TheBanyanTree: Alternatives

[NancyIee at aol.com]

A friend needed a place to stay for physical therapy following an  injury.  
The place selected had a good reputation for the kind of therapy  she needed, 
plus, her insurance would cover all.  She moved in.
 
The place, in addition to the therapy wing, had several other wings  occupied 
by elderly and frail folks.  It was an old building, purchased and  in 
renovation to provide physical, occupational, and restorative therapies for  the 
area.  But, as it is being renovated, much of it is still in the old,  original 
condition.  The plumbing was sometimes balky.  The walls were  beige, though in 
various stages of being repainted.  The bathrooms were  right out of the 
Bates Motel, as designed by Hitchcock.
 
My comments are not about the therapy or the quality of that.  It is  about 
the "other folks".  Many could not speak, or if they did, they tended  to lose 
track of where they were. I watched them as they lined the main hall in  their 
wheelchairs for their daily "outing."  They could watch the busyness  of the 
place, and chat among themselves, if they wished. If they could.   The staff 
was attentive, if overworked. The food bland, and often not  warm.  Except if 
it was intended to be chilled. It was not the place. It  was not the staff. It 
really was not the food.
 
I thought ahead, of my own possible future.  Would I end up in a place  like 
this.  The ancient black man who mumbled and hailed everyone, thinking  family 
had come, at last, to visit. The former school teacher, sitting, dozing,  
nodding off, waiting for someone to feed her, change her, take her somewhere  
else.  When someone addressed her, she lifted her head and smiled, like a  lost 
child. Trying so hard to respond, to know what was going on.  Giving  up and 
dozing off again.  The young woman, her bright mind fried by bad  choices, 
sitting, lolling, crying, for what, she did not know.   The  sharp man who flirted, 
smiled, loved to play cards, and whose body was much  older than his mind.  
Another woman in a wheelchair, tethered to her oxygen  tank, begging to be 
pushed out into the patio for a cigarette, and cursing when  it was not yet time. 
The men staying in their rooms, watching daytime  television, it matter not 
which channel was on.  They did not want to go  out and sit along the hallway.  
They did not want to do anything. What  for?
 
My friend will be out of the place in a few days, better, getting on with  
life.  The others?  They will stay.  More will join their ranks. 
 
I know so many who are able to stay in their homes all their lives.  I  know 
some who volunteer, who join clubs, who garden, who read, and go out to  lunch 
with friends.  I know a few who have someone come in for cleaning and  other 
tasks, when needed.  How I would prefer to be among those.
 
But, I will never forget those in that place. And all the other places like  
that one. Those places are necessary for families no longer able to care for  
failing elders. Some had no families, or had them too far away. So, there they 
 stay, and stay, and stay. It seemed as though they had outlived life.
 
If you have someone in such a place, please visit them. Visit others who  may 
think you are family. I cannot help but think that one day, I might be in a  
place like that. And, any visitor is welcome.
 
I know I will go back and visit that flirting man, the dozing former  
teacher, the young woman burned out. They are, after all, part of my  "family."



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