Wednesday, July 22nd.
I’m so tired from the day before, I sleep in until 9. I get up and apologize to K for oversleeping. She dismisses my apology, saying she understands.
Breakfast is a big plate of ackee, saltfish, roasted breadfruit, dumplings and banana (which didn’t have that taste I dislike) — filling and absolutely delicious!
Then, it’s out of the house and on the road. Today’s objective: finding our great-aunt Milda.
We know she’s in a nursing home (or “adult care” home, as they’re called down here) in the community of Mount Salem, which is just outside Montego Bay proper. We don’t know the name – just that there are a couple of homes, and she’s in one of them.
After stopping several times to ask for directions, we finally pull up in front of one. Looking beyond the front gate, we see a few people sitting out on the long “porch”. To be honest, the place doesn’t look very home-y.
The gate’s a bit hard to open, and it doesn’t open very wide, but we manage to squeeze through. We approach a guy sitting at a desk just inside the building, give Milda’s name and ask if she’s there. He says no – apparently she had been there last year, but had been moved. They don’t know where she’s gone.
I’m not immediately discouraged. But I can literally see K’s shoulders slump. She’s already frustrated.
The prospect of searching for a nonagenarian in this sweltering heat isn’t appealing in the least. But we have to find her.
And, as we’re about to find out, there are more than two adult care homes in Mount Salem.
We’re directed to another one farther down on the same street. As soon as we pull up in front of it, I take one look at what lies behind the gates and know there’s no way Milda is here.
There are a couple of residents in sitting in wheelchairs. One of them looks like he’s barely awake. A young woman is sprawled out, stomach down, on a run-down couch.
Having heard about my great-aunt’s reputation for complaining, I know she wouldn’t put up with a place like this. But still, we try.
We approach a worker standing in a nearby doorway and ask for our aunt. She says she doesn’t know and suggests we check with the front “office”, which was a closed door just behind us.
After knocking several times, the door opens a sliver. K asks the woman behind the door if our aunt is there. She says there are no Campbells there, and closes the door.
We’re walking back towards the front gate, when the worker gestures for us to come back. She says there are two other nursing homes a couple of streets over that we could try.
Back in the car, K calls our uncle to see if he knows the name of the adult care home where Milda’s living. He calls back several minutes later with the answer.
We pull up in front of the gate at home number 3. My t-shirt is starting to cling to my back, so I’m truly hoping this is the place.
The nurse in charge confirms that Milda is there, brings us inside and finds us places to sit while we wait. We’re under the impression that perhaps they’ll bring Milda out.
But 10 minutes pass. Then 15. Then 20 …
I look around. One resident keeps trying to wander into the kitchen. Another sits slack-jawed in a chair on the other side of the room. A little boy — around two years old — runs in and out of the house.
There’s a woman sitting adjacent to me. I presume she’s visiting her relative, who’s barely awake and sitting in the couch across from me.
She tells him she has to get to the bank and needs him to sign something. He’s practically comatose. She puts a pen into his immobile hand, wraps hers around it and literally guides it along the bank form.
I turn to K, and she suggests that perhaps Milda’s sleeping and that we should return later.
I’m reluctantly agree. What can we do? She’s sleeping, and we can’t sit here all day.
When the nurse re-appears, we tell her this.
“Oh!” she says. “I’m so sorry – I thought you were here to visit with her,” referring to the lady who basically just forged her relative’s signature. We shake our heads.
“This has been a complete misunderstanding. Please let me offer my apologies. I’ll take you to her,” she says.
But isn’t she’s SLEEPING? I’m thinking …
But we’re up on our feet. The nurse walks over to a room just off the main sitting area and opens the door …
(Photo taken above is mine. Please do not use without permission.)