Voices of the Damned

"...tormented souls I see around me wherever I move,

and howsoever I turn, and wherever I gaze."
~Dante, "Inferno"

A nursing home is never a happy place. At best, it is sad and vaguely lonely; at worst it is hideously depressing.

My father's nursing home is a "good" one --it is clean and bright, bustling with activity, and the staff is loving and attentive to the residents. It is as fine an example of this type of facility that you are likely to find anywhere, and I am happy that Daddy is receiving exceptional care.

That being said, a locked Alzheimer's ward can be horrendously heart-wrenching. Alzheimer's patients frequently wander, so the door is locked and has key-pad entrance and exit, a task too difficult for the patients to master. It keeps them safe, and that is a good thing. Many of the residents are end-stage, and thus are lost, lying in fetal positions, and apparently unaware of the world around them.

For me, the worst are those who are lost, yet still capable of some type of vocalization. There is Gertie, who giggle disconcertingly in a high-pitched squeal. Then there is Margaret, who moans and cries out "helpmehelpmehelpmehelpme" Most unnerving is Sheila, who shrieks like a banshee, seemingly without the need to breathe. There is no comforting these poor women when they are in this type of crisis, although the staff tries valiantly.

Are they merely acting spontaneously, without any causation, or are they reacting to remote memories? Worse yet, are they railing against the injustice of their disease? Do they somehow see how damned they are, from now until their ultimate death?

Whatever the cause, it all shatters me to hear and be unable to ease their misery. Like a coward, I cut short my visit and run home to sanity.

Fuck the Bird

Some hae meat and canna eat, -
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit.

~Robert Burns

Why should I thank God, Robbie Burns? For fucking what--each holiday being worse and more stressful than the one before? What a great damn benevolent God ye hae' laddie.

I hate holidays. I've hated them since Daddy got sick. This bloody Thanksgiving makes me need to scream and rage. Daddy isn't here: why celebrate? He's dying slowly: why celebrate? He's spending his Thanksgiving--and every other holiday--in a nursing home: why celebrate?

I can't bear the thought of Thanksgiving without him here with us. If he were dead it would be different; this is a torturous limbo. I can't picture the table without him at the head. I can't picture him eating ground-up turkey in the group dining hall of a locked-down nursing home wing.

I hate this shit. And I can't "pray to a God that I don't believe in" to give me faith and love and joy. Fuck that noise. I'm just angry and depressed and not coping at all.

I have to stop. I"m crying to hard to see and shaking too much to type.

Damnable Metaphor

You can't pay enough money to cure that feeling
of being broken and confused.
~Winona Rider

Daddy has moved to his new nursing home, closer to home. He is even more discombobulated than ever, since he is in new surroundings. He doesn't have a sense of belonging to this place yet. That will come; of course it will just take some time for him to become acclimated.

He wanders around in his wheelchair. In his old placement he was safely comfortable, and knew everyone. "Rambling Man could have been written for him. He wanders here, as well. Here, though, he doesn't know how to get back to his room. He doesn't even know that his room is HIS.

In an effort to keep him from getting lost, I took a picture I had made and wrote his name and room number on the bottom. I posted it on the wall, at wheelchair-eye-level, so he can find his way back to his place. The picture I added to this post is the one I used for Daddy's sign.

Now if only I could find a way to post a sign that would direct his brain back to good health. Instead, I feel, once again, like I'm putting a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound. My Daddy's brain is lost; nothing I or anyone else can do will bring it back.

I cried all day today. Again.