Freaking old people.

My family owned several old people homes, special accomidation houses..this is where you go before the nursing home.

I story of grew up around the residents.  Here are a few of my stories.

Eyes.

One of our residents died one morning. She fell over in her room and didnt get up.
We made “the” phonecalls, ambulance, doctor, family ect.

Turns out she had made arrangements for her body to be donated to science.
Science didnt want it. All of it anway.

Before the ambulance arrived someone from (I assume) a medical school, university whatever arrived.
He took her eyes. Later the ambulance took her body.

eyes

Henry:

Henry was a character.
His hobbies included:

* Collecting cigarette butts from the local streets, as many as he could find. He would pick
out any remaining tobacco and recycle it.
* Eating out of bins while looking for cigarette butts. Half a pie. Yum!

* Radios. They all love their radios, Henry more than most. He had a collection of scavenged walkmans, ancient portable or corded radios. Hardly unusual, however the special part is how he used them.

He would attach them to his head with a rubber band or two.

* Radios also played a part in his diet. He would swallow used batteries. He would put
batteries in his nose, in his ears along with whatever else interested him at the time. We knew this after continuely finding batteries in out toilets and watching him.

* Apart from the walkmans he would use rubber bands on other things. He wet the bed sometimes at night.
His solution for this was to tightly wrap a rubber band around his penis. Sometimes it turned purple and he had to go to hospital.

He wet the bed anyway. Moreso after doing this.

eyes

He died of cancer in 2002.

Kat:

Katarina was a bag lady.

She made her way to us via the police after she became violent. She walked all around Melbourne but from what I
understand she had a favourite alcove near a shop where she would sleep.

Local children/people would tease her and throw things. When she started fighting back she came to us.

Living on the street is hard. More so when you barely speak English, but most of all it is cold.
When we got her she stank. Very much. She was wearing something like four layers of clothes topped with a
tatty green jacket that she buttoned over the top.

Eventually when she was calm enough for our staff (no not me) to try and bathe her and wash her clothes.
Layer by layer they peeled the clothes off her.

Much to her distress. People who have been homeless are very defensive. Eventually they washed her and
got her into some clean clothes.
We went through her pockets before washing and discarding her stuff. Nineteen thousand dollars in
uncashed pension cheques. (Which we banked for her)

eyes

She knew three words.
You give cigarette.

She Died in 2004.

Milk:

Some of the things I’m more reluctant to write about are the times when I’m the bad person.

Alex was a big old Jew. Kinda looked like Danny DeVito twenty years older.
He was an angry Jew with issues that I didn’t understand at the time, I was a little kid.

I liked to fuck with him, tease him snatch his crap and make him chase me.
He liked buying his own milk for some reason. A control thing I guess rather than having to come to us and ask for it.

The few dollars he had after paying for his accommodation went on stuff like this,
and being alittle shit when I saw
an opportunity I would grab it, make him chase me for a little while then give it back.

One day I took it too far.

Alex was sitting on one of the chairs outside, making himself some tea and playing radio, I waited until he was distracted and grabbed the milk carton and stood just out of reach.

He asked for it back. x5
I stood there smiling at him. x5

He stood and I stepped back a little more, then he started to chase me.
Though the doors into the yard, past the chairs in a big circle.

eyes

Each circuit made me laugh harder and added to his rage. By the fifth time round he started screaming.
I decided this might get me in trouble so I locked the door closest to him.

Then I watched him threw the window screaming at me, and making for the other door.
I beat him and locked it.

We stood there and looked at each other. We paused, I caressed the milk in plain sight.
He started trying to bash the door down which attracted attention.

I put the milk back on the table, unlocked the other door and hid for a few hours.

Alex almost ended up being kicked out, he just couldn’t calm down.

I never fucked with him again.

Pop:

For a few weeks I had to share a room with three old men. I was unemployed and as horrible as it was this was better than living with my parents. My days were spent working at a computer slop/lan center and I would go back to the aged home (Family owned several) to sleep at night. I didnt like sleeping there very much. Not in that room anyway.
In the room with me were three people.

1. Old alcholic.

Exploaded is a dramatic term for what happened to him. I’m told there was a buildup of gas
in his intestines which then ruptured in a messy and dramatic fashion while he slept.

He didnt wake up. We replaced his matress and much of the carpet around his bed, he dasically popped and bled out.

2. Handicapped and horny?

old guy, semi retarded, twitchy with coke bottle glasses and a walking frame.
I could hear him at night sometimes. I’d wake up to whispering.

“oh yes, you are taking off your underpants, yes turn around, oh yes take off your underpants, sit on the chair…”

Not cool.

3. Heavy sleeper.

BUT he fuckin snored, he sounded like a bath being emptied and coughed all the time.

eyes

***
Eventually I got my own room a walled off fire escape leading onto a balcony. That was the best.
I could pee over the side, sleep out there when it was hot, throw paper planes and use the firehose on stuff.

Prolapse:

One of things you learn when dealing with old people is that they are bored. Really bored.
They tend to fixate on certain things, smoking, game shows, listening to the radio, large print books.

Oh and pooping.

Many of them would be into the whole bran thing, talking and taking great interest in
their BM’s (Bowel movements) one of the older men who I’ll call Ken was more interested than most.

I think he liked it.
Lots.

One day he went to the bathroom. He went to the bathroom and nothing came out.
So he tried and he tried.
He continued trying.

Until something came out.

From Link

What is rectal prolapse?
Rectal prolapse is a condition in which the rectum (the lower end of the colon, located just above the anus) turns itself inside out. In the earliest phases of this condition, the rectum does not stick out of the body, but as the condition worsens, it may protrude. Weakness of the anal sphincter muscle is often associated with rectal prolapse at this stage and may result in leakage of stool or mucus. The condition occurs in both sexes, although it is more common in women than men.

The thing is he tried to push it back in. The problem is it popped.
Ken started bleeding, lots and rather than press the bell and call for help he wandered out of his
bathroom, leaking lumps of blood mixed with shit all through his room down the hallway and into
the laundry where one of our staff finally found him trying to stop the bleeding with MANY towels.

eyes

After the ambulance finally arrived to take him to hospital it was cleanup time.
It was like someone had ridden a muddy bicycle on the carpet apart from the larger areas where he paused for awhile.

We never did get that carpet quite clean again.

Tard love:

One of the younger residents we had was a lady with ceribal palsy, she was I think about 22 at the time.

Unfortunate yes, as many people are able to live fairly normal lives apart from having a gimpy useless arm, legs whatever.

Unless you are retarded as well.

Her family prettymuch dumped her on us, too difficult to live with.

So we have:

CP.
Retarded.
Dumped by family.

Oh and lets not forget horny.
Her boyfriend also had CP, apart from that he seemed fairly normal.
He had one of those electric scooters, but he had decorated it.

It had a cdplayer on one arm, a stained seat and and sounded like traditional greek music because thats all he played.

They were lovers. He’d turn up a few times a week they would share some exadurated drooly
(Her) kisses and retire to the lounge room.

The lounge was an experience in itself, it was a wall of twitching, bitching old
people arguieing about changing the channel.

Didnt smell very nice either.

Anyway they would drag them selves in and sit on the one couch that didnt
face the TV, it faced the window, the street.

Sometimes when I’d call people for lunch I’d see them, whoevers turn it was in their
knees (Fucked if I know how) lapping or sucking happily away.

eyes

I’d make lots of noise and get the fuck out.
Eventually when they finished he would ride off with his music playing and she would wander in and have lunch.

My room:

As I probably wrote else where, on occasion I had found myself living with our residents.
Probably covered some of this in “pop” anyway after this I had the pleasure of living at the
end of a walled in hallway (.5cm plywood)
The hall led to an unused balcony and contained the reel for the fire hose.
There was enough room for a single bed and a small cupboard.
There was about 30cm of free space the length of the bed, this is where my clothes and pc lived.
On the cupboard sat a shitty old TV, a half broken vcr and on top on the TV was my
borrowed (Kickass at the time) viewsonic 7 17inch monitor. So good in 1997.

Out side of my door (My wall was only slightly higher than the door btw) to the right we had an old
lady that wet herself around 4am most days. To the right an old Asian lady who screamed a lot.

eyes

Sounds horrible I suppose, but I really miss the balcony. On summer nights I would sleep out there,
with the fresh air and the cars to sooth me to sleep. During the days I would read out there,
drinking slurpees and throwing paper planes around.

Sometimes I would use the fire hose on things. I especially enjoyed peeing over the side. That ruled,
and throwing rubbish into the wheeley bins two floors down and across the yard.

Simple pleasures I suppose. But it was my first real taste of freedom. I wandered around as I pleased,
spent my unemployment money on computer stuff and fish and chips.
I was living here when I was befriended by Crazy Marwan, who owned the local computer store.
I had my first LANS there, sometimes very late at night I’d wander past and see his light on.
He’d invite me in and we’d build a computer or try and solve whatever he was working on at the time. He’s crazy,
but one of the best people I know.
He’s the one that came and picked my up and looked after me when the
“Jew saga” peaked.

Thanks Marwan.