KieltySaur

After spending seven hours in a retirement home, I've seen enough. The date is set. Once I hit 50, BAM- I'm out.

Names will be coded and the establishment will be described but not named.

I'm sure there are hundreds just like it.

Nice enough place- clean, in a quiet neighborhood, everyone with their own bed. I chatted with 'Elsa' who was lucky enough to be in a room to herself. From what I heard, she pays through the nose for the privilege. While the other residents eat in the dining room, Elsa takes her meals upstairs in her room. Perhaps because she likes it that way. More likely people complained about her moaning. Her rhythm gets interrupted by noises that mean it hurts or she's confused.

"Mmmmph....well....owwwwwww!

...You see, the funny thing is. When you...as you get older...owwwwwwwwww. Sometimes I......I just...."

I said something and her head snapped round to look straight at me without blinking. That much attention is intimidating. What was I saying? Elsa's face, looks frightened. I'm being melodramatic, at worst she's confused a bit scattered as her connections deteriorate with age. But to think it takes the sort of money she's paying , I don't even know how much but the looks on the faces when it's discussed hint at hundreds, just to be kept going in a room while she's slowly dropping into pieces is enough to make it hard to picture there's still someone in there, who used to earn a wage and hold a conversation and hold a tea cup without assistance, and now starts screaming when the sentences won't line up between brain and mouth. I'm headed that way. The thought terrifies me.