Philip Y. Kao PhD thesis - Research@StAndrews:FullText

who was hanging around rather regularly at Tacoma Pastures, the residents grew
accustomed to me. At first, I felt uneasy about wheeling residents around. When I asked
them whether or not they wanted me to push them from their rooms to a location down
the hall, most of the residents declined. At first, they were courteous and definitely
wanted to appear ‘able-bodied’ in front of me. As time went on, however, many of the
residents felt comfortable letting me know that they were tired and even lazy. One
woman, who was adamant about doing everything herself including changing the
announcements on the bulletin board half-standing up from her wheelchair, eventually
let me wheel her around on the days she felt lethargic. Because the staff got used to me
as well, I was able to lobby them on behalf of my residents. I knew that the nurse’s
station kept two packs of cigarettes and a small bottle of blended whiskey for Ryan. His
wife did not approve of his smoking, but even the staff recognised that it was Ryan’s
‘right’ to have a smoke. After all, according to one nurse, “What’s the worst that can
happen to him?” I took Ryan outside for the occasional smoke, and also refilled coffee
for residents who were not technically supposed to have a second cup. I did not refill
their cups that often, but on some occasions when my residents pleaded for another
cup, I caved in, diluting the coffee with hot water. Other times, I gave them decaf.
Although I began wheeling my residents to and fro, I caught myself letting them pick
things up they had fallen on the floor. I recalled a presentation I attended, that
reinforced the idea that the elderly need to be mentally and physically engaged, and that
it is always better for the elderly to continue doing things, rather than to succumb to
atrophy in the evil garden of sloth. As a volunteer, I had time to let the residents reach
down and fumble from their wheelchairs for a dropped pencil, or a wayward Styrofoam
cup. It was good for them and part of the physical therapy, I told myself.
In the health and rehabilitation centre, the residents were hoping to get better; they
wanted to be somewhere else. Francis, a woman resident, whose room was next to the
nurse’s station kept pictures and brochures of a brand new assisted living complex on
the west side of town. It was here, that she wanted to move to. In between activities and
one-on-one visits, I often spent my time in the empty dining room of the health and
rehabilitation centre, waiting for someone to wake up from a nap or to get ready to put
together the day’s final activity before dinner. On many of these occasions I thought to
myself: “The residents are vulnerable; their personalities and quirks are harder to mask
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