is apparently the leader, with a shake of the head. She continues, rising and extending her arm over the coffee table between them to display a business card. “Your daughter, Mrs. Wilson, called our organization. She said that she was concerned because you living alone. She wants someone to visit you once in awhile. That’s what Bonnie is here for. How about it?”
She’s immediately indignant at the implication that she is so feeble that she needs a helper. “I’m sorry for your trouble, but I manage quite well.”
“We know,” is the swift answer. “Mrs. Wilson feels that you might enjoy a regular visit. She can take care of little tasks too, if you wish.”
“She could talk to me. Anyway, she knows I’m fine.”
“She said that she wanted to discuss this but that you don’t use the phone much anymore and you don’t reply to letters. Anyway, she sent us something to pass along to you.” She digs out a manila envelope from the satchel that is strung over her shoulder. Opening the flap and sliding its contents out, she holds up a pale pink sheet of paper.
“Leave it there on the table, would you? I’ll read it and get back to you.”
“Mrs. Blais, perhaps you may as well get to know Bonnie a little. Tell us how you feel about the proposal later.”
“Where are you from, Mrs. Blais?” asks Bonnie sweetly.
“I’m from right here, young lady,” is the slightly indignant answer. Softening at the chance to say something about herself, she adds, “Well, Vancouver, really. My parents moved here from other places in Canada.”
“I see. I’m from the Philippines.”
“You came to make some money for your family, I suppose. Hah! You won’t get rich here, you know.”
Bonnie chuckles slightly. “I know. My family thought it would be a good idea for the sake of the whole family. The Philippines is a very poor place, and I’m responsible for a couple of kids.”
“You mean they’re still over there?”
Bonnie notes a show of interest. She grins. “Yes. I finished in the government nanny program. Now I work for this group. It’s my third year in Canada. So maybe I can have the kids come to Canada if it is working out.”
She makes no further reply.
“Your daughter thinks you’re bored. She is worried that you sit around at home too much. It’s not healthy, she thinks. So I just come to say hi, talk or pass the time with you.”
“When?”
“We think that two times a week would be sufficient, and affordable. Today is Tuesday. How about Tuesdays and Fridays, half a day each time?”
“Oh, am I supposed to give you cash each time?” she asks worriedly, stiffening and retreating further back into her chair defensively.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Blais. Your daughter is taking care of it. Anyway, we will see if you can get the government subsidy. We’ll talk about that later. Just read the letter from your daughter. Now, would you like Bonnie to stay for a couple of hours today, since she is here already?”
Bonnie is scrutinized up and down. “if she likes, I guess,” she answers with a shrug.
“Wonderful. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Bonnie will take the form for our office when it’s ready. It’s there with the letter. She’ll help you with it.”
“The permission form, Mrs. Blais,” says Bonnie kindly in response to the elderly woman’s quizzical expression. “It’s an agreement to have me come see you.”
She nods. Ms. Harvey takes her leave crisply.
“Now, what are we supposed to do? You need a job, I guess. Can’t blame you. So, you can hang around if you want, but just on those two days.”
“Okay,” laughs Bonnie. “I’ll drop by on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. Right?”
“I take walks after lunch. What do you want to do about lunch?”
“That’s all right, I can go with you. I like exercise too. If you want to give me a sandwich or something when I come, I’ll just check this box. If not, I’ll come later, say 1:30, and stay until 5:30.”
“I’m not poor! I can spare a sandwich or two. Oh, dear. I don’t know what you like.”
“I’m not fussy,” says Bonnie politely. “We can see how it goes.”
“Well, think about it dear, and I will order something the next time I order my groceries.” She is disconcerted by the girl’s confident and cheery presence. Finding her bearings, she says unintentionally gruffly, “I missed the news.”
“Sorry. I won’t disturb you next time, ma’am. I can bring a book if you’re too busy to talk,” replies Bonnie somewhat slyly. Part of her job is to win over the clients. She has been trained to expect that they are usually stuck in their routine and consider visits from care aides invasive and uncomfortable. It is common sense to expect that anyway, so she has been trying to size this one up and considers that cheery small talk won’t cut the grade. She picks up on the mention of the news. She decides that this one wants distance and she respects it. She thinks that they can break some ice with talks about current events. She then makes a remark about the issue of a new government policy. She smiles when it triggers a response.
“I shouldn’t discuss this now. It’s time to tidy the kitchen and get the mail. Then I must take my walk.”
“Okay. I can look at a magazine now.” Bonnie is trained to let the client perform her own tasks if she wishes. It is preferable for it keeps them mobile and engaged in life. She has been briefed on this client. According to her profile, the issue is social interaction to keep her from sinking into depression, which can result in more health issues. She lost her husband three years ago. She is nearly 70, a crucial point in the aging process. The children live far away. She is getting deaf and becoming socially withdrawn and apathetic, says the file. “Can I walk with you, ma’am?” She is supposed to stay with the client, but it is always best to seek permission. Some clients get so resentful and angry; she understands, for the presence of a caregiver presumes that the person needs personal care, and that is a hard thing to accept. North Americans are too independent and often lead lonely lives when they don’t have to, but, still, she agrees with the concept of personal autonomy that she has been taught. She concedes that all people, no matter their culture, need some measure of control over their own lives, of course. It is difficult for anybody to accept strangers into their homes. If nobody was around her mother, she would try to have an aide visit her mother. But Bonnie is only 33 and her mother 54 and in passable condition.
“Yes, if you must be here, by all means. It looks like I can’t stop you, anyway.”
Bonnie is accustomed to the proud reluctance to accept company and assistance because she knows it is related to the old person’s age. She knows that she will grow old and be in need of some kind of assistance some day herself. It will be a hard thing to accept when that time comes.
Canada is cold and quiet to her, even rainy Vancouver. It was very difficult to work in that big draughty house in the Toronto suburbs for two years. She had fun playing with the two young children, though. She felt lonely, but she was not allowed to access the family telephone to make her calls home everyday. Her employer there was relatively kind, however, and she finished her contract. Other Filipinas had big problems. Some employers were mean. She had been lucky even if she had missed her homeland.
She remembers the crowded and hectic days weighed down by the heavy tropical heat but alleviated by the lively and noisy streets with the shouts of the vendors, the laughter and babble, the heckles and horn blasts of the drivers, the incessant rumblings and whirring of the vehicles. Here in Canada it is more likely that the quiet can weigh you down and crush your soul, not the weather, if you are not careful.
She believes by now that most people in this land are full of kindness. At first, they looked scary. Peoples’ expressions are solemn while they don’t say anything so much of the time. They frown. They argue a lot.
She takes refuge with other Filipinos when she can. She and her compatriots love the times when they gathered under some pretext or other—someone’s birthday or pregnancy, an engagement or anniversary, a national holiday in the home country or one in Canada. They would bring food and gifts and crowd together in the little apartments or houses to cook and eat their favourite dishes all day, sharing the news and the jokes, gossiping and giggling with the TV or stereo blaring the whole time.
Bonnie looks around and sighs when she perceives that there is no stereo. Like most Filipinos, she craves pop music constantly.
No mail having arrived today, the lady announces that she is going out for her walk. She makes a corner store her destination, for she wants to serve tea and biscuits. She has not done that for a long time and the thought of doing so today gives her a little pleasure. “Shall we have tea and biscuits after our walk, Bonnie?”
“Okay. That would be good,” is the cheery response. Bonnie does not like to take advantage and is watching her weight, but she knows that the old ladies like to treat the aides. It is permissible to accept simple and small treats. Anyway, it is good for them to eat sweets for they should make an effort to increase their body fat as of the age of 70, generally speaking.
70 is a good time to intervene in an elder’s life. That is the time when accidents can happen and self-neglect can begin, when a sudden fall can typically occur and trigger a series of events leading to a person’s premature demise. With adequate preparations, however, the person’s chances of living well into their 80s is increased. Bonnie has seen it happen before. If intervention comes too late, no sooner has the aide begun her work when she gets the call not to show up anymore and knows that the client has passed.
Mrs. Blais is lucky. She will get a number of requests for changes to her life at this stage, realizes Bonnie: for bathroom and kitchen renovations, dietary suggestions, proposals to enroll in seniors’ programs, installments of safety devices, videos—all which can have the positive effect of extending the elder’s comfortable residence at home and avoiding injury or illness and transfer to a facility. Part of Bonnie’s job is to help ease the transition in this type of case. Also, she will aid in rebuilding some structure into Mrs. Blais’ life, which will be good for her mental health.
During their walk, Bonnie launches into one of her well rehearsed introductory conversations. “This must be a strange situation for you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I know it’s a big change. But I hope we can get along. Maybe you’ll like it, you never know. Hey, maybe it’ll be interesting.”
She gets a “hmph,” which is not a refusal. “We’re on the right track,” reflects Bonnie mutely.
“It’s not as if I’ve been living like a hermit my whole life,” asserts Mrs. Blais.
“No, only lately,” comments Bonnie.
“So they’re talking about me?”
“I had to know a little about you to know what to expect.”
They head out together for the walk without speaking for the first couple of blocks. As they approach a corner, Mrs. Blais instructs Bonnie to follow her to the right. “I want to go to the little corner market today, to get the tea and things,” she advises her.
That is Bonnie’s chance to extend her tentacles of communication to feel out the response: “Have you lived around here long?”
“Only 15 years. We sold the house after the children left and got this apartment. The kids were born in Winnipeg. That’s where I grew up. But Fred and I thought there were more opportunities out on the West Coast. His company folded in the 70s, you see. It was a good decision. We did all right.”
Bonnie smiles to herself. She notices the correction to the lady’s origins. The old folks started to want to talk about their lives. 70 was the usual age in the West when the urge arose. She respects seniors. Seniors have knowledge and wisdom to teach the younger generations.
“I see,” she responds, not wishing to press her companion. Not hearing anything further, she prompts her again. “What was Winnipeg like?”
“Cold and windy long winters, hot and unpleasant summers. Wet springs and hardly any fall to speak of. Everybody knows that. Well, I guess you have not been to many places in Canada.”
“I just moved here from Toronto, ma’am. I only know Toronto.”
“Hah! Toronto is too big. Toronto people are impatient and rude. Too bad for you.”
“The family I lived with was kind to me.”
“Ah, good for you, then. Now you’re here. Lucky. Everybody wants to live in Vancouver.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful and not so cold.”
“Do you like the rain?”
“It rains much more in the Philippines for several months each year.”
“More than this place? This is the rainforest region, you know.”
“Yes, it rains steadily here a lot of the time but the rain is heavier in the Philippines. We get a storm or two every afternoon or evening in the summer and fall in the Philippines.”
“Oh, my.”
They resume a silent stroll and soon re-enter the apartment, where Mrs. Blais puts on water to boil and opens the packet of biscuits. Sitting on the sofa again, Bonnie examines the photographs on the side table. She remembers that the file reports three living children of this woman. “Are these pictures of your children, ma’am?” she calls out.
“Yes, I have three.”
“Do they live far away?”
“Yes. One stayed in Winnipeg, another settled in the States and the third, my eldest, followed her husband to Calgary. They’re all married now. I have five grandchildren. I rarely see them, though.”
“Sometimes, family must leave to get good jobs,” offers Bonnie. “That is my case, of course.”
“Where are your children?” inquires Mrs. Blais, assuming that Filipina women all have children. She is getting more comfortable. Bonnie’s company is relaxing. She does not make her conscious of her lack of accomplishments and inadequacies.
“I had to leave them behind in the Philippines. Actually, they are my sister’s kids. Two—one is six and the other is ten. I must look after them because my sister got sick and died awhile ago. The whole family worked hard to make it possible for me to go to Canada. Now I must fulfill my obligation to help them and support the kids. Maybe the kids can come in a couple of years. I hope so.”
“Why, yes, of course you do,” acknowledged the elder. “Do you have some pictures of your family with you?”
“Oh, yes, ma’m. ”Bonnie reaches over the arm of the sofa to pick up her handbag and take out her wallet. As Mrs. Blais returns to the sitting area from behind the wall that partitions the kitchenette holding a plate of cookies, Bonnie places a selection of photos on the coffee table. “Let me help you, ma’am,” rising to go bring the tray with the tea service into the living room.
“Do you live by yourself, dear?” asks Mrs. Blais after looking at the photos from her position in the armchair.
“Oh, no, ma’am. I share a house with some other Filipina ladies and a couple of kids.”
“Kids, too? It must get really noisy.”
“Yeah, but we like that,” says Bonnie with a grin. “We have fun. Now and then, when we can get time off, we make big parties and invite other people to eat and talk. We go shopping together. We have dance parties, too. You know, we have a karaoke machine. It’s great!”
“Goodness! But you work odd hours, surely, in this occupation?”
“I only stay overnight on the weekends, ma’am. Then I have shifts like this during the week. So I’m home in the evenings and sometimes during the day.”
“Ah. It must be difficult work, with some people. Don’t you have to bathe and dress some people?”
“Yeah, some of them. It’s okay. I know they need the help.”
“I hope they’re nice to you. What about the company, the employer? I hope they give you decent pay and all that.”
“This agency is one of the better ones. Even the part-timers get benefits. There are never problems with pay. Except, sometimes we work three shifts in a row and they forget to pay us overtime.”
“Forget! Huh.”
“We don’t want trouble, ma’am. We don’t say much. We need the jobs.”
“Hm-hmm. Yes. Well, it must be nearly 4:30.”
“It’s only 3:45,” replies Bonnie, peering at her wristwatch.
“Well, dear, I’m not used to this. I usually take a nap before dinner.”
“Oh, okay ma’am. I’ll tidy up and leave. You go ahead and take your nap. So I will come back at noontime on Friday.”
“Friday.”
“Do you want to sign the form now, ma’am?”
“Let’s finish it when I see you on Friday, shall we?”
“Okay, ma’am.” Bonnie quickly washes up the dishes and starts putting away the food. She decides to leave the food out on the counter, all except the milk, and leave the dishes in the dish rack instead of boldly poking around in the woman’s cupboards at this early stage. She lets Mrs. Blais retire as she pleases. She just checks over the living room before taking her exit.
Bonnie heads for the bus stop. She will go back to the office as is the requirement after the first visit so as to report. Her boss will call the Blais family to let them know how things are going and confirm the terms of the arrangement. Calls like that are partly based on her verbal and written notes. The workers keep journals in which reports of the visits are noted and viewed by the staff for the purpose of monitoring the client and handling the business’ relations with the family.
Bonnie will go home for supper after stopping in at the office. She is not paid for the required trips to the office but she understands the importance of them.
She will go home for supper. Then she has to call on a disabled woman whom she assists with the evening meal and bedtime preparations.
Disabled people are more difficult cases, usually. This one expresses the typical anger and grief of the handicapped. Old people tend to do that too the older and more confined they get. In fact, many, like this one she’ll see tonight, are stroke victims. Any damage to the head effects temperament causing irritability or volatility temporarily or permanently. It was difficult to cope with that, especially because the episodes of anger can contrast with a general state of passiveness and therefore surprise.
The client’s anger can lead them to call and complain to the agency, even make up stories if they do not want to have a stranger come and help them in their own home. Sometimes they hit or throw things at a worker. Bonnie is trained to understand the feelings of these people. She, like other workers in the field, is
compassionate anyway. Still, it is not pleasant.
She is glad to have a few easy cases like Mrs. Blais, who only need companionship and have not become bitter or despondent. In Mrs. Blais’ case, those emotional downturns can be prevented. But many people cannot afford the help because the government does not subsidize them unless the doctors state that their physical condition necessitates homecare. The elderly person or her or his family often cannot afford to pay for the service all on their own, even if they see the benefits of it. Sometimes, though, the families are stingy or there is animosity and they do not want to pay for the relative’s homecare.
For now, Bonnie focuses on the future and for its sake keeps committed to her job. She enjoys the times spent with her friends and the phone calls to home.
For the long term, she keeps an eye out for a worthy husband looking for a family. A husband would make life easier and provide a father figure for her niece and nephew. Finding the time and opportunity to meet an appropriate mate, however, was difficult under the circumstances, the kind of socializing required for it being limited in her present life. She therefore consults the matchmakers in the community and on the internet.