The Respite: A Complicated Stay

By Darlene Moore

After eighteen years of working in a nursing home and meeting all kinds of residents from all walks, and staff members with hidden agendas, including criminal activity, I Lydia will share my personal scandals that almost cost me my freedom and my life. This book will also share how chronically ill residents do not receive their proper medication because greedy staff members find it to be more profitable to sell the prescription drugs on the street instead of giving them to the people they were prescribed for. I will also share how promiscuous behaviour is common in the workplace while staff members should be giving care to the residents.

This book contains several occurrences that happened during my employment. Although I share a few of the stories and incidents that occurred while employed at the home, there is one story that haunts me to this very day, and that is the story of the Respite.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456848811

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Copyright © 2011 by Darlene Moore.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011900735

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-4879-8

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-4880-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-4881-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE

MY FIRST ASSIGNMENT

CHAPTER TWO

THE MANY VIOLATIONS

CHAPTER THREE

LYDIA’S FIRST SCANDAL

CHAPTER FOUR

STORMY WINTER

CHAPTER FIVE

BUGS, BIGOTS, AND BED SWAPPING

CHAPTER SIX

THE GRAND OPENING

CHAPTER SEVEN

FAREWELLS

CHAPTER EIGHT

VACATION

CHAPTER NINE

SHELBY’S STORY (THE RESPITE)

CHAPTER TEN

REVELATIONS

I would like to dedicate this book to my husband and family for their love and support.

And to all the residents who are in nursing homes and to their families, God Bless each and every one of you.

INTRODUCTION

Anyone who has to come to terms with putting a loved one in a nursing home has my deepest sympathy. This has to be one of the toughest decisions a person has to make. It is also tremendously rough on the person who has to give up life as he or she knows it, especially if that person still has all of his or her faculties.

Imagine your loved one giving up all his or her worldly possessions except for a few items that he or she can fit in a nightstand or a tiny closet that is only big enough to hang a coat in and maybe three outfits, and maybe two pairs of shoes. Let’s not mention the cramped living quarters that your loved one will share with anywhere from one to three other people.

The decision to put someone close to you in a home is not an easy decision for any human being with a heart to make.

Nevertheless, what really makes it most difficult is hearing all the horror stories that accompany many of the nursing homes today. There is not one person alive who has not heard at least one horror story about what goes on in nursing homes.

Of course, no one in his or her right mind would commit Mom, Dad, Grandma, or Big Daddy into a place where you knew sexual, mental, or physical abuse was a daily way of life. Unfortunately, the abuses I mentioned do happen more often than one cares to think about. That is what inspired me to write this book.

After eighteen years of working in a nursing home and meeting all kinds of residents from all walks, and staff members with hidden agendas, including criminal activity, I Lydia will share my personal scandals that almost cost me my freedom and my life. This book will also share how chronically ill residents do not receive their proper medication because greedy staff members find it to be more profitable to sell the prescription drugs on the street instead of giving them to the people they were prescribed for. I will also share how promiscuous behavior is common in the workplace while staff members should be giving care to the residents.

This book contains several occurrences that happened during my employment. Although I share a few of the stories and incidents that occurred while employed at the home, there is one story that haunts me to this very day, and that is the story of the Respite.

Her family walked her into Bountiful Living Extended Care facility healthy and spry, with the intentions of a very short stay. However, someone else had something very different planned for the Respite.

The Respite A Complicated Stay is a story that takes place primarily at Bountiful Living Extended Care facility which is a nursing home in Willow Lakes, New Jersey.

The Respite, is a term used in nursing homes for residents or patients that are only there for a short term, which was supposed to be the case for Shelby Ellington also known as The Respite.

Mrs. Ellington was beginning to show signs of dementia, which is why her family did not trust her to stay alone as they went on vacation. They walked her into the home with the intention of taking her back home but someone else had very different plans for her.

For years, Bountiful as it is called has been the center of scandals ranging from the illegal sales of prescription drugs, to alleged rapes and murders and one employee is finally telling it all.

Lydia Edwards, who has been caught up in a few scandals of her own while employed at Bountiful, will take you on a journey that started eighteen years ago and ended up with her going to jail fighting for her freedom and life.

CHAPTER ONE

MY FIRST ASSIGNMENT

I will never forget my first day I went to work at Bountiful Living Extended Care facility it had to be a record-breaker for the shortest time spent at on the job.

I was there for only 15 minutes before the sights, sounds and smells began hitting me all at once and literally made me sick. Sick to the point that everything I had for breakfast began pouring out of me like Niagara Falls right there at the nurse’s station.

It already smelled as if someone opened up a few gallons of ammonia and just let it filter the air and my vomiting made the smell worse.

A kind soul gave me a roll of paper towel, garbage bag, and mop bucket to clean up the mess I just made. I got down on my knees to clean wipe up the mess as I tried even harder to keep the rest of my stomach contents down, I noticed all of the screaming was coming from the residents sitting in the atrium that were in restraints.

From the smell, I could only imagine that a few of them needed changing.

If it smelled this badly at seven in the morning, what did high noon smell like?

While I was down on my knees, I said, Lord, please always keep me in my right mind and able to care for myself in Jesus name Amen.

Although, I did have training to become a nursing assistant I have to say I was far from being mentally prepared for duty.

One of the supervisors told me that I should go home and try it again tomorrow. She didn’t have to tell me twice, I almost broke my neck trying to run for the exit as I seriously thought about making my employment at Bountiful history.

My first day at work was record-breaking short, but in the time I was there I did notice that the residents that were tied to their chairs were the ones most agitated. I never in my life saw such inhumane conditions in a structured environment. I wanted to know what these elderly and disabled people did to deserve such treatment. I really wanted to walk up to each one of them and start untying them so they could run through the doors with me and enjoy freedom once again.

On my way out the door, I said, Lord, please keep me in my right mind and allow me to always be able to care for myself. Lord, if for some reason you will not grant me my prayer, the day I become senile, please take me with you. In Jesus’s name, amen. After saying those words, I felt a sense of peace. After my prayer, I reconsidered coming back the next day because my first instinct was to run and never look back; after all, none of my blood ran through the veins of those people who were tied down to furniture. My second thought was who in the world would allow their loved one to be treated in this manner? I know if I had to visit a family member in a facility and they were hog-tied, I would have some serious issues, concerns, and of course, plenty of questions that someone would have to answer. In my opinion, there would be no good enough answer as to why someone I love was tied to a chair, sitting in their urine. My final thought was maybe I could do something to help improve the conditions in this place. Since I planned to come back tomorrow, I would not eat or drink anything so I did not have a repeat performance.

The next day I walked into Bountiful Living trying desperately not to digest the smells, sights, and sounds all at once in order to not have a repeat performance from the previous day. Deeply lost in my own thoughts of trying to picture how long I could endure working in a place like this, I had no idea someone was talking to me. Hello, Hello. you’ve seemed to have drifted off. Hello, my name is Sydney Tonnage, and I am the nurse in charge of Willow Hall west. That is, I am the part-time nurse manager on day shift, and you must be Lydia, the new nursing assistant.

I looked at her as if she spoke Chinese. How could she be talking to me so nicely while she allowed these old folks to be tied down like wild animals as the sat in their own urine as they yell for sweet relief.

Uh, hi. Yes, my name is Lydia. May I ask you a question? I did not wait for her response. Why are these people tied to their seats, and why does the entire unit smell like an outhouse?

Obviously she did not care for my line of questioning but I had legitimate question that needed an answer.

Lydia, these people are high risk for falls, and at night they tend to climb out of their beds and in most cases, they end up on the floor. The purpose for restraints is to prevent falls. Lydia, we try to use preventative measures around here to cut down on writing incident reports. What did they do in the last nursing home where you worked? Sydney asked genuinely.

My response was, Who said I worked in a nursing home before this one? How dare she think I was traipsing around from one nursing home to the next, seeking employment as if this was the only job that I was qualified to do. I can see Sydney and I were not going to be the best of friends. I was so glad I had not come here to seek out friends.

Sydney’s next comment was, We use plenty of restraints here because this unit has plenty of residents who think they can walk on their own but cannot. It is easier for the staff to have those at high risk for falls kept in one area because it is much easier to monitor all of them at once. Sydney also stated that the atrium was full so early because most of the residents who climb out of bed stay here all night so someone would watch them.

My question was, If someone is assigned to watch them, are the restraints necessary?

I know they showed you the restraints in the training class, or did they? And I said, Yes, but we used them on a dummy, not a person. This is the first time I actually saw them used on a human.

A couple of days in orientation do not mentally prepare you to see human beings tied to chairs as they yell for someone to release them.

However, Sydney did try explaining the purpose of restraints that gave me no comfort, but she did not explain why it smells so badly on the unit.

Sydney, I asked you about the smell.

She looked at me and said, What smell?

I came flat out and said, I know you are joking, this place smells like an outhouse.

She began to chuckle and said, Oh, don’t mind me, I just had a little nostalgia. I remember when I had to do my clinical in a nursing home. My first day, I said I would never eat or drink again because the smell made me absolutely nauseous, and I felt that way for a week or two; then I got used to it, as will you. Once again, Sydney tried to explain away the odor instead of getting to the core of the real problem. The real problem was these people were not getting their diapers changed regularly; that is why the pungent odor was hanging around. I just came through the door and it was much too soon for me to start making waves, but as soon as I got my feet wet, I would be making tidal waves.

Lydia, because this is your first day at work, I have a special assignment for you, said Sydney. I would like you to do the one-on-one today in room 5011. He is in a private room. Please read his care plan carefully but quickly because his night assistant is in there waiting to be relieved. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask. I will do what I can to help.

I nodded my head and kept reading. When I was in class, the instructor said that for the first week we would only have about four to five residents each, and that is what I was looking for. What a pleasant surprise to have to deal with one person for the day.

After reading the care plan carefully, I walked into the room. I noticed the door was partially ajar, with a garbage can stuck behind it. I eased the door open and saw that the curtain was fully drawn. I peeked around the curtain. I noticed that Mr. Nicholas O’Malley was fast asleep, and so was his night assistant. Both were snoring as loud as garbage trucks, and the room did not smell much better than one. The assistant had made her makeshift bed out of three chairs padded with sheets and blankets. She had her head tossed back, with drool streaming out the side of her mouth. Mr. O’Malley’s white blanket had a big yellow and brown stain smack-dab in the center. He could not have been toileted all night because the outside of the stain had turned brown, and it had started to dry.

In a loud tone I said, Good morning, Mr. O’Malley, my name is Lydia and I will be taking care of you today.

I purposely wanted to startle the assistant, which I did; she jumped up so fast, she almost broke her neck on her homemade bed. Oh, good morning, I did not hear you come in. I just closed my eyes for a few minutes.

Sure. If her eyes had been any more closed, she would have been in a coma. She turned Mr. O’Malley and said, Goodbye, Nick, I will see you tonight.

She must have hit her head in the leap she just took if she thought I was going to clean up her mess.

EXCUSE ME! You are walking out of the room but you did not clean your bed up or change Mr. O’Malley.

She gave me a look that pierced my soul, and in a very rude manner said, I am off the clock. You are responsible for Nick now, and that bed was here before I came and I am not putting it up. Besides, you are going to take a nap, right?

I could not believe what just exited her mouth. Excuse me, miss, but I did not come to work to take a nap, and if you don’t remove the chair and change Mr. O’Malley, I will call Sydney in here so she can take a peek at what happened here last night.

There goes that piercing look again. She took Mr. O’Malley with one hand and tossed him roughly against the bed rail as he screamed in pain. Take it easy, will you?

Totally ignoring his pleas for her to be gentle, she took her free hand and ripped the diaper from under him. Quickly she put the other diaper on. As she turned him on his back, the two of them were gasping for air.

The aide’s breathing came across as labored as if she was huffing and puffing at me, but I didn’t care. Now her heavy breathing was accompanied with eye rolling. She grabbed her bedding while storming out of the room, slamming the door as she made her grand exit. She must have thought that because I was the new kid on the block I would be meek and humble, but she had the wrong one today. Underwhelmed by that childish exhibition, I proceeded to talk to Mr. O’Malley as if she had never been there.

I hope I have another person taking care of me tonight. You see how wet she was going to leave me if you had not spoken up, said Mr. O’Malley. He continued, saying, I know you told Celeste that you did not come here to sleep, but in case you do decide to drift off, can you help me get cleaned up and dressed first?

The big, grizzly man lying before me had such a soft and almost timid-sounding voice. His voice did not match his body. I expected a thunderous roar would come out of his mouth, but shockingly, that was not the case.

As I pulled the covers back, I noticed that he was strapped, his left hand and left leg tightly tied to the bed rail. I asked curiously what he had done to get himself in bondage.

Mr. O’Malley said, I was trying to get help to go to the bathroom. I kept using my call bell. No one answered, so I climbed out of the bed, and as you can see, I only have one leg. I fell on the floor and lay there for what felt like an eternity before someone found me, and since then the staff ties me to my bed when I am lying down and to my wheelchair while I am sitting up. That is some way to live, isn’t it, Lydia?

I started to feel a little sorry for Mr. O’Malley because here was a man with most, if not all, of his senses, yet he was tied down as if he was feeble-minded and lacked control of his motor skills, which was not true. If I was hearing him correctly, the only reason he fell in the first place was no one could take him to the toilet.

Mr. O’Malley, I am sure once you show the staff that you are no longer a fall risk they will remove the restraints from you, but first you have to prove them wrong for putting the restraints on you in the first place. Tell me, how does your family feel when they come and see you tied to your wheelchair and bed?

He looked at me with a smirk and said, Sydney and that other sorry nurse tried to convince my son that they did this for my own safety. However, my son was not totally sold on the idea of having his dad tied down, so to appease the both of us they put me in this private room with my very own assistant for all three shifts. You know, I think they are a little afraid of my son, who is a big businessman here in New Jersey and internationally, with strong political ties. When I told my son about my mishap he did threaten to sue; that is when they came to an agreement to give me a private room and assistant.

I personally would have sued just for general purposes, because what good is it for Mr. O’Malley to have a private aide if his needs are not being met; and what good is the room if he could not enjoy living in it? They had bought O’Malley’s son with a room and aide, and for how long? To me none of this made any sense, because if Mr. O’Malley had a private assistant, why did the staff feel the need to tie him up? The purpose in having a private aide was to ensure that no harm came to him by keeping him closely monitored, so why did he need rope and an assistant? Just thinking about all of this was starting to give me a headache, so I will leave this matter alone and leave it in the hands of the professionals; after all, they knew best and I was just the new kid on the block.

Mr. O’Malley, while reading your care plan I noticed that you get a bath on the day shift. Would you like to take a bath or shower before your breakfast arrives?

His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. You are actually offering to give me a bath, he said in disbelief.

Sure, why not?

He paused, and tried to clear his throat as if he had something in it. I haven’t had a bath since I’ve been here. He put his hand to his chin, as if he was really trying to calculate the time he had been in this place. It will be two years in September.

Two years! No wonder this room smelled like a landfill, and judging by his foot, I believed he was telling the truth. The bottom of his one foot was so crusty, I could have made at least four pies off the one foot.

Mr. O’Malley, did you or did you not just tell me that the staff here was scared of your son? I sure cannot tell because you should be receiving far better care than what you are getting.

Never mind being afraid of his son, he was a human being, and what human being goes without taking a bath for two years unless there were some extraordinary circumstances involved? I could not imagine not getting in a tub for twenty-four months, not being able to soak in a nice hot bubble bath daily would drive me nuts.

I told you that my son is an international businessman, and he may come to see me once every two or three months, at best. My son is a very busy man, and he cannot be here to micromanage this sorry staff to make sure I get my daily care. I have to say that it is not entirely the staff’s fault for me not getting my baths.

Why not? I asked insistently.

When I first came here, I had a stage four bedsore the size of a fist. I also had a staphylococcus infection in it, and it took about a year to heal because of my diabetes. They did not allow me to use the communal tub for fear that I might infect the other people who used it. It’s been a year since I had an infection and that nasty sore, but I still have yet to get a bath.

I just wanted to pick him up and put him in a tub right now. Your drought is over, Mr. O’Malley. I will do the honors of giving you a bath.

His smile was so bright it really lit up his drab room.

After giving Mr. O’Malley his overdue bath, shave, and trim, he looked like a very different person. He no longer had the look of an old homeless vagabond. Even his attitude changed.

However, I did run into one of the other aides in the hallway. She politely introduced herself as Glenda and began to say, Girl, I know you are new here and you are trying to make a good impression on your first day. But please do not start something you cannot finish. Because when they take him off private duty and they will he is my regular, and I am not going to be bathing him every day. You will find out we don’t have the staffing for all that you will see.

Glenda expressed her feelings right in front of Mr. O’Malley without holding back, as if I asked her permission to bathe him. Mr. O’Malley told her to mind her own business because she was lazy anyway, and that was all that needed to be said as I rolled him to his room.

Mr. O’Malley, it is almost time for your breakfast. Are you going to eat in your room or in the dining room with everyone else?

Please call me Nick, and I would like to eat here in my room.

No sooner had he said that when his dietician came in with his breakfast tray. As I helped him with his tray, the housekeeper entered the room and started spraying some chemicals.

For once I would like to eat my breakfast without smelling hazardous fumes, Nick said adamantly.

Hi, what is your name? I asked the housekeeper.

My name is Hilda, she replied.

Hilda, can you please come back and clean when he is done eating?

Who in the hell are you to tell me when to do my job? she grunted at me in broken English.

Oh, I am sorry; please let me to introduce myself. My name is Lydia and I am his assistant for the day, and he doesn’t want to smell Mr. Clean while he is eating his breakfast. Thank you for your cooperation.

Hilda hurried past me, snatching up her cleaning supplies, and blurted out in her heavy accent, I won’t be back later, so you can clean this room your damn self. There are too many bosses around here trying to tell me how to do my job!

The last thing that I was trying to do was tell Hilda how to do her job. I wanted her to be mindful of Mr. O’Malley while he was trying to eat breakfast. He had a right not to want to ingest a side of Mop and Glow with his eggs. I was sure Hilda knew better than to spray chemicals around the resident as he sat eating. I was sure she would not want someone spraying poisons around her as she ate.

Nick, I am batting a thousand today. That is the second enemy I have made in less than two hours. That has to be a record.

He laughed so hard he almost choked on his milk. You have nothing to worry about; most of these people are not worth knowing. Besides, I hope she will think twice before coming back here trying to clean while I am having a meal.

Nick asked me to take him into the smoking room after he ate so he could enjoy a cigarette.

You will have to show me where the smoking room is.

He pointed down the hall and motioned toward the door as if he was leading. As I helped him down the hall, he stopped at the nursing station to pick up his cigarettes.

Good morning, Nick, don’t you look very nice and refreshed today, said Sydney.

Yes, I do, said Nick. I had a nice hot bath for the first time since I entered this place.

She looked at him as if he was talking out of the left side of his neck. Oh come on, Nick, you get plenty of baths.

I think Sydney was trying to convince herself, because Nick stuck to his guns and no one could change his mind, including Sydney. Sydney must have had a recollection because she said, Remember, you did come here with that terrible bedsore and infection.

‘Had’ is the operative word. From now on, I expect a bath at least once or twice a week. That’s not asking too much, is it, Sydney?

Nick wore Sydney down with his direct and straightforward demeanor.

Okay, Nick, we will try to make certain that you get a bath at least once a week.

I told Sydney while she was getting his cigarettes that I was going to run to the bathroom. She nodded in agreement, as if I was asking her permission to tinkle. The bathroom looked like a pigsty, and did not smell much better. Hilda should have made this room her first priority before going to the residents rooms.

Nick waited patiently for me to come out of the restroom so I could follow him into the smoking room. I was very disturbed to see that the smoking room was separated from rooms that had oxygen in use by fifteen feet. The smoking room had about ten people in there smoking already. The air was thickly filled with smoke, making breathing next to impossible.

Nick, instead of sitting in here, I have a better idea, let’s go outside and sit in the fresh air? I asked.

Sure, he replied joyfully as if he had just won the lottery.

I took him outside by the lake. The outside of Bountiful Living had to be one of the most beautiful and serene settings I had ever seen. The outside and inside settings were in complete contrast. For the life of me, I don’t know why they have the inside looking more like a hospital than a home. Maybe that is why some of the residents act out, because the place doesn’t remotely feel like home. On the other hand, the outside setting made you want to sit out here all day. Built on a land that had hundreds of weeping willow trees surrounding a man-made lake, and a winding driveway that guides you to the front entrance of Bountiful adds such a elegant touch, but once inside, it’s a different world.

Nick isn’t it much nicer sitting out here than sitting in that stuffy old smoking room, don’t you think? I asked.

Yes, it is, but don’t let the well-manicured landscape fool you. That is how they too my wife for a ride. She was so impressed with the beauty out here that she did not do the proper research on the kind of care that I would receive on the inside. Don’t get me wrong, out of all the nursing homes I’ve been in this has to be one of the better ones, but basically they are all the same. Nick stated.

Nick, how many nursing homes have you been in?

This is my fifth one in ten years. He said.

I could not believe he had been in that many homes in such a short period.

Do you mind if I ask why you were in so many homes?

No, I don’t mind you asking. The first time, I went to a psychiatric facility and I was sexually violated by a male employee; since then my wife does not want me to be taken care of by men.

Oh my, I was out here all alone by this water with a head job. I hoped he didn’t get any ideas about jumping in that water, because if he did, he was on his own; God knew I could not swim. Nick must have read my mind because he said, Don’t worry, I am not going to jump or anything.

We both chuckled.

I am sorry for what you went through, and I understand why your wife does not want you to have any men giving you care, but a woman could just as easily do the same thing. My question is what difference does it make what gender the perpetrator is? A violation is a violation.

Yes, that is true, but let me ask you something. If I were your husband and you had to commit me to a mental facility or any facility, as far as that matters and you found out I was raped, which would be harder to hear, I was raped by a woman or a man?

I would not want to hear either, but I guess there is a point in there somewhere.

My wife was beside herself when she found out that I was sexually assaulted; she was more incensed when she found out the perpetrator was male.

Nick, you seem to have a good grip on reality. Why were you put in a psych hospital in the first place?

He paused for a few seconds and said, If someone caused you to lose your leg, eye, ability to earn an income, and will to live, you too would go bonkers.

I had given this man a bath and a shave I was embarrassed to admit I had not noticed until now that one of his eyes was missing. I wished he hadn’t mentioned it either, because now I am more focused on the missing eye than our conversation.

Lydia let me ask you something, can you tell me the difference between a nursing home and prison?

Now he is trying to change the subject. I wanted to know all about what happened to him in the nut-house.

After seeing him and a few other residents tied down like prisoners, I was tempted to say there was no difference between a home and prison.

Nick I am new here and I’ve never worked in a home before, and I’ve never been to jail, so you are going to have to tell me the difference between the two.

Nick’s face took on a grim yet desolate countenance. I was a correctional officer for thirty years before that big black retarded bastard stabbed me in the eye and leg about ten years ago with a Shank.

What is a Shank? I asked because the only time I have ever heard the word it was used to describe a part of the pig.

Nick replied, A Shank is a weapon almost like a knife. The inmates make the weapon out of whatever hard object the can get their hands on, then they sharpen and shape the object by rubbing it vigorously on a concrete or hard surface. Nick proclaimed.

He began to tremble in anger as he remembered his painful tragedy.

As long as I live, I will never forget the face of the scum that gouged my eye out and stabbed me in the leg with that dirty, rusty Shank. He professed.

Nick, if this is too much for you to talk about, we can change the subject.

His face had turned three shades of red as he had a flashback and continued talking. When it first happened, I could not talk about it to anyone. That is why I ended up in a psych place. After receiving psychiatric help, it doesn’t bother me to talk about it, in fact, I find talking about what happened to be therapeutic.

Let me help him with his therapy because I wanted to know the story. Did the inmate give a reason why he tried to hurt or kill you?

Most of those people behind bars are savages. They don’t give reasons for why they do something; they just act without thinking. However, as the story goes a gang member put a hit out on a fellow inmate that ratted on the gang member when they were out on the streets. The inmate found out about the contract on his head. In order to protect himself, he made the knife. One night we were having random shakedowns or raids. This meant the officers would go from cell to cell looking for contraband. I approached that bastard’s cell first, while my fellow officer was still checking the cell next door. I asked the punk to step out of his cell so I could start my search. I noticed he was hesitating, but I did not think anything of it. I called him out a second time, that is when he lunged with the shank, hitting me in the eye first, blinding me, then in my leg. Blood came out of each wound as if someone turned on a faucet. My fellow officers thought I would bleed to death before help arrived, although they tied towels around my leg to help stop the bleeding. Within minutes, I had an army of medical personnel and a helicopter to take me to the nearest hospital, where I stayed for five months. Because my eye was cut into two pieces, the doctors could not save it. After numerous surgeries on my leg and several bad infections, they had to take my leg as well.

This conversation was bringing me down, but he had yet to tell me why he thought nursing homes and prisons were the same. At this point I didn’t want to know because this conversation was too morbid for me. Would you like to head back inside, Nick? I asked, hoping he would say yes.

He shook his head vigorously, then said, NO, that is, if you don’t have anything else you need to do. I am just enjoying the fresh and hot sunshine. It’s not that often that I get to come outside. Since my falls, they will not allow me outside alone.

I am not in a rush to get back inside either, I just wanted him to stop talking about that horrible attack that cost him a limb and an eye. I know you said your son is always out of town on business, but why doesn’t your wife come and sit outside with you?

Nick became distant and subdued, as if I just hit a nerve. He turned his head as if he had run out of words, and he did not want to answer the question. My wife died almost four months ago.

He started to weep. Nick reached in his pocket for his handkerchief.

I am so sorry to hear about your wife. We don’t have to continue this conversation if it hurts too much. Let us talk about something else.

Before I could complete my sentence, he interrupted me just as if I wasn’t talking. I blame me and only me for her passing.

You have to know that you didn’t cause her death.

Lydia, if she did not take so much time caring and worrying about me, she would have had more time for herself. She would have found out earlier that she had breast cancer, and maybe she would be here today. I think the boys feel I ran their mother in the ground, and that is why they do not go out of their way to see me that often.

You have more than one son?

I have three sons; their names are Alan, Jason, and Ryan. My oldest lives less than ten miles away from here, but I only get to see him as often as the rest of my sons. I know all of them are busy with their own lives. I am grateful for whatever time they have to share with me. My middle son Ryan, who lives on the west, will be visiting me in a week or two with his wife and kids. His wife’s mother’s birthday is coming up, and they never miss coming to spend some time with her on her birthday.

Do your children come to see you on your birthday or special occasions?

No, but they do send a card or a fruit basket, and sometimes I get a phone call. You know, I really don’t expect much from them.

"Nick, you said you