Wondering about Anna<\/h3>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Yes, Anna had indeed once been my mother’s nurse. Dad had told us about how Mum would get up in the middle of the night to play on the ward’s upright piano. That story might have come from Anna herself, who probably had sat with her and talked to her. There’s nobody else I can imagine who’d have told that story to my Dad.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
I suppose that Anna was a good caregiver and a very caring person. Anna could have been Mum’s friend as well as her nurse. Just that idea of some kind of friendship or brief moments of companionship evokes such a feeling of comfort for me. Mum didn’t have any friends in her life from the mid-70s onwards. All her friends were in her past by that point. She’d mostly had Dad, my sister, and me, and her own father, who’d lived in Victoria. But who really knew Angela by 1980 when she went to Riverview? Who could Angela confide her feelings to? The isolation of Riverview’s locale was doubtless intended to bring peace of mind back in the years before World War I, when it first opened.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
All Angela ever wanted was to “go home”, probably to Ernest, her father. Even at fifty, she may remained his little girl more than she ever was my Dad’s wife. But Riverview did became her home after all, and she lived there for about 15 years.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Over the years, I’ve reflected a lot on the loneliness and isolation that my Mother probably endured during her hospitalizations between 1978 and 1995. I can only imagine what it might have been like.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Walking on the Riverview grounds, the sense of history there always felt so strong. I can still smell the atmosphere of the wards and sunrooms we’d visit Mum in, initially at the Centre Lawn unit and later, up the hill at North Lawn unit. It always seemed stuffy and cloistered; an under-ventilated closeness of air in a place where the windows don’t open. My sister Kim remembers it too. The sun came in through the tall, grilled windows, but the outside air did not.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Over the years, our family visits to Mum decreased from weekly, to monthly, to quarterly, to seldom. I’ve always had guilt in my heart for not doing more to connect with her, or for not taking a more active interest in her care and welfare. I think I did as much as I could as a kid and an adult, but I also think she deserved more from us.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Our family, I suspect, lived in the middle ground between love, loyalty, exhaustion, and guilt. She could not have remained home on her own after her alcohol poisoning suicide attempt in 1977. I suppose home care wasn’t an option back then.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Mum’s eventual commitment to Riverview might have been my family’s admission that we couldn’t deal with her needs or keep her safe. She could never be left alone at home – she would always need help and supervision.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Mum’s transition from home to institution came with a lot of guilt on our part, mixed in with love, and regret. There was even guilt from feeling the relief in knowing that she was cared for 24\/7. You felt bad for knowing that you’re feeling better than she was, that her care was no longer your responsibility. Nobody, least of all my Dad, would ever admit to that though. There was no discussion – only his stoicism, or arguments with my sister, or just wordless tears.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
My sister tells the story of one of her visits to Mum’s ward at Riverview, where she demanded to see our Mother’s patient file. When it was finally presented to her, she noticed that great sections of the pages were redacted under lines of black ink. I would have loved to see those files for myself, but over my many visits to Mum, I never even asked. Maybe I just didn’t want to know what meds she was on, or if they gave her ECT, or how many times. Just being in the room with her, quietly watching her, and trying for eye contact was all I could manage.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
When she was in Riverview, our mother was a Ward of the province of BC. She’d voluntarily committed herself, according to my sister, and with that Mum had given up responsibility for herself to the provincial government. Our Dad would contact the Public Trustee’s office to talk to Mum’s worker, or maybe arrange for money to be transferred into her account, but otherwise, Mum’s affairs were managed by the province.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
A few years ago, I finally asked the Public Trustee’s Office if they had any records of my mother. They replied that paper patient records from that era were only kept for 10 years and that my Mum’s had been destroyed in 2005 (10 years after her death in 1995). I realized that I’d missed my chance.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Today, I found a woman online whom I believe is likely our “Nurse Anna”. I’ve reached out to her on Facebook, and I hope she’ll see my message and want to talk with me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Nothing changes the past, but I will hope to hear from Anna Tremere. It would be nice to hear some personal memories from one of the few people who knew my Mother during her long and difficult time in care.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n
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Meeting Anna<\/h3>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
About a week later, I got a phone call. It was Anna! We talked for over an hour. I guessed that she must have been in her mid-seventies, but her voice was bright with the enthusiasm of someone who’d loved her long career and who was still enjoying a busy and productive retired life.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
I learned that Anna met my mother when Mum was admitted to Riverview’s Centre Lawn Unit in 1973, suffering a nervous breakdown. Anna again told me the story of Angela’s nocturnal piano playing, adding that “she would get a bit manic at night, and I’d tell her ‘Angela, not so loud!'” As we talked, Anna remembered other things connected to Mum, such as a dapper man in a fine suit named “Bob” who visited her a couple of times. This fellow was Bob Benson, I said, who’d once been Angela’s high school sweetheart. She said he’d been a slick charmer – a character – who’d chatted her up and also bragged about his boat. I’m sure Mum had been really happy to have his visits.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Anna described how she later moved to Riverview’s Long Term Care ward, located in a building called North Lawn Unit, just a minute up the hill from Centre Lawn. I mentioned that Mum had been moved to North Lawn after 1980, during her next (and last) time at Riverview, and I jokingly asked if she’d been following my mother around.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
A number of articles have been written about Anna’s long career, and her advocacy of mental health and addiction services. She started as a student nurse in 1945, and began working at Riverview by 1965. She did become Head Nurse, and while she was doing that, she also led and supported charities and research projects to preserve the memories and legacies of Riverview patients and staff.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Anna told me how holidays were marked on the wards with decorations and celebrations, and how music and music therapy played a big role in the patient’s lives. Anna’s Mother had been a nurse at Riverview (“Essondale” as it was previously called), and her mother was also known for her love of music and playing piano. Anna and I have that in common with our mothers.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
For me, as a kid, Riverview had been a place to fear, a place where my worries of my mother’s mental health and safety were always front and centre. I was always a worried visitor, trying to work past the stigma and my own fear of the unknown. At home, we never talked about Mum’s mental illness – Dad never spoke about it – so it had never really become normalized for me and my Sister. Riverview remained a place of mystery, solitude, and dread for me. As I grew out of my twenties, I learned a little about bipolarism and about mental health services in general, and I stopped fearing Riverview. Eventually, I came to see it as a place of care and healing, like any hospital.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Anna’s enthusiasm for Riverview, its long history, and its people, gave me a lightened, renewed feeling of appreciation for the place. She described it like a community or a small town, that had evolved over many years, reinventing itself, and adapting with the changing times. We ended up talking about Riverview’s new centres for youth health and addiction recovery, and the ongoing role that the hospital and its property will continue to play in the greater community.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
With her observations and positive attitude, Anna was still a caregiver, shining her light into places I’d kept in the shadows for a long time.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
“I remember your Mum. I liked her. She was a very funny and lively lady!”<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Thank you, Nurse Anna.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Related Links:<\/strong> https:\/\/mycharityfund.ca\/charity\/76282\/riverview-hospital-historical-society<\/a><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n https:\/\/vancouversun.com\/news\/closure-of-riverview-hospital-marks-end-of-era-in-mental-health-treatment<\/a><\/p>\r\n Sept. 18\/21 Last week, my sister reminded me about a Nurse my mother had known up at Riverview Hospital named Anna. It started vaguely coming back to me: a name said by my Dad back in the eighties, “the Head Nurse” he’d said, accentuating her authority. Dad was proud that the Head Nurse was the … Continue reading Finding Nurse Anna<\/span>
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