I'm Not Old

By Sharon Emerson

Its about relationships between the generations. Its about how the seniors feel about aging, how the families feel about their parents and grandparents aging, and how all of them handle the aging process. Its about incidents that happen in the senior home. Some of the incidents are hysterically funny; some of the incidents are not funny at all. Everyone has a family member or relative who is aging. This book gives wisdom and parameters on available choices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504915557

Sharon Emerson

I taught schools, have lifetime teaching credential, and then retired, and then I got bored, so I opened a senior assisted living home. I ran it for twelve-and-a-half years. I live in Redding, California. I have four children and eleven grandchildren. I like reading, sewing, and making patchwork quilt. I’m retired again, so I wrote the book. And I seem to be getting bored again, so I am ready for life’s next challenge.

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I’m Not Old

SHARON EMERSON

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AuthorHouse™

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© 2015 Sharon Emerson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/29/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1534-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-1555-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

1. Introduction

2. Dedication

3. Poor Baby

4. Mind Over Matter

5. Just Put The Cuffs On

6. Choices

7. Monkeys

8. Life In The Fast Lane

9. A Toothy Tale

10. Green Eyes

11. Oh No I Won’t

12. Oh Yes I Will

13. Sons And Parents

14. Peaches And Cream

15. Denial

16. What I Have

17. On The Train To Nowhere

18. Sexy Lady

19. War Stories

20. I’m Thirty

21. Go Exlax

22. My Heart

23. One Life

24. She Didn’t Want Him Anymore

25. Sex And My Seniors

26. Death

27. Girl Scouts

28. My Man Levi

29. The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly

30. Bad Girl

31. America

32. The Happy One

33. Sex And The Tv Cable Man

34. It Was Good

Introduction

Way up in Northern California with a view of Mt. Shasta, access to Shasta Lake and deep blue skies, I had a guest home for seniors for about fifteen years.

I learned about life, people, and reality. Things are usually not what they seem to be.

Most of my attitudes changed; some for the better and some for the worse.

As a school teacher, I launched bright, young faces into the future. As a Guest Home owner, I brought wrinkled, old faces into safe harbors. Many of the techniques I used on the children I also used on the seniors. They worked equally well.

These are some of the things that happened in my guest home. I hope that it may give you an insight of aging, care giving, life, and death.

I’m Not Old

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my children: Kevin, Bruce, Barbara, Bill and to all of the Wal-Mart greeters all across America.

Poor Baby

Lydia was so sweet! I was happy when she came to our house. She was a medium-sized woman with gray, white hair arranged in a crown of curls framing her face like a halo. She always wore very nice clothes, perfectly matched, with beads and unique necklaces. And her makeup went on the first thing in the morning. Later on in the day, it was still perfect. She spoke in a tiny little voice.

One had to stop and listen when she talked.

Lydia was brave and cheerful. She never complained. She just sat there with her sweet, patient look, rocking back and forth in her chair, holding her left shoulder and arm with her right arm while murmuring softly, Oh, the pain! The pain!

I’d go get small pillows to prop all about her to make her more comfortable. I was on the telephone several times a day to talk with her doctor. Can’t you do something? I’d beg him. Could you increase her medication or find something else to stop the pain?

Nope, the doctor always responded cheerfully. She doesn’t need any more pain meds.

The other residents were extremely upset. They didn’t like watching Lydia sitting there, rocking back and forth in pain. They all started speaking very quietly so as not to disturb poor Lydia. They discussed the situation with me, both singly and in groups.

Can’t you do anything to help poor Lydia, they demanded. "What is that doctor thinking?

How can he be so cruel?"

Then they would slide over to Lydia. Is there anything that I can do to help you? they asked,

Is is getting any better?

Oh no. Thank you so much for caring about me, she whispered back to them. I’m all alone in the world, you know. It’s just me and this pain.

After awhile I noticed that our house was quiet. No one spoke above a whisper. There was no banter, no laughter, no smiles, and no conversation that didn’t revolve around illness, pain, and the incompetence of the medical profession. Our meals were served with a side helping of:

My friend who died because the doctor misdiagnosed her –.

My neighbor who suffered for three years with pain in his stomach; and the doctors treated him for indigestion; and it was cancer –.

My sister who went blind after the cataract surgery …

and the like. Everyone discussed medical issues. Each one gave detailed descriptions on his own health problems. Their problems seemed to be getting worse every day.

You should see Lydia’s body, employee Linda told me one morning after she had given Lydia a bath. You won’t believe it.

Baths served two basic purposes in Senior Assisted Living homes. The first was cleanliness. The second purpose was to examine the body for any signs of impending problems. We look for bruises, scrapes, swellings, rashes, the beginning signs of bed sores, anything that is different or for that person. If you can catch the beginnings of a problem, you can heal and handle it with a much greater chance of success.

I made certain that I was in the bathroom the next time Linda gave Lydia her bath. When Linda had her sitting on the bench in the tub, I stepped in and got a clear view of her body. Linda was right. I gasped and didn’t believe it. I was absolutely horrified.

Lydia’s skin was pure white. Mean, red scars covered all over her body. They were everywhere, crossing and criss-crossing red marks.

Lydia, how did you get all those scars? I blurted out, thinking that she must have been in some kind of accident involving mirrors or glass of some kind.

They are from my operations, Lydia answered cheerfully. This one was for the ankle surgery. That one was the exploratory surgery for my stomach. The one over here was for an appendix. And it went on and on. Most of the scars were exploratory because, as Lydia so eloquently put it, the dumb doctors just could not find the problems to stop the pain.

It’s time for the Lawrence Welk Show, I announced to the group later on that evening. I don’t know which one of his programs is on tonight; but I’ll make us popcorn to eat while we watch it.

Oh, I don’t want to watch any television, Lydia said softly. The pain interferes with myenjoyment, you know. I never watch television. And she staggered off to her room.

We often sat in the living room having general conversation telling stories to each other aboutpast experiences. Lydia never joined in these talks.

Oh, I’m thinking about what’s happening right now, she’d answer when anyone asked her a question. She didn’t share any of her previous life with us.

Of course, her pain made it impossible for her to ever leave the house.

I really wanted to go to the park for the picnic with all of you, employee Linda grumped.I don’t want to stay here and spend the afternoon listening to Lydia moan! Linda wasn’t very sympathetic to Lydia’s pain. She thinks she has pain. Ha! She is a big pain to me!

Her minister was sympathetic, though. He visited Lydia regularly and was always concerned about the current health situation.

How are you today, Lydia? he asked as he sat down beside her and took her hand tightly between his own large square ones. I do hope that you’re feeling better. I pray for you every night.

He was Lydia’s only visitor.

After one visit, he stopped to talk with me on his way out.

She just isn’t getting any better, he frowned. I wish that I could do something for that poor dear lady. Her braveness is an inspiration to me; and I know to everyone else in here. I just don’t know what’s the matter with those two girls, he continued. They don’t visit or call her, and don’t even try to help her.

What two girls? I asked. I didn’t know that Lydia had any children.

She has two stepdaughters, and they ought to be ashamed of themselves for the way they treat poor Lydia and ignore her. With that statement, he stomped out the door.

Lydia, I said when I went back into the house. Tell us about your girls. I didn’t know that you had any children.

They live somewhere else, she answered.

Are they married?

I think so.

Do they have children? I persisted. Are you a grandma?

I don’t really know. I think they have some kids, but I don’t know, she said indifferently.

Did I tell you about the new shooting ray, just like a knife that has started to go up and down my arm? I think it comes from my shoulder.

I left it there because she obviously did not want to talk about her family. She never mentioned the girls or their families again.

Lydia received two expensive, elaborate envelopes in the mail on Valentine’s Day I was excited for her.

Look what came for you today! I said as I handed them to her.

Oh. Quietly and neatly she slid the cards into her robe pocket.

Look at my card, Mary said happily, passing the card around the room that she had received from her son. I just love all those red hearts… He’s my boy!

We never saw Lydia’s cards. Linda found them unopened in the trash can from her room.

Later on that day, the phone rang. It was Lydia’s younger stepdaughter.

I would like to come and see her next weekend if it is all right? she asked.

Oh yes. We’ll be happy to see you, I answered. We do love all of our visitors; and you are welcome to come anytime. Just drop in whenever you can.

I gave her directions to the house as she lived about three hours away.

Lydia, your daughter will be here this weekend, I announced to the room in general.

Faces brightened. We all love visitors They bring a breath of fresh air and a taste of the outside world into our inside world. But Lydia’s face didn’t brighten. She wasn’t interested. Shortly, she arose from her chair to go to her bedroom to lie down for a little while.

She wasn’t interested when the young woman showed up the next weekend either.

I brought some pictures to show you, the daughter said sitting by Lydia’s chair.

Oh, I can’t look at them right now, Lydia moaned. It’s the pain, you know. It is just with me all the time. I have to go lie down.

She got up and walked right