Chapter 160 - A Hurtful Question
Earlier in the week she made comment about a new retirement village on the very most southern rolling country edge of Big Smoke. Before we moved to our present village we visited another by the same company in the southern suburbs that had the same emphasis on "55's lifestyle" but stupidly had bedrooms upstairs. Friends of ours in the city decided they should inspect the new development with us.
The 2 hour drive up the highway did not stress her. We stopped halfway for a little junk food. Her tremors bothered her when we arrived 40 minutes after her noon pills and even by the time our friends arrived 40 minutes after our agreed meeting time (they became lost) she was still trembling a lot. Rather than sitting, she kept saying that she needed to walk about the village to relieve her shakes.
We were most impressed with the villas. Resident couples acted as guides in those open for inspection. As expected, they only responded with pleasantry when they were asked questions (to be expected) and we were always referred to the management for hard answers, those alluding to costs and the like. When she asked one gentleman why there were no hand rails in the bathrooms she was assured there were until he was embarrassed to find the villa he was demonstrating lacked these attachments. We later spoke to another bloke who said rails were fitted after they moved into their place. Obviously a marketing ploy not to discourage the fit virile 55 year olds with symbols of decrepitude. If we had the funds we would move to such a village just for the future benefit of the "high care" area where the large single and double rooms are typical of an expensive private hospital. Insufficient room for half a dozen sewing & embroidery machines and 4 computers plus peripherals of course.
One of the nursing staff showing us the high care areas committed the unpardonable sin - she asked me whether I was the "son". Not hearing the woman distinctly the first time I said "Sorry?" and the question was repeated loud enough for Her to hear. I replied "I know you're just trying to chat me up, but I'm the husband". Some confusion & hilarity resulted but the damage was done.
The marketing executive was happy to quote figures, both money and facts, but after doing his duty lost interest in us as other visitors attracted his attention from the doorway of his office. We may not have fitted his vision of "55's lifestyle" residents. Printed price lists were not offered.
Later, while walking about the village, I realised the rear boundary fence of the village was about 10 metres from the rails of the main southern railway line. A resident whose villa backed onto the line assured me they hardly ever heard the trains, only occasionally.
After leaving the place I realise what had made me feel slightly uncomfortable about it - the smiling, polite and neat residents that acted as guides to the units on show. Their happily drugged demeanour reminded me of those characters one sees in TV commercials and the pictures in glossy mags advertising "over 55's lifestyle" housing, insurance, sports clubs etc where the couples wear white sports clothes and carry the odd sporting implement or two against a background of coiffured lawns & gardens. Male hair is silver and the female a soft dyed blonde. And their comments were appropriate to nice people at a charismatic church, "we are happy, the best decision we ever made, we are almost in heaven, we would love to have you join us but please speak to the Manager about sordid details."
We completed our day out by having coffees at the town where we had a van a couple of Xmases ago, one of the towns that serves the retirement village, some 10-12 kms away along a winding narrow country road.
The melanoma crater on her left leg is entirely healed now. Unfortunately, yesterday morning before we left she noticed that a large blemish on the opposite side of the same leg (it has been there for years) had a large bruised blood colouring to half the area and I could feel a bump there. Perhaps she banged the area somehow and it is a blood blister. Maybe not. I took photographs. Tomorrow an appointment with the doctor.
The 2 hour drive up the highway did not stress her. We stopped halfway for a little junk food. Her tremors bothered her when we arrived 40 minutes after her noon pills and even by the time our friends arrived 40 minutes after our agreed meeting time (they became lost) she was still trembling a lot. Rather than sitting, she kept saying that she needed to walk about the village to relieve her shakes.
We were most impressed with the villas. Resident couples acted as guides in those open for inspection. As expected, they only responded with pleasantry when they were asked questions (to be expected) and we were always referred to the management for hard answers, those alluding to costs and the like. When she asked one gentleman why there were no hand rails in the bathrooms she was assured there were until he was embarrassed to find the villa he was demonstrating lacked these attachments. We later spoke to another bloke who said rails were fitted after they moved into their place. Obviously a marketing ploy not to discourage the fit virile 55 year olds with symbols of decrepitude. If we had the funds we would move to such a village just for the future benefit of the "high care" area where the large single and double rooms are typical of an expensive private hospital. Insufficient room for half a dozen sewing & embroidery machines and 4 computers plus peripherals of course.
One of the nursing staff showing us the high care areas committed the unpardonable sin - she asked me whether I was the "son". Not hearing the woman distinctly the first time I said "Sorry?" and the question was repeated loud enough for Her to hear. I replied "I know you're just trying to chat me up, but I'm the husband". Some confusion & hilarity resulted but the damage was done.
The marketing executive was happy to quote figures, both money and facts, but after doing his duty lost interest in us as other visitors attracted his attention from the doorway of his office. We may not have fitted his vision of "55's lifestyle" residents. Printed price lists were not offered.
Later, while walking about the village, I realised the rear boundary fence of the village was about 10 metres from the rails of the main southern railway line. A resident whose villa backed onto the line assured me they hardly ever heard the trains, only occasionally.
After leaving the place I realise what had made me feel slightly uncomfortable about it - the smiling, polite and neat residents that acted as guides to the units on show. Their happily drugged demeanour reminded me of those characters one sees in TV commercials and the pictures in glossy mags advertising "over 55's lifestyle" housing, insurance, sports clubs etc where the couples wear white sports clothes and carry the odd sporting implement or two against a background of coiffured lawns & gardens. Male hair is silver and the female a soft dyed blonde. And their comments were appropriate to nice people at a charismatic church, "we are happy, the best decision we ever made, we are almost in heaven, we would love to have you join us but please speak to the Manager about sordid details."
We completed our day out by having coffees at the town where we had a van a couple of Xmases ago, one of the towns that serves the retirement village, some 10-12 kms away along a winding narrow country road.
The melanoma crater on her left leg is entirely healed now. Unfortunately, yesterday morning before we left she noticed that a large blemish on the opposite side of the same leg (it has been there for years) had a large bruised blood colouring to half the area and I could feel a bump there. Perhaps she banged the area somehow and it is a blood blister. Maybe not. I took photographs. Tomorrow an appointment with the doctor.
posted by Kilpike | 8:02 am
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