So, I was sitting here, staring at my computer screen, ruminating over my life and the various situations and events that have turned me into the person that I am today. I think of all the incredible people I have met and the thrilling adventures I have been on...mainly in the books I read. I was looking back on my life and started to realize that I am no longer a spring chicken-even though I have no factual data on what exactly a SPRING chicken is. Is it a chicken that is born in the spring? Does is spring up and down when you approach it? Is it's favorite season spring? I have absolutley no info on what that means...but, I say it anyways.
Since, I am getting older, I am realizing-with intense terror-that I will one day, most likely, wind up in a nursing home.
The idea of spending my final days confined to a room with some random stranger who smells like urine and decay scares me a lot. I try to remind myself that I myself will smell like pee and old flesh too...but, I like to think of myself as the kind of person who wouldn't let that happen to himself. I can't imagine squandering away in my own waste. It makes my eyes practically bulge from the sockets....probably because they want to explode from my head and seek out a younger, fresher, more youthful head to plant themselves in.
Turning 28 was a big eye opener for me. It made me realize how I truly do not enjoy birthdays anymore. I hate them. They don't get me excited or happy...instead, they are like an ugly reminder from God that time is running out and I haven't done much to brag about in this dull life of mine. Every year now is like losing a year. It's not exciting or eventful.
It's the countdown to death!
I know what you are thinking...28 isn't old. But, really...it is! When I was 16 years old I used to look at people who were mid-twenties and think, "Jeez, that's a LONG way off!" and now, here I am...ready for my daily suppliments. It's sad that one day you are living it up, 16 years old, partying with yourself in your bedroom, reading Fear Street books and dancing to Britney Spears and then the next day you are 28 years old...reading Fear Street books and trying to decipher the meanings behind Britney Spears' new song, "If You Seek Amy". SOOOOO much has changed, can't you tell??
The fear of nursing homes was only intensified for me after my grandmother was "retired" to one several years ago. It was the dingiest of places you could imagine. It looked like a hospital in a early 80's horror flick. With all white walls and white, dirty floors. The moans and groans of the patients was horrifying to me. I could hear a woman screaming, "Whhyyyyyyyyyyyy!?" over and over again and it still sticks with me to this day...I understand where she was coming from! I would be screaming like that too just for the smell alone.
My poor Grandmother, who has since passed on, was just about the cutest little woman you could ever picture. She was this feisty Italian firecracker! In the years prior to the dementia and altzheimers setting in, she was the toughest woman I have ever known. Her most common response to questions asked of her would either be, "Shove it" or "Who cares"...She was a spitfire of attitude and I loved that about her more then anything else! It was very hard for all of us to come to terms with her gradual downward spiral into the dementia...but families deal with these issues all the time, and we did it the best we could.
It was always best to take one or more heavy duty anti-anxiety pills before entering the "home" to help take the edge off. I tried everytime to put myself into a "zone" of sorts to lessen the traumatic occurances around me.
I would think of gumdrops and fairies, or unicorns and lollipops. Or a unicorn with a lollipop for a horn. That would be interesting. Going to my happy place was always helpful during a trip to the NH (nursing home).
Anyhooo, rambling...
My most horrific nursing home memory happened while I was with my cousins in some sort of "entertainment" room of sorts. It was more like a white room with a 13 inch tv in a corner and scattered folding chairs strewn about in a half hazard way. Super comfortable and UBER-chic!! Very Martha Stewart...If Martha lived in the ghetto as a crack addict with no sense of style.
I was standing outside the room staring in at whatever was going on when I hear the groaning of several patients behind me. I turn to see my cousin, several feet away, staring at me with wide eyes. For some reason, I always see this moment in slow motion.
Her mouth forming a perfect "O" as she screams, "Nooooooooo!" and "Looook Ouuuuut!" as the claws reach for me.
I hadn't noticed the gang of shambling geriatrics cornering me. This was my mistake.
Never let your guard down at these places!!
They are danger zones for elderly gang wars. You think those arthritic fingers are contorting into those shapes for no reason...but, truthfully, they are throwing up gang-symbols!
By the time I had noticed the group of elderly African American women batting there toothless gums at me, it was too late.
I was trapped.
I was cornered.
They were surrounding me!
There was NO escape!
All of the zombie movies I have seen were suddenly made real as several gnarled up hands groped at my petrified form, the unkempt fingernails digging into my flesh like the talons of a hawk gripping into a frightened mouse. Suddenly, Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' video wasn't so fun to me.
The groaning and grunting intensified. The ogling eyes glaring at me from beneath far-t00-large glasses turned my blood cold. The smacking of the lips and gums grew louder. My heart pounding so hard in my chest that I thought it would explode right out of me! They tore and pulled at me. A tug O'war over my meek innocence. I know not what they sought, but I have an inkling it was my soul. Either that, or just my blood. Either way, it wasn't looking good!
I came to my senses and struggled away from the drooling hoards of zombie-women. I turned as I fled, gazing glassy-jaundiced eyes, sagging skin, and one or two snaggle-toothed mouths. I wondered briefly how awful it would be to be gummed to death by elderly folk. I still to this day wonder what the obituary would have read. "Boy 18, mauled to death by a group of 90-something year olds at nursing home" That wouldn't have been cool.
I remember looking down and seeing blood pouring from a fresh wound in my arm where one of the assailants had slashed me with her claws. My first thoughts were that I had been infected. I knew that my time would be coming soon and that the transformation from youthful 18 year old to flesh-eating elderly zombie would begin shortly. I just didn't know when.
To make a long, rambling story short...I don't trust those nursing homes. They let the old, dangerous people loose and keep the sane ones strapped to beds and left to moan and groan.
My transformation from normal boy to geriatric monster has been taking a bit of time...but, i'm sure that the infection is still coursing through my bloodstream. It'll come out sooner or later.
Since, I am getting older, I am realizing-with intense terror-that I will one day, most likely, wind up in a nursing home.
The idea of spending my final days confined to a room with some random stranger who smells like urine and decay scares me a lot. I try to remind myself that I myself will smell like pee and old flesh too...but, I like to think of myself as the kind of person who wouldn't let that happen to himself. I can't imagine squandering away in my own waste. It makes my eyes practically bulge from the sockets....probably because they want to explode from my head and seek out a younger, fresher, more youthful head to plant themselves in.
Turning 28 was a big eye opener for me. It made me realize how I truly do not enjoy birthdays anymore. I hate them. They don't get me excited or happy...instead, they are like an ugly reminder from God that time is running out and I haven't done much to brag about in this dull life of mine. Every year now is like losing a year. It's not exciting or eventful.
It's the countdown to death!
I know what you are thinking...28 isn't old. But, really...it is! When I was 16 years old I used to look at people who were mid-twenties and think, "Jeez, that's a LONG way off!" and now, here I am...ready for my daily suppliments. It's sad that one day you are living it up, 16 years old, partying with yourself in your bedroom, reading Fear Street books and dancing to Britney Spears and then the next day you are 28 years old...reading Fear Street books and trying to decipher the meanings behind Britney Spears' new song, "If You Seek Amy". SOOOOO much has changed, can't you tell??
The fear of nursing homes was only intensified for me after my grandmother was "retired" to one several years ago. It was the dingiest of places you could imagine. It looked like a hospital in a early 80's horror flick. With all white walls and white, dirty floors. The moans and groans of the patients was horrifying to me. I could hear a woman screaming, "Whhyyyyyyyyyyyy!?" over and over again and it still sticks with me to this day...I understand where she was coming from! I would be screaming like that too just for the smell alone.
My poor Grandmother, who has since passed on, was just about the cutest little woman you could ever picture. She was this feisty Italian firecracker! In the years prior to the dementia and altzheimers setting in, she was the toughest woman I have ever known. Her most common response to questions asked of her would either be, "Shove it" or "Who cares"...She was a spitfire of attitude and I loved that about her more then anything else! It was very hard for all of us to come to terms with her gradual downward spiral into the dementia...but families deal with these issues all the time, and we did it the best we could.
It was always best to take one or more heavy duty anti-anxiety pills before entering the "home" to help take the edge off. I tried everytime to put myself into a "zone" of sorts to lessen the traumatic occurances around me.
I would think of gumdrops and fairies, or unicorns and lollipops. Or a unicorn with a lollipop for a horn. That would be interesting. Going to my happy place was always helpful during a trip to the NH (nursing home).
Anyhooo, rambling...
My most horrific nursing home memory happened while I was with my cousins in some sort of "entertainment" room of sorts. It was more like a white room with a 13 inch tv in a corner and scattered folding chairs strewn about in a half hazard way. Super comfortable and UBER-chic!! Very Martha Stewart...If Martha lived in the ghetto as a crack addict with no sense of style.
I was standing outside the room staring in at whatever was going on when I hear the groaning of several patients behind me. I turn to see my cousin, several feet away, staring at me with wide eyes. For some reason, I always see this moment in slow motion.
Her mouth forming a perfect "O" as she screams, "Nooooooooo!" and "Looook Ouuuuut!" as the claws reach for me.
I hadn't noticed the gang of shambling geriatrics cornering me. This was my mistake.
Never let your guard down at these places!!
They are danger zones for elderly gang wars. You think those arthritic fingers are contorting into those shapes for no reason...but, truthfully, they are throwing up gang-symbols!
By the time I had noticed the group of elderly African American women batting there toothless gums at me, it was too late.
I was trapped.
I was cornered.
They were surrounding me!
There was NO escape!
All of the zombie movies I have seen were suddenly made real as several gnarled up hands groped at my petrified form, the unkempt fingernails digging into my flesh like the talons of a hawk gripping into a frightened mouse. Suddenly, Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' video wasn't so fun to me.
The groaning and grunting intensified. The ogling eyes glaring at me from beneath far-t00-large glasses turned my blood cold. The smacking of the lips and gums grew louder. My heart pounding so hard in my chest that I thought it would explode right out of me! They tore and pulled at me. A tug O'war over my meek innocence. I know not what they sought, but I have an inkling it was my soul. Either that, or just my blood. Either way, it wasn't looking good!
I came to my senses and struggled away from the drooling hoards of zombie-women. I turned as I fled, gazing glassy-jaundiced eyes, sagging skin, and one or two snaggle-toothed mouths. I wondered briefly how awful it would be to be gummed to death by elderly folk. I still to this day wonder what the obituary would have read. "Boy 18, mauled to death by a group of 90-something year olds at nursing home" That wouldn't have been cool.
I remember looking down and seeing blood pouring from a fresh wound in my arm where one of the assailants had slashed me with her claws. My first thoughts were that I had been infected. I knew that my time would be coming soon and that the transformation from youthful 18 year old to flesh-eating elderly zombie would begin shortly. I just didn't know when.
To make a long, rambling story short...I don't trust those nursing homes. They let the old, dangerous people loose and keep the sane ones strapped to beds and left to moan and groan.
My transformation from normal boy to geriatric monster has been taking a bit of time...but, i'm sure that the infection is still coursing through my bloodstream. It'll come out sooner or later.
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