My current profession in this life is an LNA, or, licensed nurse's aide. Which is to say, I'm not a real nurse, I just do all the grunt work that nurses used to do but no longer have time for as they're too busy doing alot of the work that doctors used to do. Don't ask me what the doctors do these days. I work in a long-term care facility; ie. a "nursing" home. My work entails bedpans and diapers (though for "dignity's sake we don't call them diapers; "briefs" is the preferred euphemism.) I bathe and dress and feed and attend a gazillion other minor needs of my residents. I hear the incessant rings of call bells, the crying, moaning, sometimes screaming utterances of scared, confused, angry, depressed elderly people who all know they are there to die, that this is the end of their road. Though I have no formal medical, psychological, or sociological education or training, I have become an expert in practical care of patients suffering from dementia, Alzheimers, various neuroses and sundry psychoses, and medical conditions such as diabetes, Parkinsons, MS, COPD, stroke and heart conditions, amputations, knee and hip replacements, etc. etc. I also provide an ear to listen, a hand to hold, hugs and smiles and laughs for lonely people who have little to look forward to and way too much time to dwell on their dismal situation. And often, for my own benefit as well as theirs, and to preserve some sense of peace and wonder in life, not to mention mere sanity, and when I can summon it...I sing.
I've actually been told by many of my residents that I have a nice, or even beautiful voice. Some ask if I have formal training or if I sing in a choir or even professionally. I always deflect such comments; quipping that "I sound great in my shower or my car!" This usually elicits a smile or laugh and the subject is quickly dropped. Sometimes they encourage me though, urge me in fact to pursue it. One lady looked me dead in the eye and told me, "It's a gift; you have to use it." But understand, for me it is hard. I grew up in a "not-so-nurturing" environment of naysayers, all too ready to critique and dismiss the notion that I or anyone we knew had any real talent in any artistic endeavor. Make no mistake, it's not that we didn't appreciate the arts; we loved music and literature, film and dance and all the rest of the creative arts, but unless you were at the top level, and in possession of obvious world-class talent, to pursue any of these endeavors was to be considered a monumental waste of time, worthy of no more than "hobby" type passion. Reality, realism, and being realistic were the mantras. Smugness, scoffing, and smirking were the chains to tether such silly, and lofty ideas to the earth.
For many years, the only real artistic pursuit that I simply could not abandon, was my writing. I earned a BA in English with emphasis on creative writing at the University of New Hampshire. One of my writing mentors once told me that I write: "Not because you want to, but because you have to." Apparently he saw in my meager offerings of fiction that for me, writing was as necessary as breathing. But music? No, it was always the joke that nobody in my family had any talent for music. Yet, on my 40th birthday I purchased myself a guitar. And though I'm still a self-taught, barely intermediate player, I enjoy playing; for me, it's therapuetic if nothing else. Then recently, after years of clinical depression, divorce, and other monumental changes in my life, as I learned to enjoy life as I once did as a child, I started singing... Only in the shower and the car of course. But soon my confidence grew and I started singing aloud at work. Some of the residents smiled and pointed out that I sounded "happy." They appreciated that, someone with the nerve to be "happy"...amidst all that misery. I sang louder, started really working on hitting the notes, discovered that though I have limited range, I can improvise and create and go in other places with my voice; it's unique, it's mine. Still, I knew my limits. It was just a "hobby," just for fun. But more and more, people who heard my voice, in both the nursing home and then later outside of it, told me I needed to pursue it; that I should do something with my voice... I would smile, and deflect, and sometimes reply, that I was thinking about it, that I was still a work in progress, that I wasn't...ready yet. I knew my limits. I knew I wasn't a real singer. My real gift was in caring for people, holding their hands, cleaning them up, making them smile or laugh...
The other day, I was absently singing, while tending to one of my residents...she has MS and she's a good 20-30 yrs younger than the old folks in the home, she has nothing in common with them but she's confined to a wheelchair and cannot do more than the most limited of things for herself...this woman motioned for me to squat down to her level; she cannot even lift her head to look up, and she looked at me dead in the eye and said: "I don't want you to be offended...but what the Hell are you doing in this place?" I asked what she meant...she told me that I should be out there, in the real world, singing, on stage and famous...I chuckled and offered my usual deflection: "Hey, if I did that, I wouldn't be able to come take care of you and everybody else..." She shook her head, in her limited way, and replied: "You would be helping other people; you would be making them happy!"
I've been thinking...it's a New Year...oh sure, I know I have no real talent, I'm not a real artist, not a real singer...I have limitations, limited range...but I've been told...I also have a gift...
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