Denture Cleaning Blog #4

I walked through the double set of the doors. The reminiscient smell filled my nostrils. The first floor elevator doors glistened as sunlight hit it. I was back in Madonna Manor, the place were I began my denture cleaning journey. I was ready and excited until the new front desk lady said we had to do a Covid test. thankfully, my father, siblings, and I were all "negative" so we went back to the utility room and set up the ultrasound. I checked my front shirt pocket to see if my Polaroids were still there. Got it. I went to the familiar lady in the first floor, Virginia. She was the first patient who I connected with and was the first to receive her Polaroid. She loved it.

My best friend from the third floor, however, awaiting my arrival. Connie, the one who I conversed and connected with was in the third floor. But I had to go to second first. Inpatiently, I rushed thorugh the rooms, finding no one to clean the dentures for. It was ok. Third floor was my goal.

I went up the elevator and knocked on Connie's room door. A nurse appeared struggling to help her up from the bed right beside her. I walked away. I thought she was healthy, she's always so lively. I shook off that thought from my mind and went to another room. I cleaned another one's dentures, but Connie was still on my mind. I had to give her the Polaroid picture.

I returned, and there she was! She was jolly and invited me in. Her familiar positive energy could be seen through her words and facial expressions. I was elated. However, I noticed one thing different. She had a medical tube through her nostrils and had a button to press to call for nurses. I was hurt. Her scaly arms popped into my vision and her veins stuck out of her scrawny forearms. I didn't want to see this. But not even her physical condition could stop her kindness. I took her dentures and meticulously deep-cleaned them. I made sure the cleaning was the worth the wait. I quickly walked back to her room and talked with her. I showed her my surprised; she was overjoyed. She told me about her collections of pictures in her room, reminding her of distinct memories of her past. Now she has another one.

As she shared her stories of her sons, her face became more dejected and sad. She said most of her friends and family passed away besides two of her sons. She had no one else to accompany her. It was just her two sons. And me. I became her third friend. She almost cried when she told me how she would cry every morning thinking about her passed sons. I was hurt bad. Like real bad. My eyes didn't water but my heart broke. After she told me a bunch of stories and memories, I began to realize that I needed to be that friend to Connie and others. These elders only have themselves in the small room. Communication is powerful, but friends are even more. Now, Connie is one of my friends. Our age difference doesn't matter, the new bond we have is never to be broken. I can't wait to see her again in a month.

(sorry this was another long one!)