Old Timer's Disease

By Kent C. Griswold

Dont leave me here! Rachel sobbed as her son and daughter-in-law wept outside her room, torn by guilt to be abandoning her but at their wits end. If only they had known. Statistics show that countless people die within weeks of entering a nursing home, but the odds were even worse at Pleasant Acres. The residents of this nursing home were not just concerned about cold soup. Nighttime could send shivers down ones spine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 19, 2007
• ISBN: 9781462803149

Kent C. Griswold

Kent C. Griswold, PhD, MBA is the President of GRISWOLD SPECIAL CARE, the worlds oldest multi-national non-medical homecare company. A graduate of Harvard University and the Wharton School, he has lived in Kenya, England, Sweden, Hong Kong and Australia but now resides in Lower Gwynedd, PA with his wife, Lori and children, Kaela and Grant. In college, Dr. Griswold worked summers as an orderly in a hospital and can tell you the real reason 11-7 is called the graveyard shift.

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Copyright © 2007 by Kent C. Griswold.

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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Shelley stared up at the cracked paint on the ceiling. At one time it had probably been white, but now it was a mottled brown and beige with highlights of cobwebs in each of the corners. With a last name of Carnegie and an MBA from Wharton, who would have thought that the golden girl would end up here? At least she had her own room and a private bath, if one can call an exposed toilet with a rust and chlorine stained wall sink in the corner a private bath. She climbed off the mattress and heard the creak of the springs, veterans of bodies heavier than hers relegated to spending twenty-two hours each day enforcing the laws of gravity. The cell was barely six by eight feet, and besides the bed and the plumbing, there was only a small open set of shelves where Shelley stored her meager belongings in plain view. The bed served as her desk, her lounging area, her companion in grief, her reading chair, and, oh yeah, the place where she slept on and off through the day and night.

Shelley turned on the single faucet over the sink. There was no need for two faucets because there was only cold water. Every third day she was allowed to shower using warm water. Her skin had once been so soft, with a rich, healthy luster, the result of intensive applications of the latest and greatest beauty products that money could buy. Everywhere she went, women would covet her beauty and men would desire to be near her. Now, there were no men, except the overweight and otherwise repugnant warden, to appreciate her remarkable looks. In the Joint, as she had started referring to it, her looks actually worked against her. As she splashed the cold water on her face the lingering pain on the left side reminded her of how she had ended up with a private suite in the overcrowded facility.

She was on her third cellmate, Tina, when, once again, the guards had to charge into her cell en masse to break up the fight. Shelley had never been a fighter as a child. She was an only child and had no siblings to practice on. However, she could not tolerate the feeling of those cold, unwashed hands on her breasts. When she woke from her agitated sleep and saw the dim light reflecting off Tina’s face, only inches from her own, she realized that the erotic feelings she had experienced were not from a dream about her fictitious gladiator husband, but the harsh reality of being in an all female prison.

The first swing broke Tina’s nose. The next one landed Tina on her butt on the cold cement floor. A black eye and a torn cheek later, the guards managed to separate the combatants. Shelley’s file was marked in red, Aggressive, Antisocial, Violent. She was transferred to a different cell, her private suite, pending reassignment to a more secure facility.

In reflecting on the events of the past year and her recent predilection to fisticuffs, Shelley wondered if perhaps the outbreaks of her violent nature were unavoidable, the result of unfortunate genetic labeling.

She could never have anticipated that the jury would actually find her guilty. After all, you are innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Shelley had refused to testify in her own defense out of loyalty, but she was innocent. Well, at least she was innocent of murder.

*     *     *

Everything changed for Shelley when she was twelve years old and her mother was diagnosed with cancer. Her father had always been strict and had high expectations of his only child, but she knew that he loved her. There was a searing compassion buried beneath his rough exterior.

Craig did not marry until he was 38, and even though his wife, Colleen, was still in her twenties when they married, it took nine years before they were blessed with a child.

But Craig Carnegie had wanted a son. From time to time, Shelley felt this disappointment and tried desperately to please her father. She loved her dolls, but she hid them from him. She hated sports, but she played field hockey and volleyball. She wanted to be a nurse, but she went to business school instead. She tried to be the best son she could be, but she sensed that her father was never satisfied. Life had dealt him a bad set of cards, and she was the three of spades.

Shelley was very concerned that her mother was sick so often. She never made it to the seventh grade play and she often slept through breakfast. Shelley depended on her mother so much, especially now that she was becoming a young woman. She needed to talk to her mother, to get advice, to share some of her secrets. She would never be able to do that with her father. He was loving, but he was distant. There was an invisible wall that Shelley could not see through. She hoped that when she was bigger, she could at least see over the wall to know what was on the other side. What a foolish wish. Even a child’s wildest imagination could not have conjured up a scene to mirror the mayhem convulsing behind that wall.

The day school let out early for Christmas vacation, Shelley rushed home. She wanted to show her mother the present that Ethan DiLella had given her. She had never gotten a Christmas present from a boy before. When she ran into her mother’s room, she stopped in shock. They must have been robbed because all of her mother’s things were gone.

So was her mother.

She called her father at work and they said he had taken the day off. Where were her parents? By now, her excitement about Ethan’s gift had swung 180 degrees to unadulterated fright. This was not supposed to be happening. It was Christmastime.

She paced about the house for the next two hours, looking for clues, looking for anything that would help her, flopping onto her bed in dismay. When she heard the car rumble into the driveway, the noise scared her. She laughed out loud. They had probably just been out shopping for Christmas presents. She did not realize how stressed out she had been.

She ran to the door to greet her parents, but it was only her father. Nonetheless, she was relieved, and she ran up to him and wrapped her arms around him.

I’ve been so worried about you. We got out of school early and there was no one here. Look, I got a present from Ethan DiLella. Where did I put that thing? Where’ve you been? Where’s Mommy? Shelley bantered on in her excitement.

Honey, sit down a minute. We need to talk.

Daddy, what’s wrong? Is Mommy okay? Shelley could see in her father’s eyes that her mother was not okay. Then she remembered that all of her mother’s things had been missing. She bit her lip, fearing the worst.

Don’t worry, your mother is going to be fine. She’s been getting sicker and sicker and I needed to get some more help for her. I couldn’t stand seeing her suffering so much.

Daddy, where is she? Shelley held back her tears. She knew that her father did not like crying.

I had to take her to a nursing home. It’s only for a little while until she gets better. They have doctors and nurses there to take good care of her. We can go visit her there tomorrow if you like.

Shelley waited until she got to her room with the door closed. She plopped onto her bed and let the tears flow. This was a nightmare. She wanted her mother. Nursing homes were for old people, not Mommy.

*     *     *

The next day, Craig Carnegie drove his daughter to Pleasant Acres Nursing and Convalescent Home. Craig had picked this place because his military buddy, Doc Cave, was the resident physician. He and Doc had helped each other in the past, and he knew that he could rely on his friend now to help him with his problem.

The original building had been a convent. There were statues of the Blessed Virgin gracing the lawn and a large cross was suspended over the main doorway.

Everything was overwhelming to the distraught youth. The big wrought iron gate was the only opening in the eight-foot high stone wall. These imposing barricades had been designed to shield Pleasant Acres from the real world and keep evil out. Instead, they felt claustrophobic, barring anyone from leaving at will. It reminded her of a prison, but with flowers everywhere. The flowers reminded her of her grandmother’s funeral. There had been flowers everywhere then, too.

As they were led down the hallway by a lady dressed in white, Shelley stared straight ahead. She was afraid to look in the rooms. There was an old man sitting in the hall and his head was drooping to the side. He was tied in the chair by a bed sheet wrapped around the chair and under his arms. There was drool streaming out of his mouth. Shelley shuddered.

As they walked, she listened to the sound of the soles pounding on the linoleum floor. And the smells! She would never forget the smells. There was urine and ammonia and what reminded her of dirty diapers. And there were other smells mixed in. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to run back to the car. But she wanted to see her mother. She needed to see her. And her father would be angry if she did not behave.

Her mother was sitting up in bed and smiling when they came in. Colleen Carnegie had the same blue eyes and blonde hair as her daughter. Shelley looked more like Colleen than Colleen had herself when she was twelve years old.

Shelley was ecstatic to see her and momentarily forgot about the horrors in the hallway. She ran up to the bed and gave her mother a hug. Shelley nearly got tangled in the tube that was running from her mother’s arm up to a bag hanging from a metal pole. Her mother seemed miserably weak when she hugged her, but her smile was so bright.

Colleen, how are you? You look much better. Craig took his wife’s hand and held it tenderly.

I’m feeling a bit better, Craig. Thanks for asking. They have me on some medication. It makes my sides hurt.

Honey, I have to go talk with the doctor. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.

When they were alone, Shelley pulled the small gift out of her pocket.

Look, Mom. Ethan gave me a present. I waited to open it with you.

That’s lovely, dear. I wonder if he wrapped it himself. That was very thoughtful of him.

Shelley carefully undid the wrapping paper. She wanted to save it in her scrapbook. Oh, Mommy. It’s a bracelet. Look, it has my name on it!

Merry Christmas, Sweetheart! I think that you have your first boyfriend. Do you like him?

Yeah, he’s super. All the girls like him. I can’t believe he likes me.

He has good taste. You’re the prettiest girl in your class.

Oh, Mommy.

And he’s lucky if he can have you as a girlfriend. Any boy would be lucky.

I miss you so much. When are you coming home? It’s so lonely at home. I’m so worried about you. Are you going to be all right?

She’s going to be fine. Craig walked back into the room with a doctor in tow. He was wearing khakis and a polo shirt that was stretched to the limit over his significant middle girth. The only reason Shelley could tell he was a doctor was because he wore a stethoscope around his neck. Dr. Cave is going to adjust your medication. Everything is going to be just fine.

They spent a few more minutes visiting, talking about school, what bills to pay, and what they had for dinner the night before. Colleen looked like she was wearing out and the pain was becoming more visible on her face again. Abruptly, Craig stood up and announced, We have to get going. Call me if you need anything. I hope the new medication helps. Don’t worry, Dear. I’m not going to let you suffer. He gave her another kiss on the cheek and Shelley hugged her mother goodbye. She wanted to hold on forever, but her father tugged at her shoulder and she had to let go.

The halls did not seem as frightening on the way out, but Shelley was still glad to make it back to the car, even if she did miss her mother already. She hoped that she would be home by Christmas. At any rate, Shelley was going to make her a super present. Something her mother would really like.

*     *     *

The next two days, Craig went in the morning and the evening to visit Colleen. Each time, Shelley asked if she could come. Her father explained that her mother was not feeling well and was too weak to see visitors. And each time, Shelley held back the tears trying not to show her anger or her disappointment. Little did she know that it was actually Colleen who would not let Craig bring Shelley even though he told her that Shelley was pleading to come. Colleen did not want her daughter to see her in so much pain. But Colleen suffered relentlessly; the pain of denying her daughter’s wishes was even more excruciating than the unimaginable physical agony.

Craig could not stand to see his wife continue to suffer so with no end in sight. The mayhem behind the wall was convulsing uncontrollably. His stomach churned each time he would enter her room. He would have to do something about it. Soon.

*     *     *

Shelley was in her room working on her mother’s Christmas present when her father knocked at the door. She had found a box of old photos in the attic and was making a collage of black and white pictures of her mother as a child mixed with color prints of her. She was gluing lace and ribbon around the border when she heard her father’s knock.

Can I come in?

"Sure, Daddy. You may come in. I’m almost finished. I hope Mommy likes it. What do you think?"

Shelley, honey, I have some bad news. This is very bad news."

Shelley looked up at her father, feeling a numbness come over her. She could see from his eyes that he had been crying. Shelley had never seen her father cry. She refused to think about what he was saying, nevertheless the next four words that fell from his mouth sliced into her soul leaving permanent gashes.

Your mother is dead.

Craig continued talking, but Shelley did not understand the words. She sat, mesmerized, watching the tears splash on the black and white and color photos in her lap so carefully arranged in the shape of a heart.

Craig hoped that his twelve-year old daughter would never see the police report on the mysterious death of Colleen Wentzel Carnegie. Too much pain had already been inflicted on his lovely daughter. He would protect her if he could.

He wondered if the police would ever discover who had injected the lethal dose of morphine into Colleen’s intravenous bag just two days before Christmas.

*     *     *

Shelley never really understood what her father did for a living. He was some sort of financial broker for a venture capital firm, J.C.G. Investments. It sounded exciting, but Shelley had no idea what he actually did all day. After her mother’s death, her father spent more and more time at work and away from home.

Craig developed a morbid fascination with nursing homes and funeral homes. On the weekends, he would take Shelley to visit dozens of them. Shelley still remembered the smell from her mother’s nursing home and these outings terrified her. She would ask if they could go somewhere else instead, like the beach or the mall, but her father would respond that he needed to check these places out for work. His firm was considering branching out into long term care and undertaking. He said there was a terrific synergy, whatever that was.

Craig’s boss had tried in vain to get Craig to see a therapist after his wife’s death. His obsession with aging and death was unsettling. After a while, however, Craig had actually managed to convince his boss that nursing homes and funeral homes were the wave of the future, ripe for investment. People were living longer, but they still needed somewhere to go when they could not stay at home, and everyone had to die eventually. So each Saturday and many Sundays, Craig and Shelley climbed into the family Volvo and visited nursing homes and funeral homes.

Shelley usually walked home from school. It was only a ten-minute walk and she did not like waiting for the school bus. One afternoon, her father was waiting for her outside the school. She got in the car, nervous that her father had more bad news. Why else would he be here waiting for her, she thought.

Sweetheart, I have some exciting news. We’re moving! I want to show you our new home.

Shelley was stunned. But I don’t want to move. What’s wrong with our house? Mommy lived there and I don’t want to leave.

Well, Mommy lived in this place to. Shelley looked at her father in disbelief. Let me explain. As you know, my firm has been buying up interests in nursing homes and funeral homes. Well, I convinced them to buy Pleasant Acres Nursing and Convalescent Home.

So?

So, they’re going to let me manage it. In exchange for a small personal investment, they will also give me 22% of the equity. Pretty exciting, hunh?

That’s great, Daddy, but why do we have to move? Pleasant Acres is only a few miles from home. I don’t get it.

They want me to live there so that I can really be a hands-on manager and know what’s going on at all times. Isn’t this exciting? Craig did not explain that it was really his idea that they live there. Craig’s boss had seemed concerned, but did not try to dissuade Craig from his plan.

Shelley did not know what to say. She did not want to live in some old nursing home, but she could see that her father was excited and she did not want to spoil it for him. She had not seen him excited about anything since her mother had died. Sure, Dad, if it will make you happy.

Craig could tell that his daughter was not sold on the idea. She had never called him ‘Dad’ before. But she would get used to the idea. This was a great opportunity and he had lots of plans.

*     *     *

Shelley did not like her new home. They had their own apartment in one wing of the facility with two bedrooms, a living room, eat-in kitchen, bathroom and an office for her father. If she wanted to play outside, she had to go to the garden where there were lots of old people sitting around. They were always staring at her. And she was not allowed to make any noise. She wanted to invite a friend over to play, but she was embarrassed.

One sunny afternoon, she was playing in the garden. She had used chalk to draw a hopscotch board on the sidewalk. She was not paying attention to what was going on around her. In fact, she was trying to ignore all of the faces hauntingly watching her. As she started the reverse pattern on her hopscotch board, she suddenly encountered something solid. It screamed as it fell over. Shelley landed on top of it and then she, too, screamed. She had banged into an old man and had knocked him over, even though he was twice her size. Why had he not watched where he was going?

Shelley scrambled off the old man and waited for him to get up. He did not. She heard him moaning softly. She saw a cane lying on the ground next to him. She picked it up and handed it to the man. He managed to grasp the cane, but still did not get up. She said she was sorry. He did not respond, so she said it again louder. He was still moaning. Then she saw a nurse come running from the building. She shooed Shelley out of the way and leaned over the man and started doing things. Then more people came. She watched while they loaded him onto a rolling cart and they all disappeared back into the building, wheeling the old man briskly along as if he were the afternoon tea with scones and cream on a serving cart being rushed off to the queen mother.

Her father was late coming back to the apartment for dinner.

I understand you had an eventful day.

What do you mean, Dad?

I understand you had a close encounter with Mr. Alexander.

You mean that old man?

Yes, but it’s nicer to call him ‘older gentleman’.

But, Dad. It wasn’t my fault. He snuck up behind me.

Yes, he can be pretty sneaky. Craig smiled skeptically at the thought of Mr. Alexander with his cane sneaking up behind Shelley. As people get older, they can’t move as fast and they become more fragile and they take longer to heal. Mr. Alexander landed on his right shoulder when he fell and broke one of his bones. He’s going to be in bed for quite a while. He needs his cane to walk and his left side is too weak to support the cane.

I’m sorry, Dad. It was an accident.

Well, I think that you should tell Mr. Alexander that you’re sorry. He’s the one who has the pain.

But, Dad.

Shelley.

All right. Shelley was quieter than usual for the rest of the meal. She tried to figure out how to get out of her apology, and when her cogitating did not produce any viable excuses, she started to plan what she would say to poor Mr. Alexander.

Joseph Alexander was dozing fitfully the next morning when Shelley stopped by his room. She stood in the doorway surveying the situation for a few moments before moving in next to his bed. She tapped him gently on his left shoulder, the good one, and he stirred slightly. She mustered up her courage and said, Excuse me.

Mr. Alexander slowly opened his eyes and turned to face the young voice. Good morning, young lady. What can I do for you?

I’m here to apologize for knocking you over yesterday. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t see you.

Oh, was that you? I thought that a heavy breeze might have knocked me over. You know, I’m not as strong as I used to be.

Shelley smiled at his humor. This was not going to be as hard as she had dreaded. I’m sorry about your shoulder. Does it hurt?

Only when I move, or breathe, both of which I’m glad I can still do, so I don’t mind a little pain to remind me how lucky I am.

Shelley looked at his worn body, the scrawny arms, the arthritic hands, the thin hair and the toothless gums. She looked at the cast and the sling for his right shoulder and arm and wondered how he could be so happy just to be alive. She remembered when she broke her pinky playing field hockey. She had cried and cried. The pain had been unbearable. She could not imagine how painful a broken shoulder must be. I’m so so sorry. Shelley eyes welled up and she started to cry.

Young lady, please don’t cry. Pardon me, but I don’t even know your name.

Shelley,