Your Room Awaits Madame

My room for the next seven days is simple; it has a bed, a bedside cabinet, a chair of the utilitarian type found in nursing homes, a tray table for the in-room meals, a television set in the corner of the room and a wardrobe.

There is an ensuite and the room has a window overlooking a bare side garden with the  leafless trees of winter and a view of the back of a two-story house beyond the property fence.

The room is right next to the dining room which may or may not be a drawback as far as quiet goes.  Afternoon tea comes on a tray to the room; Shirley, the cook here at New Street is known for her cakes and scones and while the main meals could never be described as gourmet they are home-cooked and suit the tastes of most of the permanent residents.

Neighbour Heather has delivered my red case and it waits by the chair. Settling in, the case is unpacked, clothes are put on hangers and the television put through its paces.

I have a meeting with Esther, the manager; medications are on the agenda again and I am given an exemption from the five o’clock evening meal.  I am very happy about this – I am not quite ready for the ‘nursery tea’ which often features in aged-care hostels.  I will have my tea brought to the room at seven each evening, a more civilised time for an evening meal in my book.

Everyone is tucked away in their rooms by eight pm.  I anticipate a quiet night.

Suddenly there is furious knocking on doors by some-one on the outside who is really keen on getting inside the building.  What is going on?  This alarming situation is soon resolved by an employee with a loud voice and a bad attitude; he expresses his annoyance with the door-knocker in no uncertain terms. The door-knocker is one of the residents who has crept out into the garden for a forbidden cigarette; the door has closed behind him and he is locked out.

Quiet returns and I hope there will not be a repeat performance.  All this racket on day one is rather unnerving.