Our Field Trip

Yesterday I managed to pull myself out of bed at a rather early hour, fix myself up and cook a lite breakfast before heading down the road a bit to the West Bloomfield Nursing and Convalescent Center. I’d decided to do some volunteer work while swimming around in limbo, and the West Bloomfield center being the place of my mother’s former employment, she quickly volunteered the suggestion. She normally volunteered there on certain Tuesdays of the month, and on this particular Tuesday she had run into a scheduling conflict. It seemed she had scheduled what she refers to as her “Ya-Ya” night, after this work, with her friends. They’d be, among other girlish acts, attending this musical, and weren’t sure of the exact schedule for other events. So in her stead, I quickly presented myself.

I haven’t done much volunteer work since leaving High School, and haven’t been to a nursing home since a previous volunteering day turned into an odd and disturbing memory that I’d rather not get into here. Fortunately – this time around everything was much more enjoyable. I could tell things were going to be different from the moment I pulled up and saw God’s Love Bus parked in front of the center. I walked into the Center abit nervous, being out of practice and all, but strode up to the receptionist and asked to speak with K, whom I was supposed to get my instructions from. She was bounding around the corner at the same time, shuffling a bunch of paperwork and asked if I was Kevin.

I responded in the affirmative.

They were loading up the residents onto the bus, using the wheelchair lift, so I found myself standing around for a bit. I tried asking one of the resident’s if they were excited, but didn’t get a response. Some of the other resident ladies behind her giggled at me – as I’m sure they knew that this particular resident wasn’t exactly the talkative type. I fell back into ranks a little redder for the wear and waited for further instruction before I attempted anything else.

Soon after I was told to load up onto the Love Bus, and we were on our way to the Edsel Ford House. We hit a bit of traffic on the way up, all told probably extending our trip by about forty minutes. When we arrived I helped wheel in a few of the residents, and K told me that I should probably be in charge of E, as he was the only male resident to make the sojourn.

“It can be a male bonding experience,” she said. “We had to bribe him to get him to go.”

Well, E turned out to be a rather large fellow, well over 200lbs. He was sportin’ a Detroit Piston’s championship t-shirt and crackin’ jokes with anybody who would listen as he was being lowered on the lift. K introduced him when he touched down, we shook hands, watched as one of the other residents joked that she was gonna Evel Knievel it outta the bus without the lift, and then he and I began to wheel in towards the house.

Oof. It was a bit harder than I had expected – but once the momentum got started things got a little easier. Until I had to start steering.

Now E. had been able to make his way out to the bus with his walker. He’d fallen and broken his hip a while back and was at the home for rehabilatation purposes – so he was quite cognizant of everything going on around him, and more than capable of wheeling himself around, but perhaps to humor me – decided that I could be his chauffer for the day. As we made our way to the entrance of the house I had to make my first maneuver, a simple 180 so that I could pull E. up the ramp. Amazingly enough, when we were in the house, backing down the hallway, I could feel a bead of sweat on the tippy top of my forehead. We’d only travelled about 100 yards from the Love Bus, the tour hadn’t even started, and here I was slightly winded, nervous, and slightly timid as to what other acrobatic twists and turns the tour would provide.

The house itself was amazing. Over 60 rooms, 13 fireplaces and luxuries that made your head spin when you realized how much wealth was squeezed into one location. The online tour is here, from which you can see everything we were able to see and more. Unfortunately the house isn’t up to par when it comes to wheelchair accesibility, so we only managed to take in the first floor’s sights. Still, that was quite the show. A personal favorite of mine was the modern room, which had a Brady Bunch feel and a kick ass bar surrounded by 18 rose-colored mirror panels. The golden statue on the above page made its home the bar cleverly referred to here as the “niche.”

As I said, the house wasn’t exactly accomodating for wheelchairs — and E. and I ran into a little trouble as we were making our way from the Dining Room into the kitchen…The doorway was just wide enough to squeeze the chair through – but I had begun our grand entrance into the next room slightly askew and managed to bump one of the larger wheels against the wall as we were passing through.

We were in what is properly referred to as “a fix”.

I tried backing out, to which E. objected:

“No-no-no! If you back up the front wheels turn to adjust.” He was right, you know. He knew more about the contraption than I did. Looking down I could see that the front wheels were now perpendicular, moving back any further was simply swingin’ us into the wall. So there we were, E. and I, rockin’ back and forth between two rooms, with a tour behind and a tour in front of us. Blood was quickly rushing to that orb upon my neck and I could feel the pores in my armpits begin to open in an effort to cool the quickly overheating person. The tour guide came over and fiddled with the front wheels as E. continued, with a chorus of backers, to explain how to get out of this mess. Somehow, eventually – I managed to get us into the next room, all in all a delay of no more than a minute and a half — but in my own mind taking on what seemed an exorbitant amount of time. We would make it out of the house, (obviously) having caused only minimal damage to the legs of certain 15th century chairs, E. having filled in our particular tour guide concerning obscure tidbits of info on Edsel Ford and his father Henry not included on the tour, and after a quick lunch in the tea room, (which featured running over the foot of another tour guide with whom E. had struck up a quick friendship) back onto the Love Bus for a much quicker ride back to the Center.

Heading back I was engaged in conversation by a 102 year old woman. It was odd listening to her talk about her son. He’s 74. How often do you talk to someone with a 74 year old son? That said – her son worked for a car company, she couldn’t remember the name just now, (I later learned it was General Motors) and he had 500 engineers working under him before he retired and he had gone to college too and also lived in South America — and it was about here that the conversation began to loop over onto itself. Keep in mind that at 102, her vocal chords weren’t what they used to be, and with the bus engine below roaring, I could barely manage to pick up a syllable. Eventually, after the third go round with South American living I simply began nodding and smiling whenever I saw the corners of her mouth move in a similar fashion.

All in all a very good time was had by all, and next month we can look forward to the possibility of a riverboat tour!!! It was interesting how quickly I began to pick up on the traits of those who went on this excursion. E. was sharp-witted, S. was angry, but courteous, e. was hilarious with a biting sense of humor – just to pay tribute to a few. It was a day well spent — and an experience I’m looking forward to repeating. Back in front of the center I shook E’s hand and promised him that next time I saw him I will have picked up some driving skills. I said a quick goodbye to the lady residents, many of whom had by now stopped giggling at me, their coquettish ways now working themselves into courteous smiles as they wheeled by me on their way to the Bingo match. Lord. Don’t get between a resident and the Bingo match.