I took my young daughter to a nursing home today; I attend the residents there on a daily basis (again, keeping the nature of my work quiet), and wanted her to see how the other half lives.
“I don’t like this place, Dad,” she said with a disgusted look on her face.
“Neither do they,” I proffered.
“Why do you do this job?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t like my job, but I like the residents and the staff members.”
“But you could make more money somewhere else, can’t you?”
“Yes,” I sighed, “I certainly could. And at one time I thought this was an incredible money-maker. I was sorely mistaken.”
“Well, why don’t you just change carreers?”
“I’m trying to, dear. That’s partly why I wrote Corpsey the Bear and the screenplays and all that other crap. I need to make our life easier… and of course; mine.”
When I was a kid, I was terrified of nursing homes. I wasn’t sure what to expect and the odor of medication, generalized body odor, and diapers, were enough to make me want to cry for mommy – even at 17.
These spoiled little girls with the cell phones and iPODS and the finest clothing really need a wake-up call. Throw their butts into a soup kitchen for a few hours (with supervision, of course). Cut back on the cell phone time and make them earn money to buy their own gas and expensive clothing. Dammit! They’re kids until they’re 18. Don’t rob them of their childhood by making them into little adults.
Back to the elderly…
Walk into any nursing home between 8 am and 8 pm, M-F, and walk around with a staff member until you feel comfortable. Very few of the residents would ever hit you (the only real threat), but would rather babble about something non-sensical, such as: “I like putting my underwear in my soup.”
Instead of yelling, “Oooh, sick!” and run screaming out the door, understand that they believe that they are making complete sense to themselves. Roll with the punches. Take them by the hand and say, “I love my soup that way, too!”Then walk around admiring the decor with them.
Picture yourself living in a place like that. If you weren’t praying for death, you’d be praying for company — of any kind.
