I've not written about Miss Brown for some time.
The last time I wrote of her was when I described how she'd knocked on the door of her daughter's new, rented place for answers only to find out that her daughter called the police for harassment upon her.
She's still in the Home.
And although she can be doing happier, she's still doing well.
I say happier, because being happy is a choice, even if it is not one of the easiest decision to make when you're eighty years of age and sitting in a geriatric chair watching television surrounded by strangers whom you never prepared yourself to meet.
Neither can one find it an easy choice to make when you wake up day on day not knowing what the day will bring, except for the fact that you're going to have a bath, have breakfast, have your right hand slipped into a huge mitten, and then walked over to the chair where you'll sit (for more or less) the entire day watching the local television channel.
Sure, Miss Brown didn't quite lead a very active lifestyle prior to the Home. She was more of the sedentary, homebody sort who would not leave her house unless there was an errand she had to do. But still, she does find herself trying to get used to the not-so-new arrangement.
Which generally encircles around THE MITTEN.
She HATES the Mitten.
No one will remove it for her.
The clinical nurses won't. Her caregivers won't. The in house doctor won't. And as she recently found out, neither will the doctor at the clinic whom she regularly sees for her medication.
They say it is because she scratches herself too hard.
They say it is because she doesn't know her own strength and has scratched herself until her skin breaks and she bleeds.
But she doesn't know why she itches. Neither does she really know her own strength. You can't gauge for yourself unless there's a method or something. She just knows that if she's unable to lift one hand, she will want to use the other to achieve the goal she desires, never mind if it draws blood. She's not afraid of the blood. She knows she won't bleed out and die. At most she'll get an infection of sorts, and well, maybe, IF it gets serious enough to get an infection... there might be that chance for a re-work again.
Better than sitting down here with no other purpose or goal so unlike what her caregivers used to have her do.