Longterm Healthcare Blues
Hi, folks. So I’m sitting at home feelin’ kinda ill and I’m persuaded into a trip to Emergency. As it turns out, was a good move. I was sicker than hell. And all this time I had the mean manager in the process of evicting me. At the time of that, Sabryna, my Suboxone councilor, is talking me into a longterm health facility. Which I believe was a bad move. However, I was transported to Springbrook Center, Westbrook, Maine. Only the next town, but a million miles away. Under the umbrella of Genesis.
I learned all of this by the bill I was presented. For what, I don’t know. Anyways, let me briefly describe me new abode.
There’s a lot of stuff on the activity sheet. I’m using one to write this on. Might as well — we haven’t done any activities due to Covid scare.
Now I’m using the back of the weekly menu. They take this big around here, with two menus — one alternative, case you don’t like the main entrées. Not bad eats. Institutional food. You get the picture. Some real good, some real bad. Kind of funny, though — they seem to like writing “broccoli floret” when it’s usually anything but. And they have been giving us placemats for napkins. I can’t figure that one either.
Now, between all our activities — like the real biggie, bingo — I’m doing therapy, usually with a couple new amigos, Kali and Erik. Each of these guys take me out for walks around the grounds and there’s a decent gym should the need present itself. I’m in some of the best shape ever considering my age (72). I don’t feel that old, much to my chagrin, but I deal with it fine.
I’m pretty much friendly with all staff, and real popular at bingo. They gave me an honorary prize, which I think was for being the Life of the Party. And of course I get along with other residents real well (mostly girls). But if you read between the lines you can tell it’s been a long, boring day. I’m reading the activity sheet and it says call the Recreation Dept. “for any activity supply needs.” What fuckin’ Rec. Dept.? Been here three months and never even heard of it!
Here’s some personal thoughts about all this. I believe it’s the whole homeless situation that has got me good. I was not evicted for late payment or noise, but for putting up a couple of homeless people, which I should have been thanked for, not evicted. Even though John and Kokomo split the scene, I can’t get real upset, but I wish they’d let me know — I coulda used a few things from my old place. Oh well.
I won’t tell that woman who evicted me to go to hell — she’s already there. As is all folks of her nature. Let ’em live like that. I got no time.
But homeless is not defined by age. Old folks are in the same boat. In other walks of life, old folks are a prized possession, not someone stuck out in the woods someplace. And all the time I must remember Genesis is a money-making facility and is not a bunch of people feeling one drop of sympathy for anything past a check in the mail. A dividend. And the only thing I have learned is how they can put on a nice face and fool the people. But hey, ain’t this America, home of the Dow Jones?
You know, I’m glad I was in the slam, in a way. Taught me how to put up with mean guards, stupid fuckin’ rules, and patience — something that is needed here. This place is next to lockdown, as another ward has Covid, and it’s screwing up a lot. The worst is no bingo, which I’ve come to enjoy a lot seein’s how I win so often. Won 6 out of 10 last time we played.
The newspaper is a big relief of the long days here. I look forward to my copy every day, but even that’s been delayed recently.
One more thing I wish to say is the layout of this place. The rooms are all divided by curtains, so you’re enclosed by sight but not sound. Which means I can eat while breaking every politeness you can think of. Also, me being a heterosexual male, I s’pose I could get goin’ on other things — you get the drift — but neither the girls nor I shown much interest (which I believe would be a lot different at Seaside).
But one last time: homelessness is nailing us all. And I still believe I should have been appreciated for helping out people, not evicted. And the owner reads this paper. So thank you much, Mr. Mister. Adiós from the bowel movement of Maine. You ain’t losin’ me yet.
