A few years back, I was assigned a new patient from the hospice I volunteered for. I’d never been to the facility before and it was shocking. It was a state-run facility that was overcrowded, loud, and smelled horrible. As I walked down the hallway towards her room, I passed rooms where the elderly were half-clothed, some were laying on dirty sheets, and all had a look of total despair. A nurse walked by me screaming at a patient who apparently wasn’t listening to her. Further down, I passed by a room where a woman was being bathed with no privacy.  Carts full of old food crammed the hallway and almost every bed had an old tray on it with beige food.

 

I remember thinking, “they’ve sent me to Hell.”

 

The smell was so bad that I had to reach into my purse and dab some cherry-flavored lip balm under my nose to try and not get sick.

 

Then, I walked into the room numbered 203 and there she was.

 

She was a wisp of a woman with long silver hair that was up in a bun. She was a beautiful woman.Her blue eyes sparkled when I told her who I was and that I was there for a visit. She told me a bit about herself. She had worked for the City of Chicago her whole life as a docent. She had loved her job talking to people and helping them find things in the city. She told me that she had never left the country but had always wanted to travel. She lived a modest life on a modest salary.

 

And now….she was here.

​

She couldn’t afford assisted living, and Medicare would only approve state-run facilities, so she had no choice in where she lived. I struggled to hear her over the ruckus in the background that now included a woman repeatedly yelling “Hey, hey!” over and over at the top of her voice.

​

We talked about my recent trip to Portugal and her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands in delight over the stories I told her and how I described the land and the people. She motioned to her nightstand where a stack of about 10 books were. She pointed to the book in her lap…it was “War and Peace”. We laughed about how that wasn’t a very happy book to be reading. She explained that she had a list of 90 books that she had promised herself she would read before she died. The hospice and their volunteers had brought her some that were on her list.

 

She was a beautiful soul stuck in an ugly building. She said reading books took her away from all of it. Her escape.

 

As I left and promised to return with some books, I saw an elderly man sitting outside a room next door. We chatted a bit and I found out that his wife had Alzheimer’s and was inside. They had been married for over 50 years, and he came to visit her every day. Brought her food from home and made sure she had her favorite stuffed bear in bed with her. She thought it was her actual baby and fussed over it, trying to feed it pudding. So, he had to wash it every week, but he told me had a spare one that looked the same so she wouldn’t ever be without one. He explained that visiting hours were ending soon and they would kick him out. He hated having to leave her.

 

Soon, I got outside and into the fresh air, and I quickly switched from sadness to anger.

 

Why are good people not able to live out their lives as they want?

Why do couples need to be separated?

Why does the ability to age in peace seem reserved for those who made more money?

​

It’s time to do something about it.