I wonder how many elderly like being looked after?
Many need to be. Fair enough. Of course.
But what is going on inside their heads? When they are woken at the crack of dawn for a shower, for medication, for getting dressed? They say nothing but are they missing their previous life? Do carers even believe they could be thinking this way? Do carers even know anything about them at all?
We as independent individuals should prize our lie-ins, that we can do whatever we like when we like if we like because we like. This includes those of us like myself, retired, nearing 70, not needing to work anymore, married but definitely not the type to jump up whenever husband needs something.
We don't have to deal with being shipped off to different hospitals and institutions, suddenly separated from our friends, suffering dementia, uprooted, saddened and deflated because of the temporariness of life. Yet. All because of a pay dispute in said nursing home. Like last month, in Australia. Insufferable jerks.
Aging is not for the fainthearted, as is quoted. Since my fall in 2015 I am not the same. I am not looking forward to further aging. The alternative is death as my mother would say, but I'm not looking forward. Period. I don't want to know. But I know. I have researched. I have even researched my own mind because there's a lot in there that doesn't have to be told, taught, touched, tampered with. It's truth, to me. I know what's ahead.
But I'm glad I know, that I've looked into it, looked into my mind and seen. That I've always, since young, known what's down there, in there, faced the darkness. I don't run away from it for more projects, more earning, more of the newest, like some I know. No, I stand and face.
Maybe I will still be standing and facing in 20 years.
Maybe standing and facing will help me when my carer says stand, time for a shower, face me face the wall.
Many need to be. Fair enough. Of course.
But what is going on inside their heads? When they are woken at the crack of dawn for a shower, for medication, for getting dressed? They say nothing but are they missing their previous life? Do carers even believe they could be thinking this way? Do carers even know anything about them at all?
We as independent individuals should prize our lie-ins, that we can do whatever we like when we like if we like because we like. This includes those of us like myself, retired, nearing 70, not needing to work anymore, married but definitely not the type to jump up whenever husband needs something.
We don't have to deal with being shipped off to different hospitals and institutions, suddenly separated from our friends, suffering dementia, uprooted, saddened and deflated because of the temporariness of life. Yet. All because of a pay dispute in said nursing home. Like last month, in Australia. Insufferable jerks.
Aging is not for the fainthearted, as is quoted. Since my fall in 2015 I am not the same. I am not looking forward to further aging. The alternative is death as my mother would say, but I'm not looking forward. Period. I don't want to know. But I know. I have researched. I have even researched my own mind because there's a lot in there that doesn't have to be told, taught, touched, tampered with. It's truth, to me. I know what's ahead.
But I'm glad I know, that I've looked into it, looked into my mind and seen. That I've always, since young, known what's down there, in there, faced the darkness. I don't run away from it for more projects, more earning, more of the newest, like some I know. No, I stand and face.
Maybe I will still be standing and facing in 20 years.
Maybe standing and facing will help me when my carer says stand, time for a shower, face me face the wall.
photo © Rightasrain Studios 2015
