by Wanda June Hill » Mon Jul 31, 2006 5:37 pm
(Recieved 81, I can not say positively anything about this lady who declined to say who she was only that I "might guess"./ Elvis never mentioned her to me, or anything about a nurse staying with him. However, I think her story could well be as she writes and so I am posting it. ) She was hired by "a friend" whom she calls "Ray" to stay a few days and look after Elvis who was very "down". This is her letter in part. I think that "Ray" might be Dr. Nick as she said she met him working at the hospital (Baptist Memorial).
I met Elvis right after his wife told him she was moving out of the house- and Elvis was playing Vegas and was beside himself with grief, anger and frustration. He didn't want to be with anyone, but his friend asked me to stay near regardless of what Elvis said or did; that Elvis wouldn't hurt me, but he might say things and to ignore his words as he was emotionally upset and wouldn't mean them. Ray said he needs someone like you, older, understanding and with the training to handle psychological disorders brought on by emotional trauma. I spent most of my time with depressed, unhappy people, some of whom were dying, many who were torn apart by other people's actions and this was Elvis' problem. He needed someone with credentials in order to understand how devastated he was emotionally.
I took on the challenge, I was paid to stay near by Elvis but I was not to tell him whose idea it was and apparently, he was never informed as far as I am aware.
Elvis wasn't up; in fact he was sound asleep (he had taken several sleeping pills thus the worries for his safety). I began putting ice-cold cloths on his face, neck and chest; he began coming around slowly. Finally he opened his eyes a little, winced in pain from the bright lights (Ray failed to mention his eyes were light sensitive) and Elvis immediately pulled a pillow over his face moaning, "Turn the F- light off, damn it!. I turned them all off and he moved the pillow asking in a raspy voice, "Who the G-D-hell are you?" That was the beginning of our "relationship" but one that became very tender and trusting through out the rest of his life.
It was rocky at the start, he asked me to leave him alone and I did, though I stayed in the next room to keep an eye on him as he actually staggered going toward the bathroom where he slammed the door and turned the shower on full. After 30 minutes or so he came out, unshaven and looking as if he had been on a wild drunk the night before though I think his eyes were red and bleary from crying over broken dreams. He hardly glanced my way, purposely avoiding my eyes. I asked if he would like something to eat, he shook his head no, then mumbled coffee and some toast. I ordered that and some burnt bacon and scrambled eggs because I knew he liked those. He sipped a little black coffee, had a couple bites of toast, picked up the paper I had been reading and ignored me. Finally, he laid down the paper and without looking at me asked, what I was doing there and what did I want from him?
I explained briefly that I was there to keep an eye on him, as he wasn't feeling well and a good friend of his had hired me to look after you for a few days. He gruffly told me to "get lost" and headed back to his room, closing the door and locking it. I had a key.
After a while the door opened and he came out dressed, shaven and looking like Elvis should, he thought. I didn't laugh because I knew he liked to surprise people with his choice of clothing. The funny thing about that is, he looked great in whatever he chose. This time he wore a light blue jacket with a very high colar that was trimmed with black cord running down the lapel and on the pockets. A loudly patterned shirt, his award belt with a Karate inspired belt above that complete with gold chains and a mulitude of rings, bracelets and of course the gold eye glasses with a rosy tint. Oh yes, white pants and white boots trimmed with silver bars on the heels and a cane with a big golden head finished the picture. He mumbled that he was going out and went out the door into the hallway where several guys were hanging out. They all left.
Elvis was better when he returned though he still avoided looking my way. I didn't bother him; he stayed in his room with the tv on and the door open, ignoring me. I don't know when or where he got it, but when I went downstairs for a few minutes and returned, I found a white rose on my pillow-the maid didn't leave it there. He said nothing, neither did I but I made sure he saw that I put it in water and set it beside my bed. It was his way of saying he didn't mean to be so grouchy and I gladly accepted.
He did the shows that night, came in late and went to bed without saying anything. His door was shut but he didn't lock it and after I thought he was sleeping I opened it just slightly to be able to hear if he needed help-I was told he had nightmares when upset. He wasn't asleep; he said, "Come in." I did, he gestured for me to sit beside him on the bed but he didn't look at me. I asked him how the show went, he said "Fine." I asked if he would like something to eat, he said no and then reached for my hand and said very quietly with a slight stammer here and there, "Thank you for staying with me-could you, I mean would you mind sleeping beside me-not with me-" he added with a quick glance at me and then away again. I said I would be happy to sleep beside him ( I had been warned of this habit) and said I would be right back, just wanted to get the comforter off my bed. And my bathrobe-his room was cold as any freezer! I think he requested a special airconditioner system for his rooms; something like a meat locker might have.
We settled in, he with his back to me for a while, then he turned over and started talking and talking, and talking-
It poured out of him and I listened. he ended up crying in my arms, reminding me of my youngest son when he was deeply wounded by a dear friend who let him down.
My instructor at college told me never to become involved personally with any patient's problems; to keep things abstract and separate but it was not easy to do with Elvis. He was hurt, full of guilt and shame for having "lost" his wife's affections and blamed it on being "Elvis Presley", for loving that more than he loved his wife, for ignoring her needs for his own wants. I let him pour it out, until there was nothing left in him to say; it was the only way he could get himself back together, to be able to look at things clearly.
Finally he slept quietly; I'd cover his shoulders and back and he'd thow it off in his sleep. As cold as that room was he wasnt' cold-in fact he often felt hot! I on the other hand was freezing wrapped up in my robe, pajamas, heavy socks and a comforter.
I was awake before him; dressed and reading the paper when he came out looking better though slightly embarrassed but able to handle it. He smiled slightly, and he certainly was handsome-that smile lit him up inside out. He ate breakfast, burnt bacon, a few bites of scrambled eggs and some toast.
Last edited by
Wanda June Hill on Sat Sep 13, 2008 11:05 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Wanda June Hill
author of "We Remember, Elvis" & "Elvis - Face to Face"