Sounds of the Nursing Home

When I went to visit my Granny in the nursing home, she was asleep. Rather than wake her, I sat listening to the sounds of the old.

There’s NASCAR racing coming from the room to my left. It’s really loud, so even if I try to tune it out, I can’t. There’s a lounge singer in the recreation room below my Gran’s room. I can barely hear him over the TV. I remember passing that room when I entered the building. The audience consisted entirely of the wheelchair bound. Apparently if you can walk, you walk right out of the rec room when the lounge singer is singing. I listen harder and I hear him singing “Stand By Me” to his wheelchair audience. Good choice.

Beep.

Then there’s the beep that you hear every minute. It reminds you that somebody is still alive. I sit there thinking, is that beep annoying or is it somehow comforting? I mean if that beep wasn’t there, wouldn’t somebody have just passed away? That’s the beep of life — the life-affirming beep. It means you’ve made it through another minute. And life in a nursing home is lived not day-by-day but minute-by-minute.

Beep.

I watch my Gran sleeping. She’s 88, soon to be 89. She looks so much different here in the home. She’s thinner than I’ve ever seen her. I’m sitting in the chair by her feet. She has the longest toenails I have ever seen. They look too hard to cut. Is that why nobody cuts them? They say toenails keep growing after you die. Nobody will cut them then, that’s for sure. I’m sure I’ve never seen my Gran’s bare feet. She wears slippers even in the summer. Her feet are always cold, just like mine. I wear socks to bed.

Beep.

That guy is still alive. Comforting, I suppose. I don't even know who that guy is, but I'm glad to hear the beep that confirms he's still alive. I listen to the commentators talk about cars riding around in circles. I’ve never been a fan of NASCAR, now I’m wondering why I can’t see the TV. Would I enjoy NASCAR more if it was the only thing to watch in a nursing home?

Beep.

Minutes are passing by and I’m wondering how long my Gran sleeps in the afternoon. I send my Mom a text message. She texts back, “Wake her up.” That seems cruel. Who knows how much sleep she actually gets and she looks so peaceful. So I sit back and let her sleep some more. She moves a little. Her head falls off the pillow. She moves her teeth in her mouth. All of her upper teeth move. That’s right, I remember, she has dentures. The first time I discovered that, it freaked me out. Now, it’s just Gran.

Beep.

I do notice that she’s still breathing. Phew. She has no machines hooked up to her. She’s in the home because she’s not strong enough to get around on her own. She’s lost muscle in her legs. They are like toothpicks. We spend so much time wishing to be thin, but not that thin – nobody wants to be so thin that you can’t support your own weight, especially when you weigh less than 100 pounds. Way too thin.

Beep.

It was my Gran who said to my Mom. “It’s amazing how big Sandy’s gotten.” That’s me and I was right there in the room. She repeated that three or four times. That was the last time I saw her in her own home. I decided to go on a diet that day. I used to be stick thin when I was younger. “Eats like a bird” is what everybody said about me. I lost 15 pounds since that day, but looking at her so thin made it seem so unimportant now.

Beep.

I watch the cars go by out the window. It’s a beautiful August day. Sun is shining. It’s 80 and no humidity, rare for this area. I drove over 1.5 hours to get here. My mom is on vacation and somebody needed to visit Gran. She freaks out if nobody comes to see her. And the ironic part is she probably won't even remember that I came. I look at the clock. I wonder how long I’m going to be here. How long do old people nap for? I have another 1.5-hour drive and I’m getting thirsty.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

The machine is going crazy. I am nervous. The comforting sound of the beep has now turned to something resembling chaos. Is that guy dying? I expect to hear nurses rushing to his room, but there are no new sounds, just that constant beep, beep, beep and the sound of cars racing around a track. I would think that when a life expires there’s some big rush, people running around trying to save it. But maybe that beep doesn’t mean what I think it means. Maybe it was a false comfort. Maybe it’s just a beep to give visitors something to focus on, instead of what is really happening in here.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Is anybody going to do something about that beeping? Is somebody dying? Why am I the only one who hears that crazy beeping? Maybe the TV is too loud. Maybe the lounge singer is more captivating than I thought. Maybe nobody cares. Turns out that I don’t care. I no longer hear that beeping and I’m just sitting there watching my Gran sleeping, glad that she’s still alive and I am able to spend some time with her.

Beep.