While I am not thrilled to be living in a long-term care facility, I have to admit that over the years, I have come to the conclusion that I am, constitutionally, the perfect patient for this place. This is not something I say happily and even a little unwillingly, but in many ways, I was built for institutional living.
The majority of the CNAs and many of the nurses here are originally from the Philippines, and English is their second language. Apparently, that country has infused learning English into its primary school curriculum. Is it surprising that so many of their citizens migrate here? Even so, English is a difficult language, and I defend their right to speak their native tongue when they can.
I've been looking for an essay topic, and I thought talking about the games I played would be something. Then, I like to think of a clever title, and this came to mind. Who better to crib from than Shakespeare? (For those of you wondering, this is a reference to Romeo and Juliet. ‘Who cares what our last names are? I love you.’)
I've been thinking a lot lately about how our society is deciding to value people. As someone who has lived in a long-term care facility on Medicaid, I have had a firsthand view of how we deal with people who have no ability to do anything for themselves. All of the residents here, myself included, have either a physical or mental disability that prevents them from surviving on their own. About 100 years ago, after the Roaring 20s and the economic disaster of 1930, we created a social safety net of programs to prevent people from plunging into doom. Somehow, that compact has deteriorated, and I am worried about my and other people's place in the world.
As I am starting my fourth year at this hospital and as I have not written an essay for January, I thought I would take stock of my life and give you some general musings on how I feel. Take note that I barely slept last night, so I am exhausted and pessimistic. (Maybe this isn't the best time to generalize about your life.) You could be right, but it's the perfect time to capture that ‘Have I told you lately how messed up my life is?’ feeling.
I've been thinking about how to create more awareness of my website, and one way I thought of is to put some of my tips and tricks on YouTube. Along the lines of practical tips, my mind also went to more existential questions. I think I could probably write some quick, humorous tips on some big life questions and generate some interest that way. That is how this essay was born.
In thinking about how to remember Dad, I started with the literal route. I wrote out what he did in his life after his divorce from my mom, all the way to his death. I wanted to create a record of what happened in his life. It was not an uplifting exercise, and I didn’t want it to be read out loud to anyone.
David Lundquist was my older brother, ten years older to be exact. He made me laugh when I was a little girl. I was never happier than when he would play with me or tickle me. I adored him and was always thrilled when he gave me some attention. I remember him being so busy in high school; always working on a science project or practicing the piano. Always a good student. Always a little joke on his lips. He was well-liked and got along with everyone! He also played the violin and viola. In later years, as an adult, he took up the mandolin. In Michigan, he was even part of a mandolin orchestra. I heard them once. Boy, did they ever have a good sound!
Right off the bat, I apologize if the title of this essay is a little too cutesy for you. I like a clever turn of phrase, and I could not resist playing off the popular pregnancy book. The population I am discussing is about as far away from pregnancy as you can get. This essay is to help prepare a person, or the relatives of a person, who is about to enter a care facility.
When you are a strong, independent woman, like me, being disabled is a huge pain in the ass. It puts a real crimp in my ability to do whatever I want. Being on Medicaid really doesn't help as I have a little bit of money. Not enough to live in my own place and have helpers come to me. But enough to make living in a care facility a little bit nicer. In any case, I am not in charge of my money while I am getting great care from Medicaid.
How are you so nice all the time? That is a question I do not get asked, but it's something I pose to myself sometimes, and I figure some of my readers think that but are too polite to say it out loud. So I'm going to answer that unasked question and relieve you all of any lingering doubts about my own mental well-being.
Every day there is growing evidence of this administration’s lack of regard for the rule of law, for any kind of accountability, and for any modicum of decency for human beings. Everything they do contradicts everything they say they are doing. They say things that sound good, but their actions show they are carrying out the mission outlined in Project 2025 and have no interest in following the structure of our government.
