Welcome, dear family member! We know it’s hard leaving Nana with strangers who call her “sweetheart” instead of by her actual name, but rest assured: she is absolutely in good hands. And by “good hands,” we mean the chapped, underpaid, chronically overworked hands of Carla, who has just finished wiping diarrhea off a shower chair with the only clean towel left on the unit. But don’t worry—Carla has gloves on. Probably.
Here at Golden Years Memory Meadows (recently rebranded from Shady Pines Rehabilitative Asylum), we pride ourselves on offering premium elder care, backed by cutting-edge technology, such as clipboards and unmonitored bed alarms.
Let us walk you through a typical day in our facility, so you can feel assured that Grandma’s twilight years are filled with dignity, gentle routine, and the occasional bingo-induced blood pressure spike.
6:00 AM — Rise and Shine, Whether You Want To or Not
Nothing says “compassionate care” like getting woken up by a staff member who’s 3 hours into a 16-hour shift and running on Monster Energy and back pain. Lights on! Let’s get those briefs changed, teeth brushed (maybe), and everyone wheeled to the dining room for:
6:45 AM — The Culinary Experience: Oatmeal Three Ways
Enjoy a fine selection of pureed eggs, toast that could double as drywall, and institutional oatmeal that sticks to the roof of your mouth like the memory of your last functioning joint. Fluids are important, so we top this off with a Dixie cup of thickened orange juice and one half-melted ice chip.
8:00 AM — Med Pass: A Pharmacological Buffet
This is when Nurse Rhonda, who has a cart bigger than most studio apartments, doles out a mysterious cocktail of medications that allegedly help with blood pressure, confusion, and the lingering memory of your children never visiting. Bonus round: try not to choke on that horse pill, we’re still out of applesauce.
10:00 AM — Activities! (Assuming Janice from Rec Therapy Shows Up)
If Janice isn’t out sick again (bless her heart), residents are treated to a thrilling hour of Wheel of Fortune, only slightly delayed because the remote is lost and one guy keeps calling Pat Sajak “Lyndon B. Johnson.”
12:00 PM — Lunch: It’s Chicken. Or Maybe Fish. Honestly, Who Knows?
The meat is gray, the veggies are beige, and the tray was supposed to be low-sodium but came with a salt packet and exactly one grape. Still better than the time we accidentally served an entire floor turkey pot pie labeled for pureed diets.
2:00 PM — Visiting Hours: Now With Guilt Trip Discounts
Come visit! Or don’t. Either way, staff will be sure to loudly announce in front of everyone, “Oh, I see you finally came to see your mama!” Nothing like familial shame wrapped in floral air freshener and urine.
4:00 PM — Sundowning & Shenanigans
This is the hour when everyone forgets where they are, why they’re here, and which hallway leads to Narnia. It’s a magical time where we play our favorite game: Chase the Confused Man Before He Walks Outside in a Hospital Gown.
6:00 PM — Dinner and Bedtime: Because It’s Basically Midnight Now
Dinner is lunch, again, but this time with colder gravy and one fewer option. After that, it’s time to get everyone into bed before Jeopardy! ends. The night shift will be along shortly, once we find them.
12:00 AM — Nighttime Routine: Palliative or Passive-Aggressive?
The halls go quiet except for the hum of the floor buffer and the occasional scream from Room 312. Don’t worry, that’s normal. Probably. Our dedicated staff spends the evening rotating residents like rotisserie chickens to avoid bedsores—unless, of course, they’re busy searching for the one working blood pressure cuff.
So yes, your loved one is in “good hands.” Not perfect hands. Not well-rested or properly paid hands. But human ones, doing their damndest in a system that treats dignity like an optional upgrade.
Now if you’ll excuse us, the state inspector just walked in and we have to go hide the expired applesauce and find someone who can spell “restorative care.”
Sincerely,
Management
(Golden Years Memory Meadows: Where Your Past Is Foggy and Our Records Are Too)