h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

So here I am in a nursing home, a genteel barracks for people who can no longer look after themselves and who will die. We all die sooner or later: old age can put you on the fast track, as can the failure of your body to remain in working order.

The first time I wheeled into the so-called activities room, I was repulsed on several levels, and I'm not proud of it. On one level, there was the presence of Sickness. In the activities room, also called the day room, staff gather those who require constant attention, who can't be left alone. I came to think of the day room as the bristlecone pine farm. Aged people twisted in body and mind. Some choose not to communicate. Some look around, seemingly stunned at where they find themselves. Others close their eyes. Several can't seem to stop communicating. Several, including my room mate, have some form of dementia or outright Alzheimers. Some of the men have outsize libidos from which the veneer of civilization has begun to slip. I'll introduce some of my fellow residents in the next weeks.

Another level on which I was repulsed is more difficult to describe. I immediately thought, I am not one of these! I might be paraplegic and in a wheelchair, but please don't let me be as one of these. Snobbery? Vanity? Good old-fashioned denial? Have you ever seen Tod Browning's "Freaks"?

Ladera has two wings or halls, for a total of 116 beds. "Skilled" is for patients whose condition is expected to improve enough for them to be discharged, and "long-term" is for those who are no longer patients. They are residents. I was on skilled for 11 months, poised for flight, refusing to mix with residents on any level but that of disdainful civility. And then suddenly I was homeless, with nowhere to be discharged to. And as soon as "corporate" -- the private for-profit company that owns this and many other such places across the country -- as soon as corporate became aware of my plight, it was inevitable that my status would change. And so I was moved to a long term hall called South Back.

Somehow, word got around quickly that I had "gone long-term." And somehow my attitude toward my fellow residents began to change, to mellow. And I became a student of the art of death.

lil - your writing touches me on so many levels. I've been aware of your situation for so long now, but it still manages to seem totally unreal. I hope you can continue to write about this experience, which is probably not too far into the future for quite a lot of us here. There are less decades in front of us than we trail behind, as past experience.

One of the sad facts is that you must be in a tiny, tiny minority of long-term residents who have the nous, intellect and physical capability to write about your life, surroundings and cohabitees, so you're spearheading something really important. As documentation, this could turn into an important modern day diary.

love you lots

Lanzababy

reddit

I've been leaving s in most of these today, but that doesn't seem appropriate here...

Like mags, hard to find the right smiley which conveys admiration for your courage and fortitude

I think a stiffdrink is more than deserved, frankly.

[Amy P]

I'm going to share this with some friends outside of here..

Thank you for posting this.
I know it can not be easy to tell others about your experiences, but it will help us all to understand.

I have followed many of your posts, at least since the re-launch. I may not have replied as often as I should, but I hope you don't mind that I consider you as a friend.

Looking forward to your future posts.

F S

This came across as starkly honest and so moving. I'll be reading future entries with interest.

Deb

I'm sorry to hear of your situation. Don't know what else to say here.