Old Girls

New Cabpoll up this morning.

A sobering reminder of one’s mortality comes from working with the elderly. Observing how they respond to help is a lesson in contrasting behaviour and gratitude. Whilst a few elderly consider help as an automatic entitlement, most others see it as thoughtfulness, and even a rare opportunity for some human nourishment.

At change-over time on Wednesday afternoon I accepted a radio job from a suburban residence to Concord Hospital. It’s an old story. The passenger’s pre-arranged transport had failed to arrive and the job was shunted down the food chain to a regular white taxi...

In this case the hire car service booked to transport a Veteran Affairs pensioner dogged it (pensioners get luxury hire car service?) leaving me to deal with a cranky old girl running late for a medical appointment.

I arrived to find her standing on the porch and barking for me to drive in. Groan. She boarded with her “lazy; useless; don’t know why I bother talking to him” adult son, grumbling and carrying on like a pork chop. With this start it was almost a perverse pleasure to immediately come across a gridlocked Lane Cove Road. This was expected after hearing an earlier accident warning on the radio.

However I had no intention of compounding both our miseries, for I had ten hours work ahead, and soon found a circuitous route by-passing the log jam. The fact I knew the district backwards seemed to negate her agitation so that by the time we reached Concord Hospital we were both relaxed. A fifteen dollar job was doubled and she flicked me a DVA card for full payment of the fare.

An anxious young nurse waited by my door as the payment was processed, thence requested I take another old girl home. Once again, it was the old story. Her pre-arranged transport had gone missing in action despite numerous phone calls by hospital staff. Her nursing home bus service just didn’t come return for her!?

Naturally by the time the nurse loaded her into the front seat she was pretty stressed and disorientated. Yet was the perfect lady, well mannered and just so happy to be moving.

I’ve said this before - the elderly shouldn’t be out so late in the day as peak hour freaks them out. They should be safely at home in their little abodes, with a cup of tea watching that clown on The Antique Roadshow, whilst the crazy world buzzes outside like swarming, angry fire ants.

It was hard to ascertain how long the old girl actually been waiting as she had early stage dementia, relying on a paper note with her address. “Well, after breakfast this morning the bus took me to the hospital,” she explained when I enquired what time her appointment was. She may very well have been waiting for up to four hours for the bus to return. Bastards.

But in no way would she utter a harsh word about being stranded. For her, that was life. Rather she told me of growing up in the same area as I had, attending familiar schools and churchs, living in well known neighbourhoods and now in a nursing village, one block from my mother’s retirement home.

There were fond mentions of living with her mother until she died, though no talk of a husband or children, but of a life as an Anglican deaconess, working with the poor around Redfern. At eighty five she’d retained her beauty, along with a certain charm and gracefulness, tiny as a child in the seat next to me.

At the nursing home I helped her out of the cab and walked her into the foyer, a modern and well appointed facility obviously a class above the average retirement village. She thought this wonderful, maybe the highlight of her year, arriving home on the arm of a cabbie – there’s hope for me yet!

Actually, I was hot on the warpath to give the management a blast for the shabby treatment of a resident. But luckily for them the office was closed. Now I think of it, though, I’ll be visiting my mother this afternoon and will make a point of following-up the old girl’s case. Stand by for an update.

Comments

[Greg]

I think the clown you're referring to is the guy on "Bargain Hunter", which precedes "Antiques Roadshow".

Maybe the transport for these old ladies was stuck in the Lane Cove traffic?

[Jono]

I hate to be a pedant, but I think you mean "A sobering reminder of one’s mortality" - unless you actually do live forever...

[adrian]

Thanks Greg/Jono, must learn to blog fresher.

[Emma]

Lovely observations Man of Lettuce, I can only hope you were one of the cabbies that used to take my cranky old Grandma to and from hospitals and her nursing home. When she was in a mood, she was not fun at all, but when she was good, her sense of humour had all around her in stiches.

[Peter Wotton]

My father is a war vet from the WWII having served in the New Guinea campaign. At 94 , with all his mental faculties still in good working shape but being a little frailer than he was a few years ago.
Previously he has a regular taxi driver who picked him up for his medical appointments, walked him up to reception and picked him up on his completion of his appointment .

The Howard government scrapped that arrangement. He is now picked up, generally late, by unknowing cabbies who drop him at the door of the clinic.

Howard loves to clothe himself in uniform but seeks to screw a little saving out of the inconvenience of an old digger.

[Skyring]

Ahhh, probably not John Howard himself making decisions on selecting taxidrivers for vet pickups. Be fair.

It would have been Tony Abbott, maybe?

[Barry]

I don't believe that anybody in Government scrapped anything in relation to this. More likely the cabbie who regularly picked him up just moved on. How would there be any savings - he still gets picked up in a cab.

[Candy]

Ah, the fragility of human nature. the sweet little old lady and the dragon. I agree they shld all be home with a cuppa. Give them respect and kindness, we'll all be there one day. But not me, Im putting my head in the oven first. Keep your eye on all of us - its great.

[Goldstein]

Driving cabs showed me how many alienated elderly people there are in the suburbs -I assisted some with filling out their census forms -they either couldn't see them or understand them -and regularly made calls or arranged appointments for them..

One old WW2 bomber pilot I picked up was clearly depressed and suffering from PTSD. I took him to his restaurant of choice, where he was eating alone -so I spoke to the owner and told her to look after him, and why.. I came back for him a couple of hours later, like a chauffeur, and ended up sitting with him for a further 2 hours, trying to settle him -it was the first wedding anniversary since his wife of 60 years had died.. He was so lonely, and weepy.. I felt so inadequate, and angry that he should have no-one but a stranger to talk to.

The plight of the aged and infirmed speaks more about wider society than it does about cabbies.. Cabbies just see more of it than the average self-absorbed ordinary citizen.

[Verticalsmurf]

Beautiful Goldstein. It warms my heart that you sat and talked with him. Personally I think the Government should set up a ministry of people who go around talking to the elderly and recording their stories. We could learn so much about struggle, devotion and survival from them.

[Nat]

Hey, I work in a nursing home and I aim to write a book.Actually Im starting tonight. I want it to be funny but poignant. There is lots to be said on behalf of our elderly! My love to all of you that take the time to LISTEN to these folk. It is such a powerful gift.

[Nat]

Hey, I work in a nursing home and I aim to write a book.Actually Im starting tonight. I want it to be funny but poignant. There is lots to be said on behalf of our elderly! My love to all of you that take the time to LISTEN to these folk. It is such a powerful gift.