Posts Tagged ‘Nursing home’

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September 8, 2016

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The fat woman looked at her. Her carrot-like dyed hair shone under the kitchen light. “One week! Just one week, she shouted. “If you don’t get out of here in one week, I’ll put you in a home.” “You’ll do what?” The other woman’s voice cracked. ”What are you saying? What type of home?” The fat woman stared at her. “I mean, a nursing home, you old lady.” “I rent a room from you. You are not related to me.” “I can still do it. See if I can’t.” it was too much. It had been too much for a long time. What had her life become, involved with these people? She didn’t want to descend to their level, but it was hard. “Nobody wants you. You have nowhere to live. That’s why you are here,” the fat woman continued. The renter stared at the wall. This is more than enough. The violence, this violence, she didn’t want. She’d seen it before, years ago. Now it had come back to bite her again. She turned her back and went into her room. The fat woman’s live in boyfriend said something. She pretended not to hear.

 

 

 

 

 

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Carmen

July 12, 2012

17 years ago today, Carmen, my first old lady after my Tia, died in a nursing home in Buenos Aires. Carmen was very sweet and I would visit her in her home (an apt. borrowed from her well to do niece) in the early 1990s. When the neighbors complained that Carmen forgot to turn off the gas, the niece put her in a nursing home. I visited her there in the barrio of Floresta in Buenos Aires. Then Carmen was changed to another nursing home where she broke her hip. She never recovered. She was like the grandmother I never knew. I loved the old lady and can remember the smell of urine in her body. The people at the first nursing home did the best they could but Carmen’s bladder was erratic, even when she wore diapers. She was a thin little white haired lady who wore a cane and spoke with a pure Spanish accent. She was born in Galicia, in Northern Spain and sounded as if she had just arrived in Argentina the day before.