Nothing Could Prepare Me for Being Admitted into a Nursing Home

I get emotional whenever my mother wheels me into the veterans hospital.

Sadness: will I ever walk again?

Guilt: I should be taking care of her instead of her taking care of me.

Determination: I’ve got to get stronger. I’ve got to walk again so that I can take care of her.

Appreciation: I make eye contact with veterans who are amputees. I am more grateful for their service when I realize their sacrifice to our country far outweighs mine.

Those emotions dissipate when I am met with the greeting, "Thank you for your service.”

As a medic who served in wartime, my experience with a veteran’s hospital was jaded. I’d heard horror stories about the lack of knowledge from civilian administrators.

I was once again suffering from a relapse that left me immobile. My primary care physician

informed me that the only way I could be admitted into short-term physical therapy was to be admitted into the hospital. I would then be transported to a contracted nursing facility. I was encouraged knowing that my current urinary tract infection (UTI) would be my ticket to rehabilitation.

“Do you want to go to a different hospital?” my mother anxiously asked. I was nervous, but I needed to experience the Veteran Administration’s (VA) internal process in order to receive every benefit I’ve earned. Inpatient care at the VA hospital and a nursing home was the path to regaining my independence. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad.

Once admitted, I was grateful that my nurse and certified nursing assistants (CNAs) were Black women. I have been blessed to have been taken care of by nurses of all nationalities however, being taken care of by Black women was different. I felt safe. They cared for me as if they were my aunties or my sisters. I didn’t feel judged when I requested pain meds or when I needed them to tie my head scarf. They were beautiful Black nurses from Southeast DC, Nigeria, Haiti, Jamaica, Cameroon and Sierra Leone.

The day shift nurses introduced me to the night shift and I was taken aback by their physical beauty. I couldn’t help but to share how our ancestors were watching over me by having an all Black nursing team care for me. I began dancing in my bed and they started dancing with me. Our combined laughter lifted my spirits.

Then came nighttime. I prayed and fell asleep after a dose of melatonin. I was awakened out of my sleep by loud voices.

“Mr. Jones, I need to draw your blood.”

A deep voice responded. “I don’t know you! Call the police! 911! Call the police! I don’t know you! Your ass going to jail!”

“Mr. Jones! You’re bleeding. Please stay still.”

Mr. Jones’ voice grew louder. “I don’t know you. You ugly ass motherfucker!”

My breathing slowed as I listened to the nurse calm Mr. Jones down with patience and compassion.

“You do know me. I am the police! I’m not going anywhere. I will take care of you.” My heart softened upon realizing that Mr. Jones was a veteran who was suffering from dementia or PTSD.

I could not wait to jokingly ask my sister if she had secretly admitted me to the psych ward. However, there was nothing funny about the second night. I prayed that Mr. Jones wouldn’t have any episodes that evening. I heard him yelling for the police before drifting off to sleep.

At three o’clock in the morning, I sat straight up in bed. I heard one of the nurses yell.

“No, Mr. Jones! Mr. Jones, stop!”

All of a sudden, I heard scuffling. I laid back onto my bed as the voices became muffled. What the hell was going on? I was anxious the next morning when a nurse told me that Mr. Jones left his room and tried to attack another male patient with a garbage can.

She laughed at my shocked facial expression.

“Listen, I know I’m your favorite patient so if you see him coming towards my room, you better save me first. Shit.. you know I can’t run!”

She laughed out loud. “I ain’t gonna let him get you, Ms. Monika.”

Sleep deprivation set in as Mr. Jones continued to wreak havoc. I was exhausted by the fifth night. My doctor informed me that I needed to stay an additional seven days due to the resistance of the UTI to the prescribed antibiotic.

I had an emotional meltdown upon learning that my transfer to a nursing home would be delayed. I was embarrassed as I sobbed uncontrollably in front of my nurse. I waved off the physical therapist while my nurse placed her hand over mine and handed me a tissue. And then, God sent me a sign letting me know that it could always be worse.

There was a slight language barrier given her Asian dialect. “If you believe, God will strengthen you. You have a good heart and He will not make you weak. I remind myself of this. My husband retired from being an engineer and four months later he was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.”

I wiped my tears. Although she took care of strangers each day, she struggled to take care of her husband. Suddenly, my health issues didn't seem as bad.

I thanked her for sharing such a personal story. She hugged me and smiled at me on her way out,”God bless you. Ms. Monika.”

I saw the weariness in her eyes when I responded. “Thank you. I will pray for you and your husband.

A familiar feeling came over me. Whenever I am having a rough day or a blessed day, I do something nice for someone else. Seeing their surprise and gratitude on their faces lifts my spirit.

I started this practice during one of my hospital stays during Covid. The nurses and CNAs were understaffed and overwhelmed with the devastation of Covid. They rarely had time to eat as they hurried from room to room. They were grateful whenever I had pizzas delivered for them.

The food was awful at the VA hospital, so I ordered pizzas for the nurses and something for myself. The nurse who shared her personal story stuck her head in my room.

“That pizza was deliciousness, Ms. Monika. The team wanted me to thank you. But you don’t have to do that. It is our job to take care of you.”

I was full of gratitude. “I know it’s your job but you ladies take such good care of me that I just want to say, thank you.”

After a week and a half at the VA hospital, I was to be transferred to a nursing facility close to my home. I reminded myself that being in a nursing home was only temporary. I was glad my best friend was there to help me get ready and see me off. I said, “I’m scared. Come with me!” We laughed as she pressed her face against the glass door of the ambulance.

I tried to calm my nerves by looking at the trees as the EMTs drove through the streets of DC. The hair on my arms stood up when they opened the doors and I saw a dimly lit facility. But nothing could prepare me as they rolled me in on the stretcher.

A young man barely acknowledged us as one of the EMTs asked for directions to the nurses station. Their silence heightened my discomfort. You could feel our collective shock as we headed towards my room. I felt like I was in a horror movie with zombies. Elderly patients in wheelchairs with various afflictions lined the hallway. Some were slumped over in wheelchairs while others swayed and moaned out loud.

I took a deep breath when one of the EMTs whispered, “Wow.”

I prayed that I would have a private room. My heart sank when they wheeled me into a dark, dank room. My heart beat faster when I saw a second bed in the room. The beds were separated by a thin curtain.

A round man with an African accent entered the room. He introduced himself as Rico, the night manager. He stated that a nurse would make rounds shortly. As the EMTs adjusted the gurney and lifted me onto the bed, Rico began to walk away. At the same time, I heard someone talking behind the curtain.

"Excuse me but are you going to introduce me to my roommate?”

He turned abruptly and slightly pulled the curtain back. “Oh, that’s Ana. She’s on the phone.” And with that he left.

I tried to settle my nerves as the EMTs prepared to leave. I said, "Don’t leave me!”

One of them nervously laughed. “You’ll be okay, Ms. Monika, you’re a soldier.”

The minutes turned into an hour before a nurse came in to hand me a gown. By that time, I knew that I wouldn’t feel comfortable at this facility. Something told me to sleep in my sweats because I wouldn’t be there long. I drifted off to sleep and was awakened by loud voices. What I thought was an argument turned out to be the staff speaking loudly as their voices echoed through the halls. Most of the staff were African and their voices were loud and animated.

Suddenly, I realized that Ana was whispering on the phone. I looked at my phone and realized that it was two am. Who on earth could she be talking to for that long and at that time of morning? I turned towards the curtain and flinched when all I could see were her feet. For some reason, just seeing her feet startled me. Was she sitting on the side of the bed or was she standing?

At that moment, my sister texted me to see how things were going. I was happy she was still awake when I called and whispered.

“What are you still doing up?” she said. “How are things going over there?”

I peeked over at the curtain. “Poopie…I’m scared. I can only see her feet.”

She burst into laughter. “Why are you scared? Of course she’s got legs if you see her feet.”

I gave her a recap of my evening and all she could say was, "Oh, no.” She stayed on the phone with me until I pressed her to go to bed. She had to work the next morning.

I felt calm as I drifted back to sleep. I was jolted awake when I heard a baby’s laughter. It was like something out of a horror movie. My heart began to race as the giggling continued. I was shocked upon realizing that Ana had been talking to herself the entire time.

My eyes widened as I called my sister and whispered, “Poopie, I just heard a baby giggle.”

“What? Ain’t no damned baby in no nursing home! What the hell! Oh no, they have to move you to another room.” After whispering for several minutes, I convinced her to go to sleep.

Ana talked and giggled to herself until seven am. Rico brought in a breakfast tray at eight am. My head hurt as I removed the lid from the plate. The meal looked like something out of a prison movie. The powdered eggs had a grayish tint and the meat was unrecognizable.

Rico turned to deliver Ana her breakfast and swiftly walked out of the room. My eyes widened when I saw her. She looked like she could be in her late thirties but her humming was child-like. Her dark, wiry hair framed sunken eyes as she gathered her gown and slowly walked past my bed.

I called my mother.

“Mommy, you have to come get me.”