Have you ever wondered about how life will be “down the road”? Like, nursing-home kind of down the road. I think about that kind of stuff all the time. I pretty much obsess about that kind of stuff (another fun part of the Obsessive Compulsive Disorder... yay).
I used to work in a nursing home for a few years as an administrative assistant. I got a lot of time in with the residents. I didn't wipe butts or whatever, I had an office job, but I visited with the residents -by choice- when I could. It was interesting to hear the different stories they had (mostly about farm life) of when they were my age or younger. Amazing how the times change! Anyway, there were a few “mean ones” that you didn't talk to. I always tried to, cause I thought that they were mean possibly because no one talked to them or spent time with them. The nurses never told me about the mean ones until after I got the chance to learn about them, at least once, on my own. There was this woman, in a wheelchair, that would talk just low enough that you couldn't quite understand what she was saying. No one told me that she was crazier than a pet coon and that whatever it was she was saying never made any sense! Concerned, I got close to her, knelt down to her level and asked her what she needed. That sucker grabbed ahold of my arm with a superman-like grip and would either slap me with her free hand or, worse(!), bite the hell out of me! The nurses thought this was funny. They never told me the first time that she was crazy... and MEAN! They thought it was funny to watch someone try to see what the crazy-lady was talking about. Honestly though, I didn't tell any of the newbies after me about her either (hey, it was kinda funny). Some residents would be known as escape-artists, some would accuse you of stealing their stuff (and try to call the cops on the nursing home phones), some where quite abusive (like my crazy-lady friend above), and some of the healthier ones would chase you down the hall threatening your life.
Some of them though, were very sweet. If my job would've allowed it, I could've talked to them for hours. I played bingo and checkers with them a lot. They'd play for nickels that they would later use in the vending machines. -I had to constantly watch one diabetic lady that played bingo and then try to spend her winnings on the gooey brownies in slot A-10. The residents that were too sick to get out of bed or get out of their rooms, I'd go to sit by and visit about whatever they wanted to talk about that day. I did get in trouble a few times (by my boss) for “disappearing” into rooms to visit, no one could find me. There was a lady in her 90's there at the nursing home named Betty. She was in a wheelchair, but mostly confined to her bed. She was so sweet, and so tiny. I'd go in to her room, pull up the bedside chair and we'd talk about everything under the sun. After a couple of years Betty got really sick. She was too old to kick whatever it was that had a hold of her. She went downhill in a matter of hours. No one told me she was dying. I walked in that day and just discovered it. She was hooked up to an oxygen machine, her chest was rising and falling shallow-like. It was scary to watch her simply try to breath. No one was in that room, not even any family members. The nurses, everyone(!), had left this woman to die in her room, alone and in the dark. I turned on a lamp and pulled my chair up to her bedside. She couldn't talk very much, cause she was having so much trouble breathing. I held her tiny little hand and rubbed her hair. She knew she was going to die soon and she was scared to death. She'd asked me if I believed in heaven and I told her I did. I told her what I thought heaven was (happy, peaceful). I described what I hope it will look like when I go there, and the loved ones that I'll get to hug again. I talked about my grandma that had died years before, and how I missed her. Betty didn't say hardly anything, she just looked at me listening, trying to breath. I sat there with her for a couple of hours (my boss wasn't happy, but I really didn't care). After time passed, Betty took her last breath, and she was gone. That is the first person I have ever watched die. It was so weird to me to watch a person there holding your hand, and then they are just gone and your holding a shell of what used to be there only a minute before. I cried of course, it was sad. It hurt quite a bit. None of the nurses understood. To them this was just a job and they couldn't wait until their shift was over so they could escape that depressing place to go get groceries, have a cigarette, or just go home. Still to this day I can't believe that, knowing that this woman was dying, she was left alone. I held her hand... but there were some that I didn't get to hold the hand of. How they must have felt in that moment, alone. I hope that when I get to that age my family keeps me at home and doesn't put me in home. I hope that someone is there to hold my hand. Maybe Betty just looked alone... maybe there were angels there with her. Maybe when I die Betty will be there to hold my hand.
Thinking ahead... I'm probably going to be one of those that slaps people, I might bark at them too. If I'm not crazy, I'm going to try and act as nuts as I can... all the while planning my escape to go live in Florida with the RICH old people. Lay my wrinkly ass on the beach. -With a good book and a margarita! I might get some of those arm-floatie things too... I don't think old people can swim very good(?). I'll need a dog too. A lab. One that will fetch me things and lay on the beach with me. If I decide to go hunting (do they let crazy old people have guns?), the the dog will fetch my ducks. Before I run away from the nursing home though, I'm going to take all those little styrofoam cups full of ice cream. You know, those ones with the peel-back paper lid. Those things are GOOD! Where was I? ... Oh yeah, the beach...
Have a good Wednesday/Thursday.
