My Own Little Hell

Krispy Kreme donuts are evil works of Satan. They have no place in a civilized society. NONE!

OK, now, on to my real point.

I may never visit my grandmother again.

I’m hoping I can write about this and then feel much better. Maybe after I think these thoughts and transfer them into the electronic realm I will feel differently. Maybe not.

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about my grandmother (Mama Neenie) and her latest escapades. She has now moved from rehab to a nursing home. The transition went much smoother than anyone thought it would. Luckily she just moved from wing to another of the same building.

My mom and dad told her this weekend that she was staying there. They expected resistance. (Neenie talks about going home almost every time anyone visits.) They expected the worst. Instead she answered, “Can I go now?”

Apparently she was not getting on with her roommate very well.

They moved Neenie to her new room this morning. Again, she took it well. I guess you learn to be fluid over the course of 94 years.

I spent a couple of hours this afternoon searching for a new TV for her room. The residents can rent a TV from the facility or provide their own. My mom elected to get a new one for Neenie.

I shopped around a few places and finally found what I was looking for, so I headed over to Glenwood to deliver the TV.

I walked in and passed through the lobby toward Neenie’s room. I exited the lobby and I was immediately assaulted by the smell. It was like walking into a wall of odor. The smell of feces, urine, body odor, and, it seemed, decay. Despite my burning nostrils I continued toward the nurses station.

I needed to let the staff know that I was dropping off the TV so they could let Maintenance know to come install it.

I spotted the nurses station at the end of the hall. Several elderly women in reclining chairs lined the knee wall surrounding the desk. I paused slightly. I knew what was coming.

When I neared the desk, my fears came true. The voices started immediately. They were numerous and over-lapping. Gravelly and rasping. Harsh breaths filled the gaps between words.

“Hey.” “Whatchew doin’?” “Who’re you?” “Are you getting’ that grawlatiner?”

I couldn’t distinguish one voice from the other. I couldn’t understand most of what they said. One lady seemed convinced I had something for her. I don’t know what she wanted, but she thought I had it.

I told the attendant at the nurse’s station about the TV and that I would leave it in the room. Then I hurried away from the desk.

As I left, the voices continued. Ms. Looking-For-Something asked me another question I couldn’t decipher. I smiled and said, “No, I don’t.” Hoping against hope that she didn’t ask me if I wanted to live.

I hurried off to my grandmother’s room. She was asleep. I’d hoped to talk to her. I wanted to know she was at least somewhat happy there. I wanted to know that she wasn’t as scared of the Nursing Station Women as I was.

Instead, I quietly sat the TV and mounting bracket on the floor and left the room. I walked back down the hall and past the nurses station as fast as I could without running. I tried to not make it obvious that I was running away.

As I left I fought back tears. Literally. Not because my grandmother is in a nursing home. I’m sort of okay with that. I fought back tears because at that moment I was sure that I would never visit her there again.

I feel a little better about it now. I will visit her again. Soon. I think. God, I just cannot get over that smell, the blank slack-jawed looks on the faces of so many residents, and the voices.