Betty and Dennis

On day of 2 of my trip I got stuck in another snow storm while attempting to head out to the coast.  I had driven from Redding, CA and had gotten to a little town of Weaverville before the snow became so heavy that the pass continuing to the coast, and also back to Redding, had been closed to any vehicles without chains. I was stuck. Since it was only 10 am, and I didn’t feel like letting my car run all day so I could stay warm, I decided to stay at little quaint motel nearby. The motel was run by a 77 year old woman named Patty that prided herself on being a staunch manager for over 20 years…..”to keep the meth-heads out.” We chatted for a while because she had fallen the day before and was now using a walker to get around because her hip was so painful. Being the therapist I am, and my love for the geriatric population, I had to ask all the necessary questions to make sure she was ok. I wanted to stay and chat with her for a while longer because she looked like a woman who had quite a story to tell about her life. But since I was a stranger, and wanted to respect her privacy, I restrained myself.

After a nice relaxing day at the motel, the next morning I decided to head back to Redding instead of continue on to the coast since mudslides had been reported on highway 1. As I approached Redding, the rain had let up. Yay!  It was still a chilly 45 degree overcast day, but I decided to visit the Sundial Bridge, an iconic city landmark.  It is a unique and cool bridge with a beautiful view of the snow capped mountains. It felt so good just to move and walk around after being cooped up driving or in motel rooms. I enjoyed walking the paved mile loop on the other side of the bridge at a leisurely pace, just taking in the scenery and letting my mind wander.

As I finished walking the loop and was approaching the bridge, I noticed a couple a little ways off. The woman was in a wheelchair, wearing a pink snow hat, a blanket on her lap and smoking a cigarette. The man was standing beside her, bearded, curly hair peeking out from under his snow cap, shorter than average, and wearing a long black trench coat. I felt uncomfortable. Why did this scene make me feel so uncomfortable? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was it because I had been working in a mental health facility the past year where a good number of my patients resembled this couple and were also drug addicts and homeless? I don’t know. But in a brief moment, and from a distant observation, I had made an assumption about these people.

As I passed them, the lady called out to me, “Hey, why’d they build this bridge?” still looking out over the bridge with her back against me

I stopped, “Are you asking ME?’

“Yeah, I’m asking you!” she responded in a raspy voice followed by a breathy chuckle.

As I came around to face her, I saw it was an elderly woman with a big grin. Her warmth and smile automatically softened my heart and my assumptions and judgement immediately embarrassed me.

“Hmmm, I think they built it just for you to see this view” I smiled back.

She rolled her eyes and half-laughed.  The man standing next to her also laughed.

I continued, “I’m not from here so I don’t know the history of it all.  I assume they built it because they want to attract more tourists and just get people outside and into nature more.”

The man spoke, “We’re not from here either. We’re from Alabama. Where are you from?”

And so started a very pleasant 20 min conversation. I came to find out that the couple were mother and son. Betty and Dennis. Betty recently had a stroke, 4 months ago. She’d been through rehab and then had been living at home alone in Alabama, with a lot of difficulty.  According to her, she was managing fine at home but her family felt otherwise. Betty felt her family forced her to move out to California so they could keep an eye on her.  But you could also tell she knew she needed the help and it caused her sorrow.  I shared that I was a therapist as well worked with patients just like her. Because my “therapist” self is always turned on, I started asking all sorts of recovery and caregiving questions. She showed me how she could now move her right foot now and could walk very slowly and awkwardly with the help of a cane (her son shaking his head in the background, as if to communicate that he felt otherwise).  I then noticed her right edemous hand limply lying beside her lap with the palm turned up at an unnatural angle. Betty reported, almost becoming tearful, that she never regained the use of her right arm or hand. She was discouraged. As I tell all my patients, I would never wish a stroke on anyone.  It’s a cruel disembodiment. Your body is still there, but it is like a foreign object and you no longer have control over it.  A person must go through a grieving process for this body that no longer exists. To grieve for a hand that can no longer automatically reach for the coffee cup, or comb hair or put a button a shirt.  We talked for a while about all this, with the son mentioning his own struggles with managing being a caregiver.   

I felt my own grief for making such a horrible assumption about these sweet people from Alabama. Assumptions about a man in a black trench coach, who was really a caregiver and taking his mother on a nice little outing so that she could just get out of the house.  Feeling total embarrassment and shame for assumptions I had made about this woman in a wheelchair smoking a cigarette, who turned out to be a lovely elderly woman, with a great sense of humor, grieving for her loss of function and now broken body. A woman whose face had sculpted lines of both joy and sadness from all she has had to endure in this life. 

Near the end of our conversation Betty told me she was 73 years old and had survived 8 different cancers, including brain cancer.  How was this woman still alive? 

With a little sarcasm I asked, “So who did you piss off to have all this happen to you?” 

Betty let out a boisterous laugh and replied “I sure don’t know, but I’ve been through it all.” 

Then I added “Maybe you’re just one of the strong ones that can handle anything so God just keeps giving you more because you keep handling it so well.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m still alive” spoken with voice of someone who had conquered so much but also the voice of a person whose body was now failing her.

We chatted a little longer about Alabama and you could tell Betty and Dennis loved their state. They related how nice and hospitable everyone was, how beautiful the countryside was with the rolling hills and landscape of trees and greenery.  Well, Betty and Dennis, thanks for sharing your good nature, your story and your humor. I’ll be sure to take a visit down there to Alabama to check out your beloved state.  And I’m sorry I judged. Please forgive me.