Dropzone, ask your Primary Care Provider for an Rx of medicinal marijuana.
~VOW
Or tell the nurses to request an Rx for medical marijuana for Yelling Yolanda…
~VOW
Throw a quart of ice cream at her; it worked for George.
Heck, get a big old bong for the rec room.
I used to work at a hospital dietary during my high school years, and I’d have to go the nursing home next door to clean up after their dinner. There was usually one lady left in the cafeteria who’d constantly mutter “Come here! Come here!” She would say something unintelligible when I’d ask her what was wrong, so I let the orderlies handle her. My friend Joel was one of the orderlies, and he said that one time she moaned “I’m burning!” He asked her where, and she said “My pussy!”
I realize that wasn’t advice, so you could always tell her “Awwwww, does your pussy hurt?”
Maybe she’ll say yes.
The idea would be to befriend Casper, then sick him on the old lady. Win-win!
If it was me, Casper would scare the old Lady to death then she would come haunt me. My best laid plans and evil machinations always bite me in the butt.
Sic is the more common spelling for this word, which is derived from the command “seek”.
Two months and I won’t need a scrip.
Today she woke me up at 4:30am and kept me awake until seven, when I told her to give it a rest. She quieted down, butnot because of me. They gave her some knockout drops. This afternoon I tried to convince her that they can’t really hear her at the nurses station fifty yards away because they really can’t. “Shut up, Steve,” was her reply. Steve is Waterwaterwater Boy next door.
Dude, you crack me up.
This reminds me of the last time my dad was in a skilled nursing facility for rehab. They put him in a room with a guy who was in a lot of pain, and who would yell “NURSE!” over and over, even if a nurse had been in just two minutes earlier. He never used the call button. Occasionally the head nurse would come in and scold him for annoying the other patients, and the guy would quiet down for a little while, but he would always start up again.
Once, as I was passing his bed, he asked me for help getting him out of there. He said he needed to put on his uniform and “go soldier.” When I told him he was in a nursing facility he got a confused look on his face. He was delirious, possibly from all the pain medication he was on.
Not long after that, I asked the staff to move my dad to another room, which they did. Later, the guy’s daughter apologized to me. I told her it was OK, that I understood the situation they were in.
Obviously the poor dear across the hall needs some romance in her life, and you’re in a prime position to provide it.
Start by sending romantic gifts to her room: Werther’s Original candies, arch supports, laxative gelcaps and whatnot. Sign the gift-cards, “from your loving admirer across the hall.”
Slap half a bottle of Hai Karate aftershave on your neck and cheeks, Johnson’s Baby Powder on your body and menthol linament on your wrists and behind your ears. Then wheel yourself seductively into her room. Dim the fluorescent lights for proper ambiance.
Purr something romantic, like, “what’s up pussycat? Does kitty want her tummy rubbed?”
Play Barry White music on your iPod—or, perhaps Rudy Vallée is more to her liking.
Wheel your bedside hospital table next to hers and enjoy a romantic dinner together by candlelight: potato soup, roll and butter, green beans, lime jello. Link arms as you sip glasses of Ensure Nutritional Shake mixed with fortified wine.
After dinner, brush the telemetry cables aside and engage in a little snuggling and petting. If things progress as they should and your lady gives consent (get the consent in writing and notarized), enjoy the experience. Practice your velcro adaptive bra removal skills beforehand, so you don’t come across as a noob. You may need to ask her to remove her dentures and place them in a glass beside the bed if things head in that direction.
Be sure to lock the door. There’s nothing more embarrassing than having a CNA barge in for a bedpan change while you’re in flagrante dilecto.
I’m gonna puke. And don’t badmouth Werthers. I named my first root canal Werther.
Tibby, that was beautiful. I’m a little nauseous, but impressed nonetheless.
Awww. Love in the rehab center. Maybe a bit TMI, tho’ Tib. Just sayin’.
She has me beat and I’m gonna ask for a new room, I think. She must be dement ed or some other form of null-sane because she keeps it up for hours with no response except from me.
Good for you. You’re gonna stroke out if you don’t get relief.
Let us know how it goes.
Of course I will.
Nephew posted a video showing him playing the guitar. I am NOT replying, “Sounds real nice, kid, but doesn’t your little sister have a Fulbright scholarship for her math doctorate?” because that would be cruel.
ETA I think he has a master’s in electrical engineering.
See. You can be nice. Just omit the bad thoughts, words and deeds. Easy, peasy:)
I hope they do move you. Actually, I wish they’d medicate Yelling Yolanda. Dementia is a horrible disease. She ain’t happy. You ain’t happy. Your other neighbors ain’t happy. Moving YOU won’t fix the situation. But failing that–and the staff IS failing that–I’ll cross my fingers you get a room in a nice, quiet neighborhood.