... was really in a rip-snortin' hell-raisin' mood when I got to the care facility on Wednesday morning. I arrived a little after ten o'clock to allow ample time for persuading her to do whatever might be necessary to make herself presentable for going to the appointment she had with the doctor at 11:40. I expected it would take some smooth talking to get her to comb her hair, or brush her teeth, or put on a blouse that did not have stains or breakfast. But she was on a rant, out in the hallway near the nursing station.
Demanding the staff take her down to the basement and help her retrieve the items they had taken from her room and stored there, very much against her will. She was insistent that the things they moved belonged to her, and complained loudly that they had no business going in and removing her furniture. Asking all the workers about going, right that minute, with her so she could get her belongings and put the items back where they were supposed to be.
The building where she lives is all on one level, there is no downstairs, no basement, no place below ground level where anything could be stored. The staff has not removed any thing from her room, other than clothing when they do laundry, which is always returned to her. (They did wash a beautiful hand-made, pink, wool sweater she knit years ago, in hot water to reduce it to child size.) It is more than likely that everything that goes through the commercial laundry machines is washed in the hottest water, with harsh industrial detergents and tossed into high temperature dryers. But that is just a hazard of communal living, where everyone is dependent on staffers to care for their personal needs.
This whole scenario reminds me of her stay in a rehab center when she was released from the hospital about eighteen months ago. She had fallen and injured a hip, had been in the bed for a week, and could not be released to return home and live independently without support. She was transferred to a nursing/rehab facility, helped to regain mobility. During the stay, she was absolutely certain that she had clothing stored up in the attic there. Insistent that someone had come in her room and taken her dresses, clothing made by her mother, and moved it up into the attic. Sadly: she did not transfer there with any dresses in her possession - and there was no storage in the attic. I don't know about the staff there, but I finally just quit trying to convince her she was mistaken about both the clothing and the storage area.
She was persuaded to leave, and go with me to the appointment by one of the workers who assured her she would have plenty of time to get her furniture back. He told her he would be there when she returned, and would go with her to help her find the missing articles. She was absolutely certain people had come and taken her belongings, and it was stored below the building. Hopefully when she finished with her ice cream and cake, passed out to residents for the monthly birthday party, and returned to her room, she had forgotten about the missing furniture.
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