A changing room, the un-orthodox way ...

This is the story of a brave lady, half human, half saint. Why a saint? Because all her life she did little for herself. Most of her life did things for others. Her devotion to people did not stop with her children. She took care of her aging parents, until they left these pastures, her husband's mother, that reached the wonderful age of 105 and 4 months, another saint ... but that will be another story! Then came her nephews and nieces, their children, and their children's children. At least twice a year all close relatives from both sides of the family met in her house to have dinner, to tell each other stories, to catch-up with the news, and, she made sure that no one would leave her house empty handed. As most Pennsylvania Dutch women do, she would cook for 50, if she knew that 25 will come for dinner.

It must have been her past that polished her soul so beautifully. At young age, she was "farmed out" to a family that could raise her properly. For her hard work on the farm, her parents were sent a sac of corn, a sac of grain and few other things, so they could raise the rest of the siblings. Then, she went to school for few ears in a one room school house, on the edge of the farm. Becoming an adolescent she was returned home. Followed few more years of hardship. Working in her family's bakery store, then in her husband's ice cream shop, while raising the children, she never gave up, never said no to no one. She overcame other tragedies, too many to mention here. Maybe in other stories.

Since her husband retired, her social life improved. They frequently went to play tennis, to dance, cruises, visiting the sick in the hospitals or nursing homes, baby-sitting for relatives and strangers. But, for few years now, she could not play tennis anymore, and day by day the range of movement in her knees were rendering her crippled. She decided that the quality of her life must improve. She did not want to be remembered as an old lady sitting in a rocking chair for the rest of her life. She MUST be involved in her grand children's lives, at least, she said.

So she decided that there must be a doctor out there that makes artificial knees small enough for little people like her. And there he was, not far from my home. Since the operation, she is an inch taller. Her brand knew titanium knees, turned her into a bionic woman and returned to her, her pride.

But enough about serious things. The whole purpose of this post was to suggest that, changing rooms must not be built only in the clothing stores.

The other day, hearing that few coupons and a bonus check were ready to expire, she expressed her wish to spend them, somehow. We went to the store in front of the hospital, purchased a half a dozen blouses that we knew she would like and took them to her room. Suddenly her pains seamed to go away, the range of movement in all her joins were back to normal (she claimed), and a visual inspection of the blouses was not enough. She had to try them on, one by one.

We pretended we did not hear the crunching of her teeth and the grimaces of pain, while her eyes, full of happiness, as of the child getting a new toy, tried each blouse, one by one.

We wished there was a changing room in the hospital.

Friday July 27, 2007 - 12:40pm (EDT)