I've written five full blog entries (ready for posting) in the past six days. But for a multitude of reasons, I've decided against actually posting the darned things. Why? Because my purpose in doing so is unclear. And also, I do not wish to unnecessarily hurt others, or stress others.
Additionally, I don't know what (or if) I am thinking half the time. Most here are either incapable and unlikely to read 2,000 words worth of Howard's nursing home life (in the first place). I think everybody is well aware of that which is going on in my life, what's going on here. At least generally speaking.
It kind of plays out like this:
I am pleased that I am able to move about in the real world and experience real life events.
I'm displeased because they continually try to take away my freedom.
I'm trying to get disability pay, as I have no way of supporting myself, but I am repeatedly getting denied.
Other health matters go unresolved, but insurance won't cover things and/or the doctors are incompetent and unwilling to help me.
From time to time, it gets really really warm in my room and I suffer accordingly.
It's also noisy in here, people yelling and screaming as though they were being murdered … and I suffer accordingly.
Sometimes staff members really like me. A lot. And it makes me feel good inside. Admittedly, I like the attention. And I enjoy the occasional adoration. But so does everybody else in real life, so what's the point in even mentioning it?
I post pictures of things. Everybody has phones these days and can take pictures of things. What's the big deal?
I over explain things. Medical things. That includes the SMA syndrome that I'm fairly certain I have and that nobody believes, despite mounting evidence supporting this.
Every now and again I am in pain. Sometimes lots of pain. Everybody suffers. My pain is no more important than anybody else's. Everybody hurts. And most people deal with it on their own, silently. With dignity. Or something.
I get stuck with unfortunate roommates. However, they also get stuck with me. I go on explaining how I am such a wonderful roommate almost always, and while that might be true, I'm sure there's something I'm doing that irritates the hell out of those who live with me (despite my being quiet as a mouse).
People give me things. I'm sure people give you things, too. It's not a big deal. I'm a nice human being, so people offer me stuff. Does that really matter? Is it necessary for me to indicate that I am liked or loved based upon the gifts I've received? No, it probably isn't.
The person who should be reading my offerings is an editor, some person in the industry, the kind of person that might one day help me put out a book detailing life in a nursing home from the perspective of an alert nursing home resident who sees just about everything.
Otherwise, I'm not offering much here beyond and besides detailing my everyday adventures. Of course, to me everything that is happening fascinates me. Or, I find the mundane intriguing. But why would anyone else?
Maybe those of you who are stuck, marooned, unable to get out and about tend to enjoy my meanderings. Then again, those of you who are unable to get out of bed, or move about, are also quite likely low on energy, low enough that they can't even read my words in the first place, without exhausting themselves.
Beyond possibly offering a momentary diversion, I'm not really helping anybody. And while it works for me to continually write about my experiences, just because I'm writing about them, doesn't mean anybody else wants to read about them.
So yeah, I am stuck in a nursing home. Everybody gets that. And really I should just be plain grateful that I have a roof over my head. The State of Arizona generously takes care of me. And my insurance provided a power wheelchair for me so that I can get around and experience life (to some extent, depending upon the rules on any given day).
Right now I'm grounded. They are doing their best, trying to find legitimate and illegitimate reasons to keep me stuck in my room.
I was supposed to visit my mother this weekend. She is suffering. Scammers have taken over $200 from her in the past week and I need to confiscate her checkbook. But because germs exist out there, the administrators here won't let me go out there. They say I'm going to bring germs back into the building if I go out there. However, we have a parade of visitors coming in every day (in here). Day in and day out, visitors are visiting.
I've already had RSV, the flu thing that's going around, and covid-19, all within the past 6 weeks. Yes, I've had every f****** possible illness out there, with the exception being monkeypox. And diphtheria. Haven't had polio either.
But really, based upon this logic, I should never be let out of my room ever again. Additionally, no one should ever be allowed in my room again unless they're wearing a space suit. Oxygen mask. Whatever. You know what I mean.
So they canceled all of my outdoor requests, and they've also told me I cannot exit out of either or any doorways. And the list of limitations goes on and on. However, I CAN have visitors. I can have as many visitors as I want. But I cannot go outside and sit atop the pedestrian overpass 50 yards away (by myself) so that I may perform my morning meditation.
My doctor and my doctor's office all think this is utterly ridiculous. We currently have zero cases of covid-19 in our unit. And I've been told we do not have any other illnesses either. So my doctor keeps sending notes, giving me permission to leave. And then of course, that permission gets revoked.
But here's part of the threat. Here's the thing they use against me. Last week when I went outside they listed me as having gone A.M.A. They marked me down as leaving against medical advice. I went AWOL. Apparently. Despite notifying staff members that I was going to ride around the block in my wheelchair.
So what happens next, is that they report this to the insurance. That's what they told me. That's what the nurses told me, that they had to report me to my insurance company. And from there, my insurance determines whether or not I would be kicked out of the nursing home. Why?
Well, here's the thinking. If I'm well enough to ride around the property in my wheelchair, I'm well enough to live on my own.
In any event, I am making plans to be homeless. Because, I'm just NOT doing this. I'm not. I can't go backwards. I can't have my freedom taken away. There's no flippin' way. I spent nearly seven years in bed, exclusively. In one room. A bedroom. Unable to go outside besides visiting the emergency room. So I would rather die alone in the desert, then be stuck in my room for the next decade or three.
Anyway, that's what I'm up against. And then of course, all the usual things. A staff member seemingly has a crush on me. My neighbor screams loudly throughout the night. I have unresolved medical issues. I finally received a shower after 19 days without (an illegal shower, against the rules, but whatever).
I mean sure, things are happening here and in my life, but does it really matter? Am I presenting these things in a creative fashion, in a way that would pull readers in. Entertain? Do I emotionally drain or emotionally sustain?
There's this quote from Anais Nin, "The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say."
That's one of my guiding writing principles. And really, I'm not sure I'm doing that. I've tried over the years to get paid for my writing, but that's never come to fruition. That to me, means I am not good enough. My writing doesn't pass the test. So again, why am I doing this to you?
I know why it is that I'm writing for myself, it helps me. It's therapeutic. I think. But I shouldn't be dragging others into my everyday life. Through the muck. Everybody has their own muck.
And see, that's well over a thousand words right there. And that's a thousand life moments you'll never experience again. So the question is, was it worth it? Please, ask yourself.
After having read things, items, articles, that's what I ask myself. Was it worth the time I invested in reading the darned article in the first place? More often than not, it wasn't. My time is better spent being mindful. I don't need more clutter in my mind, and most probably, neither do you.
Anyway, take care. I appreciate each and any of you who choose to follow along. And if I were you, probably the only reason I would be following along is if I were stuck in bed, wanting to experience someone else's life from a similarly disabled vantage point. Other than that, I'm not quite sure. Perhaps I'm underestimating my abilities. Or my execution.
H
Additionally, I don't know what (or if) I am thinking half the time. Most here are either incapable and unlikely to read 2,000 words worth of Howard's nursing home life (in the first place). I think everybody is well aware of that which is going on in my life, what's going on here. At least generally speaking.
It kind of plays out like this:
I am pleased that I am able to move about in the real world and experience real life events.
I'm displeased because they continually try to take away my freedom.
I'm trying to get disability pay, as I have no way of supporting myself, but I am repeatedly getting denied.
Other health matters go unresolved, but insurance won't cover things and/or the doctors are incompetent and unwilling to help me.
From time to time, it gets really really warm in my room and I suffer accordingly.
It's also noisy in here, people yelling and screaming as though they were being murdered … and I suffer accordingly.
Sometimes staff members really like me. A lot. And it makes me feel good inside. Admittedly, I like the attention. And I enjoy the occasional adoration. But so does everybody else in real life, so what's the point in even mentioning it?
I post pictures of things. Everybody has phones these days and can take pictures of things. What's the big deal?
I over explain things. Medical things. That includes the SMA syndrome that I'm fairly certain I have and that nobody believes, despite mounting evidence supporting this.
Every now and again I am in pain. Sometimes lots of pain. Everybody suffers. My pain is no more important than anybody else's. Everybody hurts. And most people deal with it on their own, silently. With dignity. Or something.
I get stuck with unfortunate roommates. However, they also get stuck with me. I go on explaining how I am such a wonderful roommate almost always, and while that might be true, I'm sure there's something I'm doing that irritates the hell out of those who live with me (despite my being quiet as a mouse).
People give me things. I'm sure people give you things, too. It's not a big deal. I'm a nice human being, so people offer me stuff. Does that really matter? Is it necessary for me to indicate that I am liked or loved based upon the gifts I've received? No, it probably isn't.
The person who should be reading my offerings is an editor, some person in the industry, the kind of person that might one day help me put out a book detailing life in a nursing home from the perspective of an alert nursing home resident who sees just about everything.
Otherwise, I'm not offering much here beyond and besides detailing my everyday adventures. Of course, to me everything that is happening fascinates me. Or, I find the mundane intriguing. But why would anyone else?
Maybe those of you who are stuck, marooned, unable to get out and about tend to enjoy my meanderings. Then again, those of you who are unable to get out of bed, or move about, are also quite likely low on energy, low enough that they can't even read my words in the first place, without exhausting themselves.
Beyond possibly offering a momentary diversion, I'm not really helping anybody. And while it works for me to continually write about my experiences, just because I'm writing about them, doesn't mean anybody else wants to read about them.
So yeah, I am stuck in a nursing home. Everybody gets that. And really I should just be plain grateful that I have a roof over my head. The State of Arizona generously takes care of me. And my insurance provided a power wheelchair for me so that I can get around and experience life (to some extent, depending upon the rules on any given day).
Right now I'm grounded. They are doing their best, trying to find legitimate and illegitimate reasons to keep me stuck in my room.
I was supposed to visit my mother this weekend. She is suffering. Scammers have taken over $200 from her in the past week and I need to confiscate her checkbook. But because germs exist out there, the administrators here won't let me go out there. They say I'm going to bring germs back into the building if I go out there. However, we have a parade of visitors coming in every day (in here). Day in and day out, visitors are visiting.
I've already had RSV, the flu thing that's going around, and covid-19, all within the past 6 weeks. Yes, I've had every f****** possible illness out there, with the exception being monkeypox. And diphtheria. Haven't had polio either.
But really, based upon this logic, I should never be let out of my room ever again. Additionally, no one should ever be allowed in my room again unless they're wearing a space suit. Oxygen mask. Whatever. You know what I mean.
So they canceled all of my outdoor requests, and they've also told me I cannot exit out of either or any doorways. And the list of limitations goes on and on. However, I CAN have visitors. I can have as many visitors as I want. But I cannot go outside and sit atop the pedestrian overpass 50 yards away (by myself) so that I may perform my morning meditation.
My doctor and my doctor's office all think this is utterly ridiculous. We currently have zero cases of covid-19 in our unit. And I've been told we do not have any other illnesses either. So my doctor keeps sending notes, giving me permission to leave. And then of course, that permission gets revoked.
But here's part of the threat. Here's the thing they use against me. Last week when I went outside they listed me as having gone A.M.A. They marked me down as leaving against medical advice. I went AWOL. Apparently. Despite notifying staff members that I was going to ride around the block in my wheelchair.
So what happens next, is that they report this to the insurance. That's what they told me. That's what the nurses told me, that they had to report me to my insurance company. And from there, my insurance determines whether or not I would be kicked out of the nursing home. Why?
Well, here's the thinking. If I'm well enough to ride around the property in my wheelchair, I'm well enough to live on my own.
In any event, I am making plans to be homeless. Because, I'm just NOT doing this. I'm not. I can't go backwards. I can't have my freedom taken away. There's no flippin' way. I spent nearly seven years in bed, exclusively. In one room. A bedroom. Unable to go outside besides visiting the emergency room. So I would rather die alone in the desert, then be stuck in my room for the next decade or three.
Anyway, that's what I'm up against. And then of course, all the usual things. A staff member seemingly has a crush on me. My neighbor screams loudly throughout the night. I have unresolved medical issues. I finally received a shower after 19 days without (an illegal shower, against the rules, but whatever).
I mean sure, things are happening here and in my life, but does it really matter? Am I presenting these things in a creative fashion, in a way that would pull readers in. Entertain? Do I emotionally drain or emotionally sustain?
There's this quote from Anais Nin, "The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say."
That's one of my guiding writing principles. And really, I'm not sure I'm doing that. I've tried over the years to get paid for my writing, but that's never come to fruition. That to me, means I am not good enough. My writing doesn't pass the test. So again, why am I doing this to you?
I know why it is that I'm writing for myself, it helps me. It's therapeutic. I think. But I shouldn't be dragging others into my everyday life. Through the muck. Everybody has their own muck.
And see, that's well over a thousand words right there. And that's a thousand life moments you'll never experience again. So the question is, was it worth it? Please, ask yourself.
After having read things, items, articles, that's what I ask myself. Was it worth the time I invested in reading the darned article in the first place? More often than not, it wasn't. My time is better spent being mindful. I don't need more clutter in my mind, and most probably, neither do you.
Anyway, take care. I appreciate each and any of you who choose to follow along. And if I were you, probably the only reason I would be following along is if I were stuck in bed, wanting to experience someone else's life from a similarly disabled vantage point. Other than that, I'm not quite sure. Perhaps I'm underestimating my abilities. Or my execution.
H