The Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen, 83¼ Years Old
I have booked us for 13 September.
Sunday, 11 August
Tomorrow I’m picking up my brand-new red scooter. I’m as excited as a little kid.
Yesterday Grietje presented me with a big bunch of flowers and a gift voucher for a book. When I asked what I had done to deserve it she showed me a booklet about dementia, in which she had underlined the following sentence: ‘The illness will make someone with dementia barely able to appreciate all you are doing for him or her.’
‘I’m thanking you in advance.’
‘That’s not necessary.’
‘No, it isn’t necessary, but I’m doing it anyway.’
I was very touched.
She also gave me the booklet ‘Caring for Alzheimer’s’ to keep. I have read it and learned several useful new tips.
I wasn’t the only one to receive a gift from Grietje. I found that out when I had tea with Eefje.
Our teatime tête-à-têtes are lovely interludes. Nothing fancy: a cup of tea, a nibble, some pleasant chit-chat and sometimes something a bit deeper. Another time we’ll listen to music or discuss a book or DVD. We enjoy each other’s company very much.
Monday, 12 August
I just picked up my new scooter and rode it home. Chuffed as a boy with a new bike. It rides beautifully. I tried it out in the park; took my time. Up the kerb, off the kerb, sharp left, sharp right. Accelerate; brake. I drove on the grass, then through the mud. It was Monday morning, so there wasn’t a soul about. It already goes at quite a clip, but I want to get it souped up a little more. According to our scooter expert here, Mr Hoogdalen, that’s a simple thing to do. He and I have made a date to drive over to his son’s garage on the East Side next week.
I have started looking up ideas for senior travel in the papers and on the Internet. There are a great many offerings. Tip-Top Elder Travel organizes a twelve-day coach tour to Switzerland for €2,000. I presume that ‘tip-top’ refers to the price. Ours will have to be shorter, and cheaper. In the next few weeks I will endeavour to find out what a luxury eight-passenger minibus and driver would cost for a five-day trip. Then all that’s left is to dig up an attractively priced hotel in Champagne, and Old But Not Dead’s first holiday abroad is a go.
I’ll ask Eefje to help me organize it.
Something exciting to look forward to is crucial to keep up one’s zest for life.
Tuesday, 13 August
News from the royal House of Orange, whether happy or sad, always brings out the monarchist ardour in here. Prince Friso’s passing has resulted in much sincere sorrow among the residents, although surely relief would be a more reasonable response – he had spent the past two and a half years in a coma. I wouldn’t want to wish that on anyone, to be kept alive for years when you’re as good as dead anyway.
This morning I went to the geriatrician. First I asked him what the symptoms of Alzheimer’s were, and what was to be done about it. The answer wasn’t very encouraging: almost nothing.
The doctor said that as far as he could tell, I shouldn’t worry about it just yet, so I explained that I was asking on behalf of a close friend. The measures he suggested were largely the ones we have already put in place. That’s rather satisfying to know.
Then he examined me and concluded that in my case the decline ‘is progressing at a tolerable pace’.
‘What’s tolerable?’ I asked.
‘Well, a very gradual downhill slide, meaning that the quality of life will probably be perfectly adequate for a few more years.’
Then he again advised me to start wearing nappies.
I asked him for his opinion on the quality of life for a nappy-wearing old crock.
He knew people who wore nappies and were ‘quite happy in spite of it’.
Next he checked the state of various worn joints (‘not much to be done about that’) and finally he went over the list of medicines, making some minor adjustments here and there.
I swallowed three times, then asked what he thought about euthanasia.
He said he wasn’t against it, but that he wasn’t vocal about it.
‘But can I count on your cooperation if, after giving it much thought, I decide to put an end to it?’ There, the question was out.
He hesitated a moment, nodding thoughtfully.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then he proposed saving a lengthier discussion about it for my next visit. ‘These are questions that need more time.’
I forgot to ask him how the elderly react to cocaine. I wouldn’t mind trying it, once.
Wednesday, 14 August
An old man has drowned after driving his mobility scooter right into the Princess Margriet Canal at Kootstertille. Let that be a warning to you, Groen! Don’t kid yourself you’re Niki Lauda and can just tear about at full throttle all the time.
Yesterday afternoon I toured North Amsterdam on my new Ferrari. Saw parts of my hometown I hadn’t been to in years. It feels like such a reprieve, not to be tied down to a limited walking distance, or to be hostage to the bus schedule. I should have done this a couple of years ago. I do have to be on my guard, because the danger could come from any direction, but it’s mainly motorbikes and bicycles I have to watch out for. Cars, strangely enough, are less of a problem, and pedestrians are easy to avoid. But you have to keep an eye out for those young whippersnappers on their bikes or scooters, for they think they’re the kings of the bicycle path. Scorn for mobility scooters is etched all too clearly on their impudent mugs.
I do have to go out and buy some rain gear soon. Yesterday I had to shelter beneath an underpass for fifteen minutes because I had set out wearing just a summer jacket, and got caught in a heavy downpour. The trick is to stay calm and wait until it’s over, and not run out of patience after five minutes only to get soaked after all.
The same phenomenon applies to crossing the road: first you wait calmly for anything and anyone that comes moseying along, and then, if it’s taking too long, you get impatient and step out just when it’s truly dangerous to do so.
Thursday, 15 August
Our home has seen the birth of an AAP.
‘The old people in this country are about to be victimized by the Cut-baks [sic] in all areas of Care overseen by locale [sic] authorities. Which is why we have set up a chapter of the Amsterdam Aged Party (AAP) to stand up for our locale [sic] rights.’
If the number of spelling mistakes is an indication of the calibre of this group, we’re in for a rare old time.
Mr Krol and Mr Nagel of 50Plus aren’t inclined to put their party forward in the March 2014 local council elections. They can already see it coming: a rabble of opportunistic, incompetent grandpas and grandmas running riot through the country’s council chambers. They’re not about to let that happen to their party.
Our AAP chapter’s number-one objective: more benches for the elderly to rest on.
The 50Plus party could grow into a powerful lobby if it wanted to. It can count on the support of a great multitude of angry, piss-poor seventy-plussers. They’re the ones providing the strength in numbers. The party’s leaders and organizers, however, come from the political elite, aged from fifty to sixty-five, which is now in charge. Surely there must be some among them who wouldn’t mind advocating for the needs of their elderly constituents? Even if only out of sheer boredom?
A nation’s level of civilization can be measured by the way it treats its oldest and weakest citizens. The short-sighted and disrespectful way elderly care is being slashed in the Netherlands is creating a fertile breeding ground for grey-haired populism. We live in one of the richest countries in the world, but again and again the message is: your care is unaffordable.
Friday, 16 August
My mobility scooter and I have had a close encounter with some bushes.
After supper I went for a little spin in the park. Gazing about, I beheld at least twenty rabbits peacefully feasting on the grass. As I swivelled my eyes back at the path, I spotted a baby rabbit less than a metre fr
om my front wheel. My reflexes must still be pretty good, because a second later I found myself stuck fast in a tangle of branches. After checking for rabbit remains beneath my wheels, I managed to carefully back my scooter out of the bushes. With the kind assistance of an elegant lady on her bicycle, who was more shaken than I was.
I also had a coffee with Anja in her office yesterday. Staying on top of all the new developments is keeping her on her toes. There have been a great many meetings about the remodelling. The Board is considering turning one wing into a nursing home – our growth market, shall we say. Anja also heard something about yet another hefty expense-account raise for our director. Although to my way of thinking she already looks expensive enough in those smart pastel business suits of hers.
Our next club outing is Monday. Departure 13:00 hours. Leisurewear. Group leader: Eefje.
‘It’s something that’s typically me,’ is the brain-teaser she’s given us.
It is high time we had some excitement around here.
Saturday, 17 August
Sixty-four per cent of the elderly believe in the right to end their lives in a humane manner once they have had enough. Fourteen per cent think their life has quite run its course. Most important reasons for wanting out: fear of losing one’s marbles, and fear of intensifying pain and misery. This research courtesy of the MAX Broadcasting Company.
So, statistically speaking, approximately one in seven inhabitants of this home have no problem with the Grim Reaper coming for them. But looking round the circle at elevenses, I couldn’t tell you with any certainty who that might be.
There’s a new house rule: residents are no longer allowed to use the stairs unless they’ve obtained express permission from the staff. Last week Mrs Stuiver fell down the stairs and broke her collarbone, so that’s the reason. (When I heard, I remember thinking: just her collarbone, it could have been a lot worse.)
Rules, supposedly, are always for our own good. But of course they’re first and foremost a means of avoiding risk and preventing lawsuits.
Perhaps Mrs Stuiver would have done better to take the lift, but she’d been walking up and down four flights of stairs every day for the past five years, to keep fit. And as long as Mrs Stuiver isn’t senile or demented, shouldn’t it be her own business? The staff should just make sure the staircase isn’t strewn with banana peel.
Sunday, 18 August
More on that protocol for deceased residents:
One of the provisos is that the cause of death is not to be made public. Employees are to refer any questions to either the attending physician or the management. Who will then refer the question back to one another. If someone continues to insist, he is to be told that for reasons of privacy, the cause of death cannot be made public. Any hint at suicide is strictly verboten.
The protocol also says that the family must be tactfully reminded to clear out the room of the departed one as expeditiously as possible.
Management must make sure that nothing is stolen. That’s news to me. Apparently belongings have disappeared in the past.
I know that inmates sometimes make promises to carers, along the lines of ‘When I die you can have this or that.’ That’s a sure-fire way to set up a flaming row amongst your heirs.
I haven’t discovered any requirement in the protocol for staff to attend funerals or cremations if these fall within working hours. I thought there was. On the contrary, in fact: staff are not given leave to attend funerals. If they choose to do so, it’s in their spare time.
Right, I think that’s quite enough about death for a Sunday morning.
Monday, 19 August
I’ve already taken my scooter out for a run this morning. A quiet run, since one of the nicest aspects of this transportation method is that it makes hardly any noise. Also, it’s a comfortable ride. On smooth asphalt it feels as if you’re floating. I drove through the Vliegenbos (‘Forest of flies’), which owes its name not to a swarm of flies but to a certain Mr W. H. Vliegen, who was such a big shot that he had a whole forest named after him. It’s been ten years since I was there last. It was well kept, and a good place to practise my steering, because there wasn’t a soul to run into – well, except rabbits. I did scratch the paint a little by taking a turn a tad too sharply. I’ve already got plenty of dents and scrapes, so I needn’t worry about keeping the chassis pristine. I do have to take it a bit easy; off-road, my motor-scooter isn’t at her best.
I asked Eefje if she’d ever consider riding one.
‘No, it’s not for me. I’m happy to go out with you, but not on one of those things.’
A pity.
But never mind. I have to get dressed for this afternoon’s outing. Leisurewear.
We have nothing but leisure, although not all that much leisurewear. Or are the clothes you wear when you have nothing but leisure automatically ‘leisurewear’?
Tuesday, 20 August
Even though I had forgotten to take along an extra incontinence pad, yesterday was a good day.
Eefje had told us that the outing was something close to her heart. In hindsight I should have guessed that our amateur ornithologist would be taking us to the bird park, Avifauna. And although I’m not particularly keen on birds (the way they peer out of their beady little eyes seems a bit shifty and mean to me), I still had a great time. Evert was back on old form, announcing the way he would prepare each species of bird for cooking, as well as the best wine to have with it. Antoine would then very earnestly propose a culinary alternative. Antoine and Ria can be a bit naïve, and don’t always know when someone’s pulling their leg. They’re good sports about it, though.
Eefje refused to be put off her stride, and was enraptured by her feathered friends.
Grietje got lost only once or twice, and didn’t seem particularly troubled about it.
Edward stood there beaming when he was given a special glove to put on in order to hold a falcon, and Graeme was just – Graeme.
After the tour guide was finished with us, we had refreshments and a boat ride through the green heartland of Holland, with more drinks on board.
We got home just in time for dinner.
Wednesday, 21 August
It still astonishes me how envy rules the roost in here. Returning from a successful outing, we’re given a predominantly cool, even icy, reception by our fellow residents. The thought that others have had more fun than them is, for many, hard to accept. So today we see lots of pursed lips again.
Our Old But Not Dead Club finds itself growing more and more isolated. Being the common enemy creates an extra-tight bond; but enmity is contagious. If you’re not careful it won’t be long before you find yourself detesting ‘the rest of them’.
The staff deal with dissension like nursery-school teachers attempting to keep the peace. ‘Mr Duiker, can’t you try being a bit nicer to Miss Slothouwer? Come, won’t you sit down here? Why don’t we all have a nice cup of coffee together?’
‘I’d rather ram a ginger biscuit down her throat and watch her suffocate in drawn-out agony,’ I can just hear Evert thinking. Evert doesn’t really belong in the ‘good-natured’ category.
Just so that you don’t think this place is a complete snake-pit: there are also kind, courteous and compassionate people in here. Although they’re not usually the ones you notice.
Thursday, 22 August
I wouldn’t like to have to play Ludo with Mr Bakker’s son. He’s even more of a boorish ignoramus than his father.
The Vierstroom care home is telling incoming residents’ family members that they are ‘morally obliged’ to perform at least four hours’ worth of chores a month. The kind of chores Vierstroom has in mind is taking residents for walks, playing games or engaging in conversation with them. God save me from perfect strangers who feel obliged to chat with us and so transparently barrage us with feigned interest. Loneliness can sometimes feel even worse when you’re with other people.
The compulsory volunteerism test also demonstrates that there
are some family members who, once invited in, just won’t leave. One out of three residents involved in the experiment had a relative who spent more than twenty-eight hours prowling the halls. If one of those volunteers latched on to me, and it was someone I couldn’t stand, I’d volunteer to throw myself under a bus.
I don’t know why they only ask the new residents to supply the family aides. Maybe they’re afraid of being engulfed in a flood of volunteers otherwise.
Our director Mrs Stelwagen hasn’t shown her face down here very much lately. Anja reports she’s been called to lots of meetings with her superiors. Anja hasn’t managed to find out why. The reports and memos seem to have stopped coming her way.
Friday, 23 August
I’ve had a traffic ticket! For jumping a red light on my scooter. It turned out that I was being tailed by a policeman on a mountain bike. The cop didn’t accept my argument that since I was only going 6kph and making a right turn, I posed no danger to myself or others. ‘Red is red!’ he said, adding with a touch of pride in his voice, ‘I think you are the oldest person I have ever stopped and booked.’ His patrol partner stood there looking a bit uncomfortable. This wasn’t a collar he’d be boasting about at parties. ‘Doesn’t your colleague have anything better to do?’ I couldn’t help asking him. No, he did not.
Evert almost fell out of his chair laughing when I told him. The entire home knows about it by now. I am either a hero or a hooligan; opinions are divided.
Tuesday is Grietje’s outing. She’s had Graeme looking over her shoulder, since she’s worried about making mistakes. She has been rather muddled about time and place lately, and her judgement does leave something to be desired. Last week, in anticipation of a visit from her sister and niece, she came home with two kilos’ worth of assorted biscuits. She must have mixed up kilos and ounces; two ounces should be more than enough for three people. She did think it was rather a large bag, and a bit expensive, but the lady at the bakery had acted as if two kilos of assorted biscuits wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.