Assisting the Elderly

Because the firm where I work handles elder law and estate planning, we have a lot of old people coming in all the time. They start to look the same after a while, all smelling faintly of baby powder and sort of see-through, like fish.*

Of course, old people are wonderful when they're cute and giving out sassy advice and wearing ironic sweaters without the irony and being just a little bit racist in everything they say. However, our old people are not often like that.

When people decide that the time has come for an elder law consultation, it means they have death on their minds. And it shows. I can feel it from the moment they open the door - the winter air sweeping in like those old icy hands of Death.

I hear him before I see him: the slow, deliberate shuffle - the wheezing, rankling gasp for breath - that awful, wet lip-smacking -- SMACK! SMACK! -- it's the sound of my nightmares - and as the stench of decaying flesh surrounds me, choking me, I stand to shout DON'T TAKE ME YET! ---

but then it just turns out to be Mr. Henderson here for his two o'clock, and can we please hurry this up because it's past his bedtime.

But all that's only if they can actually make it to the door. One lady pulled into the parking lot at 11:50 for a noon appointment. I watched her struggle to open the car door, feeble arms straining like Sisyphus'. She hauled herself out of the car, turning to make sure no limbs had dropped off during the drive and been left behind on the seat. Even though I knew she had straightened up already, it still looked like she was sitting down.

"POSTURE!" I always scold them.

They never listen.

Then came the long trek up the front path, all stilted and unnatural because old people seem to forget that they have knees.

There's no way she'll make it up the steps, I thought, leaning forward to get a better view through the window. Most people would probably have rushed out to help her, but I don't believe in infantilizing the elderly. She is a grown-ass adult. Of course, I wouldn't help a baby up those slippery steps, either. HOW ELSE WILL THEY LEARN?

Somehow, she made it. Twelve minutes after she parked her car.

"Irma Livengood," she warbled, looking at her watch. "Goodness! I was early when I got here - what happened?"

Really, the elderly need to learn to fend for themselves as they get all soft and floppy-skinned. It's for their own good.

"Where is your bathroom, young lady? I'll be needing some assistance."

GET OUT.



*This is why I don't tell you the name of the firm where I work. Also why I should probably write with a pen name.



Image via Nursing Home Care.