Cheers

I could see Mrs. Yarding sitting in a little metal chair near the doorway before we got in the room. She had her ankles crossed and her hands tucked neatly between her legs, rocking back and forth as she talked. Suppressed anxiety was written all over that rock. She startled a little when we walked in.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Yarding's wife. I'm the speech pathologist working with him and today he's going to get to eat a little!" Carrie, my supervisor, had only seen Mr. Yarding once before so introductions were still necessary.

Mrs. Yarding smiled with her mouth, not her eyes, which flickered over to me. My smile back reflected hers, nervous and unsure.

"My name is Mamie. I'm a graduate student studying to be a speech pathologist like Carrie." I always say 'my name is' instead of 'I'm' because the 'm' in I'm mixes with the 'm' at the beginning of Mamie and then I get called Amy. She nodded and I busied myself helping Carrie get things ready.

Not many people know that speech pathologists work outside of schools and 'wabbits' and stuttering. We feed. We give people who haven't been able to eat a diet that won't make them choke to death or get infections from food in their lungs. You would think that's a happy job.

After draping a towel around Mr. Yarding like an oversized bibb, we wheeled the hospital room table right up to his wheezing chest and placed the tray down in front of him. Carrie uncovered the lid revealing his first meal in two weeks.
"Ok Mr. Yarding we've got you some food here. There's some fish." Carrie pointed to the first white pureed blob, sprinkled with paprika, making a perfectly rounded mound in it's compartment. All his food had to be pureed like baby food to keep him safe. "And we have some mashed potatoes and some ..." she pointed to the green puree in the third compartment. "Well, I'm not exactly sure what it is ... a vegetable, I think brussel sprouts."

She gave him his first bite. A little dribbled from the left corner of his mouth. Carrie wiped it off. He heaved every breath and the food sat in the side of his mouth. His eyes moved from the food on the tray up to Carrie's face real slow. Then he fixed his eyes on me. Mr. Yarding was slumped to the left in his wheel chair, mouth slightly open but his blue eyes pierced me even though his gaze was tired and dull. You could see all that he had been through and all that he used to be in his sharp and heavy eyes. "You don't want to work with people like me. It's silly isn't it? Having to do this with an old man like me?"

I hoped he would look away and I wouldn't have to respond, but he held my gaze strong. "No it's not silly. It's what we're here for and it's not silly if you need it." I hoped my answer sounded strong and reassuring. I felt silly. Carrie saved me by talking.

"Ok Mr. Yarding now I want you to try feeding yourself. Here take the spoon. Take the spoon. No, no the food's already on it you just have to put it up to your mouth."
His good arm still moved slowly and it was immediately evident that the spoon wasn't going to make it into his mouth. It was like watching a slow motion video of a plane crashing. I kept hoping the spoon full of food wouldn't slam into the side of his face but would go into his mouth like it should. It didn't. Carrie grabbed his hand and pulled it over to his mouth just as his daughter walked in.

"Hey Dad! Look who's eatin! Man, that's gotta be good ... you gotta be lovin' that! Somethin' other than water!" She talked, almost shouted, and wore bright red with heels, all full of smiles and energy and encouragement.

He moved his slow eyes over to her voice. "The fish is too salty. They ruined it down there with the salt."

"Well why don't you try some of those potatoes. Yeah, try some of those potatoes. They sure smell good. You GOTTA be lovin' this!"

A few missed bites later, Mr. Yarding looked around at the four women's eyes glued to his mealtime progress. He stopped on me. "I should charge admission."

Shortly after, Mrs. Yarding and Sarah - "My name is actually Sarah Lane. Everyone calls me Lane except him .. he calls me Sarah." - left the room.

Feeling uncomfortable being the only bystander staring down on this old man eating his meal, I glanced out into the hall. Mrs. Yarding had her hands to her face and her shoulders had slumped in toward her chest. She wasn't tight and neat anymore. In the hall she looked tiny and vulnerable next to Sarah in her tall heels. I could barely hear them whispering and the little gasps of breath between Mrs. Yardings tears.
"Don't be upset. This is good. He's eating. Eating will help him get better." Sarah bent her knees to get to Mrs. Yarding's eyeline as she rubbed one hunched shoulder. "Here let's go get a drink from the machine."

They walked away to soothe away the tears with a soda. I looked back at Mr. Yarding, who was struggling get the cup of thickened tea to his lips.

"Everything's a chore now. Everything." He sighed as he set the tea back down, never taking a sip.

***************

A few visits later Mr. Yarding was wheeled into the speech therapy room by a scrub-clad lady. Carrie had told me he hadn't been eating much because he was on new medicine which made him sleepy. "You can't eat and you definitely can't swallow safely if you're asleep." she said.

"Hey Mr. Yarding. It's been awhile. I wasn't here on Friday." I had gotten comfortable with this gruff, feisty man and secretly looked forward to the 45 minutes we spent with him. Beneath his slumped weary shell, he had a strong personality - a stark contrast to many of the hollow patients with cognitive deficits we saw normally. We had some yogurt, thickened tea and pureed vegetables, that looked more like pea soup than anything, waiting for him. I fed him the first bite, dabbing away any dribbles that escaped his lips.

He raised his tiny cup of thickened tea toward me and his mouth formed a weak smile. His eyes beamed, "Cheers."

I laughed and raised an empty hand. He set the tea back down. Maybe he decided it was too much work to get it in his mouth.

"I haven't had a beer in 2 months. Two months. And you know what, I don't miss it."
I didn't really know what to say back so I just half-laughed, "Maybe you should try that tea again."

He looked at me. "You don't drink do you?"

"Not when I don't have a drink in my hand." I pointed at his tea and smiled. He cracked a grin and gave a little cackle.

"I like a smart alec. You and me, we're gonna get along."

***************

Carrie and I had just come up onto the hospital floor to visit a brain injury patient in his room. We passed Mr. Yarding's door. She had been whispering to someone about him earlier and she shook her head as we went by. When we got to the nurse's station she stopped and started talking really low, like she was about to tell me a secret.
"I told you Mr. Yarding's insurance is about to run out and the family was just going to pay for him to stay. Well they did some tests and found out that on top of everything else he has leukemia. They're telling the family today."

I thought I had felt my heart break before over some boy or a hunger ad on TV, but this time was different. It dropped down to my stomach and threatened to come back up again. I couldn't say a word or move my mouth from the open position it was hanging in.

I thought of Mrs. Yarding with her tightly tucked hands, guarded smile and sobbing shoulders. I thought about Sarah and her almost forceful, loud optimism. 'This is good. He's eating. Eating is going to help him get better.' She believed that. Mrs. Yarding believed that.

I believed that.

I wasn't cut out for the medical setting. I'm a smart alec. I get attached. I can't seem to remember that I might walk back in on Monday morning and Mr. Yarding will be gone. Not gone home. Gone. Forever. It's hard to realize that for the first time. It's hard to know that his family won't be gone and that they thought that me spooning pureed fish into his drooping mouth was going to make him better. It's hard to not believe that myself.

I hope writing this somehow keeps him around a little longer, even if it's just for me.

Next time I have a beer I'm going to raise my glass to Mr. Yarding. You should do the same.