6--The Dementia Facility

My guardian made the arrangements for my stay when I left the Greenwood Mental Hospital. We had only spoken a few times on the phone. I assumed that the Senior Trust Manager, who I hated with a passion at this point in time, had contacted a group called the Senior Source to take care of my needs. My apartment was half packed as I was in the process of moving to an assisted living facility. Everything was out of places. I ceased trying to live in order. My apartment was ordered by the boxes and the organizational strategy I had come up with to pack the boxes. My apartment had narrow spaces in all the rooms to get from one room to another. The apartment reeked of disorder as I slowly went about the task of packing too many items for one person to have. I took solace in the fact that I was 68, and I'd spent a lifetime accumulating possessions.

One day, in the midst of clutter, a woman came to my door and introduced herself as a psychiatrist. We spoke briefly. She asked about my state of mind, and she asked what I had experienced since my packing had begun. Her visit was short. Twice I had risen from the sofa and asked her to leave. Whatever her purpose, she was making me feel worse, not better. When she finally left, I rolled myself a joint and tried to make the bad feelings go away.

I had a black Lab, who weighed almost 100 pounds, as well as two black kittens living with me. I spent the days watching my pets play and watching TV when I wasn't boxing items. I had my library of books arranged by subject so the unpacking of books onto my five bookshelves would be organized.

I had a lot of t-shirts and other clothes I had gotten from eBay and never worn. They went in piles on top of the bathroom cabinet. The clothes rack I had assembled in the bathroom held clothes I intended to wear until I moved. There was an organization to the chaos, but I was the only one dealing with it. Nobody came around but the dog walkers and a few uninvited guests.

Another day a youngish man with a face mask and shorts knocked on my door. I answered with a pleasant smile, holding my dog back. The man introduced himself.

"I'm here to talk to you about being your guardian."

I slammed the door in his face. I was still believing that my life would go on as it had been until I moved to an assisted living facility. As things worked out, I was very wrong.

I was walking to the n3earby grocery store to get my daily allowance of Coca Cola and Monster. I was walking on the side of a busy street when I most unfortunately had one of my falling down spells. Two police cars were passing me at exactly that time. Both cars pulled over by me, and I thought they wer5e going t66o help me. They didn't.

After a few questions and answers I became agitated and pulled back my hand to slap one cop. He was holding my purse which had fallen on the ground, and he was going through the contents. My money, a little over $400., was in a baggie. Items had been falling out of my wallet, and a plastic bag sufficed to hold my bills and change. The senior policeman questioned why I had so much money in a baggie. I told him my debit card had been stolen, and I was planning to use cash for my weekly shopping. He didn't believe me, and assumed i was dealing drugs or turning tricks on the street. I hadn't expected to see anyone I knew, and the July weather was very hot. I had on a thin i-shirt and jeans. If I had been dressed more presentably, I can't help but think my life wouldn't have taken the turn for worse that it did.

I was handcuffed and placed in the back of one of the police cars. There was one officer in the front of the police car, anhd I was left to my own devices of kicking and trying to reach the door lock that had me confined.

"Do you want to go to jail or Green Oaks (psychiatric hospital)?"

I said "jail" when I first answered. I remembered a friend had once said I wouldn't do well in jail. The officer asked me again where I wanted to go, and this time I answered, "Green Oaks." If I had been thinking more clearly, I would have realized the cops had no reason to take me to jail. They hadn't written an incident report, and they never did.

I didn't get a chance to go back to my apartment and make arrangements for the pets. I had left the front door unlocked for the dog walker. The cats always had dry food, so getting back wasn't a priority. As it worked out, I didn't have a choice.

I don't remember anything about being admitted to Green Oaks. My first memory was of waking in a hospital bed in a double room. I had a roommate, and we talked some and exchanged stories. Tere were several doctor, nurse, or counselor led sessions where the patients listened and participated in discussions. I remembered all the content from previous hospitalizations or my reading. I didn't volunteer answers unless it was obvious that nobody else was going to. The presenters recognized that I knew the content they were presenting and answered my questions at the end of the session. i tried not to look bored. It was a challenge.

I was in Green Oaks for two weeks. I received a phone call from a woman who said she was with the Senior Source. She informed me that a lawsuit had been filed by my trust to have me declared "incompetent." I spoke with the Senior Source person, Melissa, and a judge on a three-way call. I was told it was a hearing, but to me it seemed more like a telling. The judge wouldn't allow me to say anything. When I tried to speak, the judge would speak, telling me about my life and situation. I never got to defend myself against the incompetence charge. I was told there would be another hearing, but I wasn't invited to attend. My life was moving at a fast forward speed, and I wasn't being included. I was told. I had no input.

My doctor care was not to my advantage. The doctor was not available for all but two of my doctor sessions. His fill-ins were kind and open to my input. When the time came for the doctor to write a report on my mental state, he gave erroneous information because he had not talked with any of his replacement doctors. I was, however, cleared to go home without a guardian.

Instead, I was transported to a dementia facility where I was incarcerated for 18 months.

In orde3r to leave the facility the patient had to be3 accompanied by a family member or friend. I had neither. One of the staff would go with me to the convenience store next door to buy Monsters, sodas, and cigarettes when I needed to go and they had the time. I had gone to Walmart with one of the staff members. We walked the store, and I picked up a few clothes and toiletries that I needed. My $400.00 was half gone. I didn't know if or when I would get more money.