Argh
October 12th 2006, 05:06 PM
DJPork
Forgotton
Vacantly, the man gazes out the window.
The july sun beats down on his old and broken face. The afternoon sun not quite reaching the depths of his deep wrinkles, the scars of his life. Haunted by the memories of his deceased friends. Brothers killed in war, old friends taken by desease, sons and daughters god only knows where. All his life he was pushed aside and told to do for what others wanted.
He sits in his little plastic chair as he does every day, and tries hard, not to think about his own life, his own misery. But when he does, he wonders why his life had to be like this, what exactly caused those who he loved and trusted put him here, and most of all why they never come back to visit him. His life is of constant pain, from his remorse of unfullfilled dreams, to the constant pain from his exhausted body.
Nobody cares about him, not really. At the very most, a couple feel obliged to talk to him once in a while. To everybody else who knows him, he's just a nusiance. A liability.
He cant cope with it. Although he barely knows where he is and has to be reminded to do the simplest things, he's not stupid. He knows he was abandoned by those who he raised, and put in this nursing home. He knows what a burden he was.
Sometimes he's angry with his kids, and the staff here, but mostly, he feels guilty. Guilty that he forgets things, guilty that he made his kids put him, and guilty that he got in the way so much. He wonders, if only he had been a little better, and not made so many mistakes, would he still be here? The guilt eats away at him constantly, with nothing to take hs mind of it either, with he exception of bullying from the staff, and constant aches.
The nurses all laugh at him here. The polite ones do it with their friends behind his back with their friends, but not all are so kind. He's trapped in his four walls, and in his own body, he needs to get out. He must do.
He's kept alive with pills and injections, but what for? He hasn't looked forward to anything or even smiled in several years.
Every day, he sits in his little chair, trying to bottle up the pain, but he can't anymore. He just knows that he can't. His lower lip starts to tremble, and the long built up tears begin to fall. Soon he is sobbing uncontrolably in his little room. Nobody really cares. It's just that crazy old guy feeling sorry for himself.
About ten or twenty minuites pass before some kind soul comes in to comfort him. It was a twenty - something woman - a nurse, working for the home. "Listen, Mr Brown, you're really making it hard for some of the staff to work, could you keep it down a little?", and with that, she left the little room.
Vacantly, the man gazes out the window.
The july sun beats down on his old and broken face. The afternoon sun not quite reaching the depths of his deep wrinkles, the scars of his life. Haunted by the memories of his deceased friends. Brothers killed in war, old friends taken by desease, sons and daughters god only knows where. All his life he was pushed aside and told to do for what others wanted.
He sits in his little plastic chair as he does every day, and tries hard, not to think about his own life, his own misery. But when he does, he wonders why his life had to be like this, what exactly caused those who he loved and trusted put him here, and most of all why they never come back to visit him. His life is of constant pain, from his remorse of unfullfilled dreams, to the constant pain from his exhausted body.
Nobody cares about him, not really. At the very most, a couple feel obliged to talk to him once in a while. To everybody else who knows him, he's just a nusiance. A liability.
He cant cope with it. Although he barely knows where he is and has to be reminded to do the simplest things, he's not stupid. He knows he was abandoned by those who he raised, and put in this nursing home. He knows what a burden he was.
Sometimes he's angry with his kids, and the staff here, but mostly, he feels guilty. Guilty that he forgets things, guilty that he made his kids put him, and guilty that he got in the way so much. He wonders, if only he had been a little better, and not made so many mistakes, would he still be here? The guilt eats away at him constantly, with nothing to take hs mind of it either, with he exception of bullying from the staff, and constant aches.
The nurses all laugh at him here. The polite ones do it with their friends behind his back with their friends, but not all are so kind. He's trapped in his four walls, and in his own body, he needs to get out. He must do.
He's kept alive with pills and injections, but what for? He hasn't looked forward to anything or even smiled in several years.
Every day, he sits in his little chair, trying to bottle up the pain, but he can't anymore. He just knows that he can't. His lower lip starts to tremble, and the long built up tears begin to fall. Soon he is sobbing uncontrolably in his little room. Nobody really cares. It's just that crazy old guy feeling sorry for himself.
About ten or twenty minuites pass before some kind soul comes in to comfort him. It was a twenty - something woman - a nurse, working for the home. "Listen, Mr Brown, you're really making it hard for some of the staff to work, could you keep it down a little?", and with that, she left the little room.
I work at a rest home, and I have to say that I've never encountered one staff member who doesn't care.
I myself spent last Christmas day attempting to comfort a bawling old lady who was threatening to slit her wrists because nobody had come to visit her.
I have, however, seen a lot of people leave aged care angry and disillusioned. It's difficult, often disturbing work, and it doesn't help that it also seems to attract a lot of bad press.
I myself spent last Christmas day attempting to comfort a bawling old lady who was threatening to slit her wrists because nobody had come to visit her.
I have, however, seen a lot of people leave aged care angry and disillusioned. It's difficult, often disturbing work, and it doesn't help that it also seems to attract a lot of bad press.
