Yesterday, I had it out with some folks here over a variety of issues, the most pressing of which was the bathroom in my room stunk (literally) and hadn't been cleaned (despite repeated politie requests) in more than a week. I told the social worker that if it wasn't clean by the time I returned from physical therapy, I was calling New York State.
Guess what? A nice shiny clean bathroom.
I don't like to be like that, and I am generally NOT like that, but I reached a point where...well, here's another example -- they do laundry but, when it's returned, the hot from the dryer laundry is literally rolled in a ball. I said, "How can you feel good about yourself and want to get better when you're wearing a shirt that has been rolled in a ball and now has permanent wrinkles?" So today I got laundry back and things were folded.
Every morning (well, I did have my fifth shower in a row) I have to wait for my meds and when everyone has their meds, I wait for the "wound specialist" who slaps a gauze pad on my one remaining bed sore. This can often be a long wait, as I sit there on my bed, bare ass, waiting -- and waiting to go to physical therapy. Yesterday I got sick of waiting. The only reason I'm here is for PT and the waiting time cuts into my PT time. So I finished getting dressed and was leaving when the woman showed up. I told her she missed her chance, am not waiting, and she freaked. Calls the head nurse and I said, "No, I am refusing medical treatment."
This bed sore is down to the size of a quarter -- and believe me I wouldn't risk it if I really felt I needed a gauze pad over it. So the nurse is trying to reason with me -- and I said "I am not getting undressed, getting back in bed for this. No." So she said the wound woman could do it in my bathroom and I said, "only if you give me a nose plug because the place stinks since it hasn't been cleaned in more than a week." I really had had it.
So the head nurse asks me to cooperate just for today so I go in the room, pull down my pants, lean on my roommate's bed (she was long gone to her own PT), stick my ass out and said, "That's all the access you're getting." She said she couldn't quite do it and I said "Too bad, take it or leave it" and she did it. Now I think she's afraid of me (probably with good reason). Today she arrived to do it about 45 minutes earlier than usual.
I awoke this morning at 5:45 to the sound of my roommate fighting with an aide -- my roommate was supposed to go home yesterday but -- and I'm not making this up -- what prevented her leaving was someone didn't fill out the X67R45 form. That number I'm making up, but it was some numbered form. I heard my roommate say, "I am not arguing with you. I am just talking to you" but the aides don't like to be questioned.
Ok, so here's what I've devolved to. When they work on my roommate, they pull the curtains between our beds but the aide is always entering my area behind the curtain, knocking my rolling bed table and knocking things off it. This morning, I sat up and when she did it again, I shoved the table as hard as I could into the back of her legs (the curtain hid my dirty deed.) I have to say it felt good. She yells to me, "Excuse me" and I replied,"Stop knocking my stuff over."
Later on, my roommate and I are chatting and eating breakfast, but of course, that's not allowed -- it's time to pick up the trays. My roommate had a bite of food in her hand and she asks if she's finished eating -- really?? So the aide tells her she has to pick up the tray so my roommate should tell her everything she needs that's still on the tray. My roommate proceeds to name everything on the tray, including an empty milk carton. I'm sitting there straight faced, but thinking "good move, girl". It's all so childish, I know, but you have to fight back just a bit. So the aide left with just an empty tray in her hand. (I had told the aide I wanted everything precisely where it was and she left me alone.)
Um, I had James again for PT, whom I really enjoy. I came up with a way to end our session which he agreed with and he said, "You and I get along like corn muffins and butter." I told him please don't talk about corn muffins, and he said, "No you and I get along like TOASTED corn muffins and butter" and I told him to shut up and we laughed.
Ah, life at the institution.