From a Care Facility, the Story of Cynthia

Before the closure of the community care facility in Hawthorne (Times, Aug. 23), I used to visit one of its residents regularly. Of the 19 severely and profoundly mentally retarded men and women who lived there, the 34-year-old-woman I’ll call Cynthia was the most disabled.

Voiceless and unable to hear since birth, Cynthia sat in her wheelchair shifting her glances toward various individuals until her one seeing eye focused on one of them. A powerfully built torso and short, jet-black hair worn like a tight cap gave her an imposing presence. Her caramel-colored complexion and high cheek bones were interesting variations of an Asian heritage. But, what really caught my attention was her attentiveness and a certain responsiveness to the people around her.

I had the good fortune to be present the first time Cynthia propelled her wheel chair independently across the threshold of the facility’s front door to the outside world. She was ecstatic. From deep inside came breaths of silent laughter, her shoulders shaking as if giddy with the newness of reaching the outdoors under her own steam.

She was agile at transferring herself from the wheelchair onto a dining room chair at mealtimes or into the standing position in the walker. And, when she had had enough walking practice she’d quickly fold herself down to a sitting position on the floor with considerable grace and skill.

While Cynthia was resourceful enough to keep from being helpless, gradually I learned the enormity of her dependence upon others for her safety. One picture in particular stays with me--that of the wheelchair with Cynthia in it rolling unattended down the ramp of the special services bus that returned her to the facility from her day program. Her face purple, brows drawn tightly, her anxiety was full-blown.

Or, there was the horror of Cynthia’s wheelchair losing its balance the time one of the small, front wheels was about an inch short of touching the ground. The chair fell backward on the slight incline in front of the nursing home building flinging Cynthia to the ground. Mercifully, she was unhurt. Nevertheless, Cynthia at risk in a broken wheelchair is an outrage.

I write with the strong feelings of a parent who has a mentally retarded adult son in a community placement too, and as a concerned member of the community as well who seeks to be an advocate for the better safety of a very vulnerable friend who is now going through the trying time of adjusting to a new place to live.

MURIEL COHEN

Los Angeles