Surgery had been changed to June 5. All was going well until I began feeling very weak and off-balance yesterday. I thought I needed to ask the caregiver for help with my pre-surgical laxative and antibiotics. So I called her to my room to talk to her and show her what I had to do and her part in it. She decided that since my daughter didn’t go through a particular pharmacy to obtain the necessary Gatorade and Mirulax, these and all others would have to be taken to Riverside to have their logo put on there as well as my name. WHAT???? I need these things TOMORROW!!!!! Surgery is at 7:30 Friday morning. If this assisted living home messes up my surgery date, I will be so angry. What am I saying? I am already angry!! The owner here is a master at messing life up for the few residents here. She is hateful and resentful and only collects money from us. Please pray for me. I have a tumor on my colon that needs to be cut out.
So here I am, feeling captive at Rose Blossom. I have surgery on June 1 for a tumor on my colon, and I can just envision coming back here afterwards. I will be expected to do everything for myself. I will also be expected to find another place to live because I am the dirty dog who called the Ombudsman and forced the owner to rid the place of bedbugs, provide healthy meals, etc. So this lazy Scrooge of an owner detests me. If I died in surgery, she would make a show of grief and inwardly laugh gleefully.
I hate this place. Thoroughly. I love the dog and the other residents, but the owner has set herself to make my life miserable, and succeeded. If she’s a registered nurse, I’m a ballerina. If she’s a Christian, I must be, well, I don’t know what. I could tell you how she had singled me out for humiliation, and the different ways this was accomplished, but you might find it hard to swallow. Like refusing to give me toilet paper. I was forced to use my washcloths. When Walmart began to sell toilet paper online, I bought a bunch of it! Rolls and rolls! At the Mother’s Day dinner, the others got ham, baked beans, etc. I can’t eat ham or beans, so I got dry rice and fish. I ate because I was hungry and left. That had happened at Christmas too. I am sick of being singled out to be punished. Treated like Cinderella. Not to mention the times she comes to my door and tells me I have to leave— NOW!!!
Mrs. Wonderful will meet her match one day. Meanwhile, I am tired, inside and out. I say as little to her as possible. And I am grateful to Christ for His gift of Life to me on the Cross. His gift is much larger, much stronger than any abuse owner can dish out. Christ overrides the most awful of circumstances. And He is always here for me.
It has occurred to me, from watching the Laura Ingraham show on Fox News, that Mark Zukerberg is a very special kind of person. I classify him as a coward. When Congress calls Zukerberg in for a review of Facebook’s activities towards political Conservatives, Zukerberg’s mind goes literally blank. He doesn’t know a thing about Facebook’s actions towards anyone! Mind you, Mark Zukerberg is the Creator and CEO of Facebook. Most company CEOs are strong men with wonderful memories. They have to see that their company is smoothly run, as Zukerberg does, or should. When testifying before Congress, Zukerberg becomes a small, witless boy, so innocent, so ignorant of the goings-on of his own company.
In front of a Fox News reporter, he becomes a tough CEO/dictator who controls all that is written on Facebook. And this is exactly what this man is. He and Kim Jong-un would get along nicely. As someone who has enjoyed using Facebook up until the past 2 or 3 years, I can testify that the CEO of this seemingly innocuous social media has become a place where even Franklin Graham has to watch his step. Many reputable persons have been let off of Facebook because Zukerberg did not agree with their political standpoint or their religion. Facebook has become a place where, if you are not on there to make frivolous remarks, you won’t stay long. Or, if you wake up and get on Facebook, make a remark off the top of your head that isn’t up to their “standards “, and their “standards ” are shape-changers, you’re out. Facebook is a power-game, and Zukerberg has the power. So far as I am concerned, this man with his 2 faces can have his “power. He’s getting absolutely nothing and nowhere with it. Mr. Zukerberg forgets, as do most power-hounds, that the people he abuses have their own thoughts and prayers and won’t be bullied for long.
Have you ever been so hungry you thought you could eat pictures of food? I have. And at Rose Blossom, this low salt diet the doctor put me on is being played for all it’s worth. It doesn’t help that we’ve had so many temporary caregivers lately who have never read a nutrition list in their lives. So their idea of low salt is, oh, a teaspoon, maybe half a teaspoon– of salt in anything. That so bad. Is it? Half a teaspoon of salt is 1,000 mg of sodium. The doctor put me on a limit of 550 mg per day.
I just went to breakfast. It was muffins. Caregiver hadn’t prepared any for me. Her excuse? “I thought you might complain that there was too much salt in them. ” Well, Einstein, why didn’t you just ask me? You had plenty of time to ask me. This “caregiver ” is the owner ‘s mother. She’s been here plenty of times before. She knows me. She offered to make me an egg. One egg. Which is the subject of this rant.
I stay hungry. I get very little to eat. Even when I get to eat full meals, there is not much to them. Before I learned to order online, I was dizzy a good deal of the time. Then one day, another resident gave me something to eat and a drink, and the dizziness dissipated! I ordered some protein bars online and have felt better since. But one egg for breakfast? Give me a break.
I wondered why the substitute caregivers were starving us, but I guess it was instructions from the owner, Andrea. I keep losing weight. Something needs to happen here. I have been praying for an apartment. I hope God sees this as I do.
Something I never would have believed. I knew the owner lied for her own gain. She is a not a compassionate person. She wants her way and she’s going to get her way, by threat, or any other way she can. But by this way. This morning, a fellow resident here at this assisted living facility told me that the owner had warned her about association with me. A thirty-day notice was the consequence. Now, these thirty- day notices that the owner uses as threats so easily are, most of them, illegal. This one was, and I told my friend so. I told to call the Ombudsman if the owner tried it. I was surprised! My friend said she just wanted out. She was tired of the threats and trouble here at Rose Blossom. Besides, she went on, her best friend had left and now I was leaving. No one would be here to talk to except the two who don’t like to talk because they’re partially deaf. She’s going somewhere else.
Last Monday, I think, was the clincher. The owner left us with a woman who is nice, when she’s in her right mind. I couldn’t eat her food, as she spiced even the fried eggs up so much that I knew the spices she used contained salt. The grits were spiced up too. Oh Lord. Salt everywhere. That’s not the worst. The worst is that afternoon, I heard her yelling at another friend. The friend yelled back. I believe we had all just had up to our necks in maniacal caregivers. I asked my friend to talk to me. Caregiver came also. When I didn’t agree that she should have yelled at my friend, she got another friend, who has cystic fibrosis, and arthritis in one hip. Caregiver began to encourage this friend that she had the right to yell at Zelma, and Melinda gave Zelma a good scolding about agreeing with the caregiver. Then begged to go back to her room. She was in a lot of pain, but caregiver kept on talking. and talking. Finally, the maniac released Melinda and Melinda headed towards her room. Then she turned towards me again and began insulting me. “You’re a troublemaker, and you get angry too easy,” she assessed. I said, ” Maybe, but right now I’m going to close my door and I don’t want you coming into my room.” As I started to close the door to my room, she got this wild look in her eye and yelled, ” That door will stay open if I want it to” and pulled the door open. I got dazed, and only afterward did I realize that the door hit my head so hard that it left a knot. Actually, I had 2 knots. I had a bad headache. Later, my eye started hurting. I rather think this little episode did it for all of us. Who needs this any more?? We don’t. I felt sick after the door hit me like that. I guess it was the pulling too. I am 70 years old. I am strong, but no spring chicken. Besides, it’s one really mean caregiver after another. Nobody our ages needs this. We don’t live here and dole out our money to deal with people who have severe mental problems. If that caregiver had done Melinda that way, she would have wound up in the hospital. It’s time this stops. At least with us. I just hope and, yes, I have been diligently praying, that nobody else will be subjected to such foul and disrespectful treatment.
Well. I thought I’d get by without posting again, but the silly owner of this place has hired a real doozy this time. Yep, a doozy. I call her Maddie. She likes to dress up the table at mealtime as though it’s Party Time 🥳 and then argue through the rest of the meal. Mad Hatter. If we had a mouse, she’d be dipping the poor thing in tea from pure spite. I’m feeling like Alice, as though this is too much for me and who needs food of this low quality. This isn’t a party! 🎈🎈 This is…insanity. The Twilight Zone. I’ve fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole, and I can’t get out! HELP!!!
I called the owner this morning after Maddie yelled at Zelma, and roundly chewed her out. When the yelling stopped, I went to fetch Zelma to talk to her. I had something to give her. Unfortunately, Maddie came with Zelma. Maddie wanted me to be on her side. I wasn’t. I was on my friend’s side. This made the hat 🎩 on the Mad Hatter slip! and she lost her balance. Emotional balance, that is. She started screaming at me, berating me for something…I wasn’t sure what. Then she said I was a troublemaker and I was on familiar territory. The terrain was suddenly level! I told the star of this new episode of Twilight Zone that I was closing the door to my room and to stay out, whereupon she grabbed the door and pushed against it with all the force she could muster to keep it open. I was furious. After days of continuous arguments that made as much sense as the Cheshire Cat or Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, I just let out a big scream! Maddie said, you can’t do that. I suggested she call the police.
Why such a suggestion? I have been cold for days and nights without end. I have been hungry to the point where I lost weight. I have been neglected. All of this happened here, at this wonderful assisted living facility. Facility. Humbug. I am guessing I am fed up with it all. And now, when the owner returns my call, should she see fit to do so, she will probably tell me to “give Maddie a chance”. Yeah. Down the rabbit hole until Miss Andrea decides it’s time to try another maniac for caregiver. Why doesn’t Miss Andrea care? She had threatened all with a 30 day notice if they complain to the Ombudsmen. So they suck it up and pretend to be good. I got a 30 day notice. I am glad I did. I would much rather be honest than play games. I don’t like rabbit holes.
When will relatives start believing their loved ones who are in nursing homes and ATFs? When will they believe them when they say they are being verbally and emotionally abused? Underfed? Abusive people are charming. They have learned how to appear innocent while brutally hurting another. These people are poisonous snakes. Wake up! Families!
Yesterday I was sick. My stomach was bothering me, my ear hurt, and I didn’t feel well in general. I sent a message by my roommate to the “caregiver ” that I wouldn’t be eating I gotta in the dining room. At lunchtime, “caregiver ” stopped by my room to ask if I might eat anything else, which I thought was sweet, but my stomach said “no”. This morning, I felt better so I decided to eat breakfast in the dining room. “Caregiver “, out of spite, had not fixed a plate for me at the table. My table partner, Melinda, offered me her plate with the explanation that she had fallen the night before and bumped her head and wasn’t that hungry. She only wanted the bread part of breakfast. I said “ok” and began eating. In waltzes “caregiver “. First, she chewed me out about not telling her yesterday that I would not be eating in the dining room. This after she stopped by my room. She informed me that I had no right to that breakfast since I had passed up 3 meals yesterday. Did I mention she was shouting vehemently the whole time? She even accused me of “taking “, stealing, Melinda’s breakfast. I still feel very weak, and not ready for a run-in with Dracula, so I was shaking all over. She began shouting at Melinda, who had fallen the night before. Melinda was yelling at her to shut up. I was yelling at her to go to Hell. She didn’t hear either of us. Melinda and I both dissolved into tears. I went to my room. Melinda went to her friend ‘s room for comfort. My roommate came in to comfort me, and it helped a lot. However, owner, Andrea, plans to keep this griefgiver, and I have reached my limit. When I start telling insane people to go to Hell, I need to leave. I have had it. I now suffer a bad stress headache. I had it yesterday too. I don’t know how much more Melinda can tolerate. What can I reasonably do to get this woman unemployed from here? Any ideas?
If it weren’t for these people who are put in place to protect the residents at nursing homes, assisted living facilities, etc., I would be in a terrible spot. The Ombudsman at the nursing home in South Georgia were unable to do much as the nursing home there was crooked as the cane of the crooked old man who lived in a crooked old house on a crooked hill. This nursing home should have been closed down years ago. As for the assisted living facility I am residing at now, it is not much better, except that, being so small, the owner is forced to listen to the Ombudsman or lose her income.
The situation here has been terrible. I was sitting in my room one day, crying. All I had heard since the newest caregiver had come was that I am a troublemaker, the worst resident she had ever kept, that the owner had showed her my records and I am awful, awful, awful. For a month I have been hearing this. Andrea, the owner, backs up the foul opinions of every caregiver she hires and I am tired of the verbal bullying. I decided to call my Ombudsman and tell her what was happening at the place that was so wonderful for “Mom”.
The verbal abuse has stopped, for now, thanks to the Ombudsman. I’m sure there are laws against this sort of abuse that were pointed out to Andrea. Why she insists on abusing me like this, I don’t know. One resident is moving out. She has a place to go to and she’s moving. Daughter’s rental house. Nice. I am drooling. The peace and quiet indicated by living in my own house is just what I want. My roommate wants out also. The other 2 residents are also wanting places to go. Not having relatives with rental property, it’s going to take more time for us to leave. It’s a sad day when elderly women are abused year after year and no one intervened.
That’s right. The new caregiver has a mouth on her that the owner obviously approves of. The tension here at the old ladies home is through the roof. Not to mention our blood pressure. We have all, all five of us, been so nervous and tense because of the new caregiver that we literally feel physically bad. I am the healthiest person here anyway. The two with diabetes don’t look so good, and my roommate, who has a tumor in her lung, expresses tension and the desire to move. She is generally a quiet lady who keeps to herself. Maybe I am a bad influence on her. The only person who doesn’t show tension is Melinda, who was born with a physical disability and uses a walker. Her left side works well. Her right side doesn’t. Melinda reminds me of what Jesus said about the little children, and how we must be like a small child when we come to Him. She doesn’t like this caregiver, but doesn’t let it get to her. She’s trusting, like a child, that all will turn out well.
I, on the other hand, have lost faith. Or gained my independence. One day, Donnie, the caregiver, told me to clean up the apple mess I had left on the table. It wasn’t my mess. Now, Donnie said this because she wanted to break my spirit and force me to do what she had told me to do. It was a quarter of an apple on the table. So when owner came that night, she told owner, and I gave my explanation to owner, whereby Donnie lied, in a panic, saying, ” She was the only one who got an apple!” I’m looking around wondering if I am in first grade again. Nope! Just here with two crazy women. I explained that everyone got an apple at lunch. Owner replied, Pick up your mess, Janis. Well, I was angry. Furious is more like it. I said, to the owner, I am not your slave! I pay to live here. Get your hired help to do it, or do it yourself! I don’t care! Owner was impressed. She told me once again, as though I were 6 years old, to pick up my mess. I said “No!” and walked away. I felt so free! Then I realized what I needed to do: call the Ombudsmen. I mean, really. Who in their right mind will go on about a piece of apple all day long? No one. Most people have too many good things going on to bother. I began to see what the owner was doing as deliberate abuse. I knew it was to me. I just never thought of it that way to the other people. Deliberate abuse. We pay her, she’s supposed to accommodate us, but she doesn’t. She demands the strictest obedience from each and every one of us. We haven’t even received toilet paper this month. We are to buy what we need besides paying an outrageous rent. Not according to the law, just according to Andria Wade, owner of Rose Blossom. She does what she wants. I feel a lot better since I got in touch with the Ombudsmen and advised them of the situation. Someone with authority and legal power is on my side. I am breathing so much easier you wouldn’t believe.