NURSING HOME

Sitting here in my wheelchair" looking out this 2 by 3 foot window
just watching my life go by. I'm 87, living in a little small 10 by
12ft. room with a bed in one corner, and a small bathroom about the
size of a closet and a microwave. Sitting on the counter near a small
sink and a dresser against the wall and a chair in the corner with my
walker leaning against it, how depressing" just to look around the
room.
I sit for hours at a time looking out of the window watching the cars
go by. People walking along the sidewalk and kids skateboarding and
playing in this grassy area that I could see from my window.
Most of the time there is no one out there.
I just stare out the window at the clouds passing slowly in the sky.
Never in my life did I think that I would be in a situation like
this.
I am confined to my wheelchair, I cannot move my legs or my left arm.
Twice a day nurses come in and give me a shot to get me through the
day. After a few months I've lost track if it's two times or three
times a day, most of the time I am in terrible pain and can't wait for
them to come into the room to give me a shot so I can get through the
rest of the day, some times they run late and I've sat there crying in
pain waiting for that shot. My wife passed away nine years ago and I
have one son that tries to come and see me but he lives far away in
Canada. I wish quite often that I could see him every day, but I can't.
He calls me whenever he gets a chance;"I miss him a lot. I'm confined
to this room only because it is too hard for me to move around or down
the hallways, even trying to get to the dining room. Usually my food is
brought to the room, sometimes if I can catch a volunteer early, and I
feel real good they will push me down the hall for dinner. I'm confined
to my small room. Quite often I sit here for hours crying and thinking
about my son that was killed in a car accident, my wife was so broken
up over losing our son and shortly thereafter, she died of a stroke. My
older son lives in Canada, and we were never really close but I do
think of him quite often. I was brought here from a hospital nine
months ago to this Nursing Home. After being here for a while, when
ever I would look out the window tears rolled down my face. It is very
hard for me just being in here and alone. All my so-called friends and
neighbors that I know, never come to visit me. I Know every day I'm in
here my time is closer to the end. As the aides put me into bed at
night I would lay there for hours at a time listening to all those
different sounds and moans coming from other residence from down the
hallway. A resident across the hallway from me would lie in his bed and
in a low muffled voice would yell pleading with someone to help him. As
I lay there looking out through the doorway of my room, watching a
number of people just walking by his door paying no attention at all to
him. Lots of times I'm scared to go to sleep for fear that I'll never
wake up. After being in here for nine months I looked up towards the
doorway one evening at this girl standing in the doorway. She could not
have been older than 19 she said with a big smile on her face, "I am a
volunteer".
I will help you as much as I can, Mr. Miller.
My name is Jodie. She was short and a little stocky and as she came
close to me I could tell she had Down syndrome. But over the next
couple months she was like an angel to me, one of the nicest persons I
have ever met and the sweetest. I don't get a chance to see her very
often but when I do it's a real pleasure for me. Often I will sit here
in my wheelchair leaning my head against the window and will fall
asleep. Alot of times the sun shines directly into my eyes and wakes me
up. Slowly I'll lean my head back for a long time, while I sit in my
wheelchair, I start to weep as I think how hard it is to be in here.
Every once in awhile when they come to clean your room and you would be
asleep in your wheelchair, instead of speaking to you they will kick
the wheel of your chair to wake you.
Once or twice a day you may see one of the workers walking around, very
rarely do they speak to you.
You just can't go out in the hallways or to one of the game rooms, you
need permission, which takes quite awhile. Most of the time they treat
you fairly good, but you can see in their face that it is only a job to
them.
I have experienced on occasions that if you talk back in a negative way
they have certain ways of getting back at you that is not
pleasant.
I don't know, maybe I am just getting negative in my old age, but it is
a little rough in here.
Any minute now, Jodie should be coming in to see me. A few days ago
when she was straightening up my room for me, she kept humming a song
that was so pleasant that when she came into the room I asked her if
she would hum that song that she was humming, the last time she was
here .She looked at me with a big smile on her face and said sure and
started humming it right away. It was real nice and relaxing to me. I
asked her what the name of that song was and with a smile she said,
"Sweet Jesus.
A few minutes later she finished and left the room. There are one or
two other nice people working here, but not like her. When sitting here
in my room I think back to a lot of things that my wife and I had
done.
We would always go places together and do a lot of things that were
precious to us. I miss her so much.
I always ask why did she go before me? why couldn't you take me first?
I guess I should be thankful.
Still it is hard and pain full remembering back, I keep thinking about
how fast time went. Sitting here writing in my little tablet, about
alot of things that come to my mind. In the last couple of years, I've
thought alot about the past. I looked out my window and saw a beautiful
sunset, I stared at it for a few minutes and then I sat back in my
chair. I feel a chill come over me, I pulled the little blanket that I
had on my lap up over me. I feel very tired, think I'll lean my head
back and close my eyes for a few minutes. This is Jodie I just arrived
at work and came into Mr. Miller's room, he is slumped over in his
chair and the doctor on call just pronounced him dead.
I picked his tablet and pen up, and finished the last part in his
story, "The End"

A story by Norman Clifford
October 07-2002