Farewell Orange Man

He had definitely been more talkative that week, and many more smiles met his face than usual. He spoke louder, grasping the final moments of conversation with his colleagues. He soon came over to my desk, and handing me the final two satsumas he would probably ever give me, told me he would miss me. Orange Man’s final day, having worked since the age of 16, came that Friday. Mr Enthusiastic reminded me that, despite his eccentricities ‘[Orange Man] is the only person in here – in fact the only person I know – who gives someone a gift every single day.’ It is true. He was grateful if you showed him kindness but he did not ask for it, nor for anything in return. And he continued to give the citrus gifts regardless of the response they emitted

That Friday I ate my tangerine slowly, looking at each segment a little longer – never previously noticing how they stay tied together by the white whispy strings. Orange Man began to tell me of his friends in the café who bought him a retirement card and a book on Thailand. His gratitude shone across the desk and humbled me. He said how the daughter of the café owner was trying to become an actress adding ‘She is young – you’ve got to follow your dreams don’t you. I am doing it the other way around.’ This is what I had observed previously when I had said I did not want to wait until I am any older to find a more fulfilling path. I feel some guilt in my initial explanation of this written in this blog. I did not give him the credit he deserved; he’s had a challenging life and does not have the same support network that I perhaps take for granted, yet he is still the one to come baring gifts and gratitude.

The Xmas before last I pulled his name out of an enevelope -meaning he was my secret Santa. I rarely take part in these, perhaps I’m not enough of a team player, but made the effort to this year. I thought up a gift: a mug with his name and the image of an orange on it. He opened it and was grinning whilst saying ‘ah look at that – that’s nice’. And it was nice – it wasn’t kind. In the sense that nice can be a lesser form of humanity – niceness wants in return. Kindness is deeper than that, and only wants to give. You could argue there is no selfless good deed – that we are all ultimately selfish. That we do gain some positive reward from any form of giving even when there is no obvious reward. This takes me back to a Friend’s episode where Pheobe was determined to prove this untrue. Whilst I think Pheobe was wrong, there are certainly degrees to which we do for gain and do for doings sake.

Sitting next to Orange Man at that Xmas party, after a glass or three of wine I said ‘Who do you think got you that mug?’ – he guessed but did not say my name. Ten minutes later I spurted out ‘It was me!’ He said thank you, and that he really liked it. He used it every day in the office since. Why did I need to get the credit? He doesn’t remind me each day that he gave me an orange, and on his last day he bought everyone a rather big lunch hamper that I saw him eat very little of. I will take that lesson from him.. to give little segments of kindness but don’t demand a return. The way kindness works you’d probably get a kind expectation free segment back one day anyway.

A Morning in Bay 6

‘I’m so sorry, ouch. I am so sorry to bother you dears. Oh gosh this is embarrassing, ow.’

‘I don’t know where my husband is, I don’t know.’

‘I am sorry to be an awful patient. I am sorry to be such a damn nuisance I really am. You have so much to do don’t you, I do worry about it.’

The echoes of the bed occupants trickle across Bay 6, holding confusion and disappointment at their presence here. The toothpaste striped curtains hang, dividing each bed, blocking the outdoor light the ward so desperately craves. A familiar face appears; the woman who’s been supplying me a steady line of tea and biscuits all week. ‘Morning’, I greet her, wondering whether it’ll be hob nobs or custard creams later on. For now she places a jug of water on my sister’s bedside, and pushes her trolley along the ward. Nurse Shirley appears and introduces herself with a warm Irish accent – she is the 7th nurse to have covered my sister’s care on this hospital visit. Male, female, Filipino, Spanish, English, Irish, young, old; all have been wonderfully caring and compassionate.

As my sister sleeps on I listen through the curtain walls as staff respond to the elderly patients:

‘Be kind to yourself, you’ve been through a lot. Don’t worry if you can’t do everything you used to straight away’.

‘Yes, high 5 you made it!’.

‘You are no trouble at all Mary. No trouble at all’.

I am humbled by both the gratitude of the patients, and selflessness of the staff. Mary from Bed 2 is eager not to bother anybody today. When she is asked what she would like for her breakfast she doesn’t want any one to go to the hassle of toasting her bread stating ‘any bread at all – just a little marmite if you have it. Thank you, Thank you dear.’

Rose is more hard of hearing, so I need not strain for my eavesdropping. ‘We need to move you now Rose to take your weight’ – ‘What? OK.’ I wonder how frustrating it must be to have to continually ask ‘What? Pardon?’ – and even after receiving the response , never being quite sure of what was said or what is about to happen. As Shirley begins to move her, Rose is becoming distressed marked by her heavy breathing and incoherent mumbles. Shirley reassures ‘it’s ok we will change the sheets’, whilst Rose’s mumbles become clearer; ‘a mess. I made a mess.’ The process of weighing Rose and changing her wet bedsheets goes on for the next 10 minutes. The footsteps and voices through the curtain inform me of the events. ‘Rose can you stand up for me. Sit back. Rose we need to weigh you. You’re in the hospital. Yes Rose, sit back. Can you rest your leg here. Put your leg here. No, No here Rose. I need to get a weight. Sit back.’ Shirley patiently directs.

Meanwhile Mary’s breakfast has arrived ‘Toast and Marmalade for you’ states the healthcare assistant. Presumably pointing towards the marmalade – Mary asks ‘What is this?’ Mary doesn’t mention anything about her bread not being untoasted or her absent marmite, instead replying ‘Thank you ever so much.’ Violet over in bed 3 awakens just as gratefully  to her breakfast arrival. ‘Oh wonderful, my mouth is so dry is that orange juice?’

My attention switches back to Shirley and Rose, as the lady handing out breakfasts is called to come and assist; ‘I am struggling to get her on her feet.’ I now only hear huffs, footsteps, and movement – but both Shirley and the healthcare assistant emerge soon after, unveiling the curtains displaying Rose seated on her chair, and freshly changed bedsheets.  Throwing their gloves in the bin, the two ladies continue with the clean up operation. Through their demeanour it is clear that the patience and care I just witnessed them displaying, is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

Rose looks over at me with a confusion as to who I am, as I sit tapping away on my laptop. I became so lost in following the situation around me that I seem to have forgotten I wasn’t invisible. I smile at her, with the biggest grin I can offer, but her bewildered gaze moves on. Her breakfast soon arrives, and that does not seem to aid her understanding of her surroundings. It sits on her table, waiting to be eaten. She sits blinking frequently, looking down at her shoes, up at the wall, back across the ward, and at her breakfast again. I am sure she doesn’t know that it is hers. Her confusion scares me. She reaches toward her spoon. She almost touches it. But moves her hand back to her knees where it sits mirroring the right hand. Her hospital gown matches the whiteness of her hair. Her skin seems reddened by years and split capillaries. Her swollen ankles match the width of her knees. My Tea and biscuit supplier walks over to me and hands me a warm cuppa – no sugar and milk. She no longer need ask my preference, and I joke that I am now a regular, suddenly so grateful that I know where I am and what to do with this cup.

Searching For Grey

I completed my 48 hour iPhone free challenge and here I am, 5 days later; unscathed and reporting back. It started with a walk to the Overground station to start a journey that I was already an hour late for. Replacement Buses. Damn it. ‘Is the bus replacement all the way up to Clapham Junction?’ I asked the station staff. ‘Yes’ he replied, as though that was the answer I wanted to hear. Feeling aggravated that I would now be even more late, and with no phone to amuse, redirect or distract me – I watched myself huffing and puffing over to the designated bus stop. My frustration peaked with the buses lack of arrival, and during another big bad wolf like sigh I snapped at myself ‘Why the hell am I doing this stupid no iPhone challenge? For who?’. The answer was: for myself – to see what would happen. What was happening was that I was drowning within the first few hours of my self inflicted technology drought. Using my brain and what  I picked up from staring at a the maps whilst on the tube all these years, I navigated myself iPhone free and found a faster route to my destination. I did check out ‘Snake’ on the way – grateful I grew up in an era who appreciate this incredibly simple game.

 

Throughout the first day my habitual phone checking was what concerned me the most.  After that first day I felt as though my duties had been lifted when I realised it was a useless activity for my rather silent Nokia. There was nothing there for me to check, except the minutes on the clock slightly increasing. This checking wasn’t so apparent to me with my iPhone as I would not even register that I was doing it – I would be busy reading, watching or responding to what ever was on my device at that given moment. During this 48 hours I read a book, bar the last 25 pages. I watched Mrs Doubtfire, properly and without distraction. I played with my nieces with less phone checking breaks. I  spoke to the people I was with more attentively. OK I couldn’t take pictures of my dinner and missed out on some last minute plans with friends, but whoever I was with I felt I was more truly with.

 

As soon as my phone went back on, so did my phone addiction. Those last 25 pages of the book I jumped into, remain unread. When my phone is in my hand I still provide a fragmented version of myself to those around me. Each ping or vibration from my 5s provokes in me an uncomfortable eagerness. The tasks I set myself often seem to be ‘all or nothing’ – no running vs running a marathon, no alcohol vs out-drinking the bunch, iPhone addict vs no smart phone, meditate every day vs forget the whole thing. What I have learnt most from my 48 hours iPhone free is to try to live within the grey areas of life more: read a few pages of a book each day, run 15 minutes as and when I fancy, and yes use the technological advancements my smart phone provides, but don’t be so consumed by it that I am led to think I need to revert back to that Nokia 1110.