The halls of Linda Vista Care Center echo with stories of the past. The residents told those stories to the journalism students at Southern Oregon University over several months. These articles and photos are part of a Capstone project, a graduation requirement for journalism students at SOU. They are presented here, edited by Journalism Instructor Terrie Claflin.
Articles:
Lifetime of stories
Inside the walls of Room 33 stories are being told — stories of passion, stories of excitement, stories of pain and stories of love.
Kenneth Oldaker gazes from his wheelchair at two portraits in an 8-by-10 picture frame on his nightstand. One is of himself and one is of his wife, Diane. The 88-year-old man takes a deep breath with the help of a dark green oxygen tank and speaks about his life. He is a diabetic and has been dealing with dizziness, soreness in his legs and several falls at his mobile home near Emigrant Lake. For the past four months he has spent his days inside Linda Vista Nursing and Rehab Center telling stories and waiting to go home.
"The first thing I'll do when I leave Linda Vista, is look at my dogs and give them a huge hug," says Kenneth. He has two purebred yellow labs, Cheechee and Cecil. "I love those dogs like I would love a child."
Moving around, not on
Curiosity brought Wendall Thomas to Linda Vista Care Center.
The 60-year-old was hiking in the hills above Lithia Park when he saw a strange object lying on the ground. It was blue and shiny. He left the trail to investigate. He found a broken bottle and decided it was worth the trip.
Deep in thought, he turned back toward the trail. He did not see the slab that threw him off balance. The fall bruised his hip and caused small, jagged hairline fractures in his femur.
Life with Patrick
It's a quiet morning inside Linda Vista Nursing and Rehabilitation Center. A few residents sit in the front room by the television. Some watch while others pay no attention to the CBS soap opera blaring from the moderately-sized screen.
Behind them the sun shines down strong on a small patio. Two residents in wheelchairs and a nurse sit at a glass-topped table, smoking. Lillian sits at the table with them, sleeping. Her head tilts slightly forward and to the right propped up by her right arm. Her face is relaxed, her mouth slightly open.
On her shoulders rests a blanket with blue and pink flowers and blue butterflies. Another blanket, crocheted with different colored yarns, sits on her lap, tucked around her legs. She wears a grey turtleneck and long pants. She has come outside to warm up.
Good life of hard work
Inside the cafeteria at Linda Vista Rehabilitation Center, seated in his wheelchair at the first table on the left, Robert Norton recalls and revisits moments in his life.
"Bob," as he's known to the residents and employees, has a lot of things to think about. His memories are the treasure of a simple life.
"It's been a great life," he says. "It's good to have worked hard to have things, and to have learned things. The world is a big place with its own crazy system. The only thing you can do is enjoy it."
He looks like a typical grandfather, although he never fathered any children of his own. Strap-on sandals cover black socks emerging from navy blue dress pants. Bob's green shirt stretches to cover a basketball-sized belly.
His brow clamps down and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to recall bits and pieces of his past. Sometimes, when he's really stumped, his left hand swipes his gray fedora off his balding head, then quickly replaces it once ample thought has been given.
Although he has his silent time to sit and think, Bob is also a socialite of sorts at Linda Vista. He's always happy to talk about current events or reminisce about the past, but eventually, the two become one in the same.
The Nurse\'s Station
Life can be seen in almost anything — from a smile, to a tomato.
Jeff Prevatt walks the halls of Linda Vista with his fullback-like stature, smiling as if he's holding in a funny joke, pushing a cart of pills.
"I have to start up here," he says, as he raises his hand above his head, "cause if I start down here like a lot of the other workers, then I'd be yelling at everyone. Then no one would take their pills which would make my job hard.
"Plus, I enjoy making people laugh."
This is home
For most people, the thought of living in a nursing home when you're 80 or 90 is frightening enough. Imagine being admitted at the age of 45. Now imagine you know you'll never go home.
That's Susan Rambo's story. And if you ask her, it's no big deal.
Going home ... next week
Ralph Bryant, a 74-year-old Navy-sailor-turned-preacher, has lived at Linda Vista Nursing and Rehabilitation Center for the last few months. Though his visitors are few and far between, he has a smile ready should any walk through his door.
At first glance, it looks as though Ralph may be living out his last days at the nursing home. He spends most of his time in his room, either in his hospital style bed or in the extra large wheelchair beside it.
But Ralph is just undergoing rehabilitation for a bad back, and anticipates that he will go home "next week."
To go home again
The sign outside Room 11 lists Barbara and Carolyn as its residents.
Barbara lays motionless and open-mouthed in the hospital bed closest to the door. The center bed is made with clean sheets and is separated from the third living space by a peach-colored hospital curtain.
