Skip to main content

Through the Perley gates


I spent the afternoon with two of my favorite people in a resort for people who are on the mend.

My friend Donnabelle has been incarcerated for the crime of having a split hip that had to be pinned back together. She can't go home, as she lives alone, and doesn't want to be found smelling bad and prone on the floor like a distempered dead hamster should she miss the commode. So she's recuperating at the Rideau Perley, the place where all the war heroes go to smoke their final cigarettes.

I lived near the Perley for years but never got a chance to visit. It's a beautiful facility with well-manicured gardens and picture windows, but it's still a nursing home. They do a good job keeping the place neat and tidy, but there are the familiar smells of rubbing alcohol, mixed with old farts.

I know the smells well. I spent my youth working in a nursing home telling jokes to sad little old ladies while spinning the Bingo popper. I love seniors, so a visit to the Perley was, in fact, a treat for me.

I met my friend Suzanne at Starbucks and we found a back way in, cheating several officials out of checking our credentials should we be criminals or plague-carriers. Our door was also next to a smoking facility, where Suzanne and I sat and waited for Donna to be finished physiotherapy. Got to talking to a young guy named Sabel who shared a lighter with Suzanne. Sabel was on the disabled list with a broken elbow, the result of a misstep on a staircase. It reminded me that all of us are one metric foot from near disaster.

We might have smoking regs all over this town, but nobody told the Perley. Second hand smoke at the Perley is like dog hair at my house. Gets all over everything. I've never been a smoker but I've always liked smokers. They are more interesting than non-smokers and have all the good gossip.

I noticed that many of the oldsters seem to actually live in their wheelchairs, which are outfitted with upholstery and flags of various vintage. The Perley is cheerful, with everybody saying "howdy do" as you pass them. I met one lady who worked on Parliament Hill back in the day, when the place was civilized and everybody cheated on their expenses with gusto, not like today.

The place is full of ancient inmates in revved up wheelchairs playing bumper cards. Getting used to her new wheels, Donnabelle confessed to nearly running over a 140-year-old attached to an oxygen tank. It occurred to me that instead of fruit, I should have brought her elbow guards.

No matter. Donna. Suzanne and I were out to have a little fun. We brought her a few party favors which might not be considered, let's say, regulation, but fortunately we weren't patted down at the door or made to strip and squat to ensure no contraband entered the place.

We spent a good couple of hours jawing about the good old days and it was just like we were back at the press club all over again. That's what is great about visiting people in the hospital who aren't actually sick. They don't spend their time whining or crying while you sit there wishing you were at the dentist instead. They're happy to see you.

Anyway, I'm back here being eaten by hounds, forever grateful that it isn't me at the Perley. Also grateful for old friends in bad wheelchairs.




 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ashley Simpson: Conversation with Derek Favell Revealed

  On April 2, 2017, a family friend of Ashley Simpson opened her Facebook Messenger and got the surprise of her life.  Cathy MacLeod had been trying to correspond with Ashley's boyfriend, Derek Favell, who was the last person to see the St. Catharines native before she disappeared from her home in Salmon Arm, B.C. a year before. She wanted to know more about what happened to Ashley, and why Favell had refused to take a polygraph test when many others close to the missing woman agreed to do so. "I wanted to poke the bear," she said, and sent several messages to Favell pleading with him to talk to her.  " Please help us," she wrote. "It's been 10 months of pure hell. A lie detector would help if you have nothing to hide. I beg of you, help us, take the test to clear your name if there’s nothing to hide." Many, including members of the Simpson family, found Derek's behaviour, at least, curious. Ashley had disappeared on April 27, 2016. Yet it took

Ashley Simpson: A Father Remembers

I have asked Ashley Simpson's family and friends to give us a glimpse into the life she lived before going missing nearly a month ago. Here is how her father John remembers his sweet girl. Ashley was a treat when she came into this world, a smashing 9lbs 8 ounces with a  head full of hair and nails that needed to be clipped. She has made many friends in her journey of life and continues to make them as we speak. She has made this world a better place by her love of mankind and this place we call Earth; unfortunately this life she has lived hasn't been the best for her. She has suffered through unbearable pain and suffering through her menstrual cycles. She has cysts on her ovaries that make those 10 days a living hell. She had one of her ovaries removed when she was just 14; the other they won't take out till she is 40 or older. Years of hell for my Ashley. I so feel her pain every month but she doesn't quit, doesn't give in.   That's my

Jack Van Dusen: 90 Years Old and Not a Drop Wasted

A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others."  -- L. Frank Baum It's not easy standing out in a family like the Van Dusens. They are like tribbles; they are everywhere. In politics. In the media. In the fine arts. Even on stage at local fairs raising money for good causes. But Jack Van Dusen is no ordinary Van Dusen. He's a trailblazer. He was the voice of Ottawa anchoring the local news in the early days, with the sidekicks you see in the photo above. He was on Parliament Hill rubbing shoulders with the likes of John George Diefenbaker and making mischief with the relatively small cabal of ink stain wretches who were the first generation to talk to Canadians over the air waves. After a successful time in the media, Jack had a second career as a public relations guy. That's when I met him sitting at the lunch table at the National Press Club with his brother Tom, the columnist Charles Lynch, Sergeant-at-Arms Gus Clou