Nursing Home

 Today I visited my father in the new skilled nursing facility he was recently transferred to. The drive seemed much longer than it actually was. 

The bright daylight and white puffy clouds drifting across the sky would normally have cheered me up and felt comforting, but not today.

I don’t know which part of the city we were driving through, but I could see it had originally been a railroad town. The tracks appeared to still be in use in certain parts. 

Most of the people walking around looked like they had seen better days. It was definitely a gathering place for the poverty-stricken and those seriously down on their luck, if they had any luck.

I really began to question what kind of facility my father had been sent to, seeing as we weren’t driving through the “nice” part of town. As we turned a corner, the landscape and buildings suddenly changed.

I saw a very large, looming brick building with white columns and trim. Nice landscaping, too. The typical Southern garden with large old-growth trees, branches draped in moss. 

It reminded me of a creepy old mental institution that was most likely haunted. You know, the kind you see in horror movies. Only here the sun was shining, and the air was warm and balmy instead of being all dark, stormy, and foreboding. Which, in a way, made it more creepy…

The woman at the front desk seemed friendly enough and greeted my mom and me with a smile. As we walked past the reception desk into the main part of the building, things quickly went from brief normalcy to a waking nightmare. 

The lighting was bright like the sun outside. It was clean; artwork hung on the walls; upbeat music was playing over the speakers, but it was quickly overshadowed by the fact that the rooms and halls were filled with the sick, injured, and dying. 

Let’s face it, few people usually leave these places alive. This is where you go to die once you're past a certain point. Taking care of someone who is seriously ill is no easy task.   

I did my best to keep my shit together while passing a man who had recently had one of his legs amputated, possibly due to an infection, the kind diabetics are prone to, maybe. 

I know this is who and what these facilities are here for, but it’s still a jarring experience, not unlike entering purgatory, not just for the patients but also for the family members. No one wants to be there, and nothing is comforting or comfortable. 

This is the harsh reality of this situation; it doesn’t matter how friendly the staff is or how well they care for the residents; again, the whole thing is like a waking nightmare. 

Yet we have to put on our fake smiles and brave faces and act like everything is sunshine and rainbows. Oh, the lies we tell to ourselves and others, just to get through shitty, painful situations.

And the smell of these places… This sort of stale, sickly sweet, and putrid scent that lingers, even in its mildest form, long after you have left. It gets in your hair, in your clothes, and in your mouth. 

The scent of death creeps up as the body deteriorates and breaks down, a not-so-subtle reminder of our own mortality. 

I know you are probably thinking, man, this chick is negative! The truth is, I love to laugh, have fun, and relish the many wonderful and positive things in life. 

It seems like yesterday, my dad and I were laughing and hanging out in the kitchen, and now he’s lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a machine, unable to breathe or move, drooling on himself. 

I experienced one of those surreal moments where you ask yourself - what the fuck just happened?! How the hell did we end up here?! 

I can only imagine what he must be thinking and feeling. Is he thinking? Is he feeling? I question everything. Of course, looking back, it’s clear to see how things ended up the way they did. A hard pill to swallow, that’s for sure. But anyway...

By the time we finally made our way to his room, we found my dad fast asleep. I was hoping he was resting peacefully, but the more I looked at his face, the more I realized this was simply his way of coping with his current physical state.

It was easier to be unconscious than conscious. If he were awake, then he would be aware and have to feel everything fully. Not a position any of us would want to be in. 

Despite this, I took his hand in hopes he would know it was me and wake up… 

He didn’t, but I held it anyway.