The board consists, not coincidentally, of the four most stubborn inhabitants of this institution. With a bit of luck, all four will be re-elected and there won’t be an outing next year either.
I did go along to one of their outings a few years ago. A day-trip to Aachen, in Germany. On the way there, we stopped in Eindhoven for a mattress demonstration; in Aachen we sat through a German version of a Tupperware party; and on the return trip, stopping in Eindhoven again, a man in a white lab coat talked us into buying a vitamin tonic that was supposed to make you live to a hundred. If you died before that, you could ask for your money back.
One hour for pottering about in Aachen, three hours set aside for the obligatory tea breaks, and six hours’ coach-sitting, all at a cost of €22.50 per person. One lady, God rest her soul, bought a thousand euros’ worth of stuff that day, including a lovely incontinence mattress. There were ATM machines everywhere for her convenience.
On the way back Mrs Schaap, who thinks she has a lovely voice, captured the microphone and tormented us with songs from her golden-oldie repertoire for an hour. To be fair, many of our party enthusiastically joined in.
Wednesday, 16 October
Eva to the rescue! Since human help is getting too expensive and too scarce (what were those unemployment numbers again?), Eva is to be our tea lady in future. Eva is a robot developed by the engineers at the University of Delft. In the picture she looks more like a cross between a treadmill and an old-fashioned balance scale than an Eva. With a mouth shaped like a letterbox and two black blotches resembling eyes, or rather, eyebrows. Her speciality is light home care, and she can even show some emotion, her developers claim. Tinny laughter? Real tears? It doesn’t say.
I hope I am dead by the time they’ve replaced all the nurses with robots to save money. If I’m still alive, I can picture myself removing a screw or two. Evert has vowed to mow down as many robots as he can with his wheelchair ‘by accident’. It would make a great film, wouldn’t it.
Old people make less adrenaline and dopamine, the compounds responsible for butterflies in the stomach and heart palpitations. But being in love isn’t about the quantity of hormones your body produces as much as the relative upswing in those hormones. In the elderly, that hormone surge can be just as great. Says the newspaper. Which might explain why, when Eefje is near, I always find myself starting to stammer and stutter a bit.
Thursday, 17 October
‘Anything a doctor does for us in here amounts to palliative care, really, let’s not kid ourselves,’ was Evert’s contribution to the discussion about the GP in the village of Tuitjenhorn who may have been a bit too generous with the morphine.
‘Well, at least it’s put Tuitjenhorn back on the map,’ said Graeme.
Opinions about the doctor’s treatment by the police were mixed. Many in here remain staunchly in the straight-and-narrow, Christian mind-set about euthanasia. But everyone did agree that there was no reason to arrest the kind-hearted doctor (which I’ll assume he was, until evidence proves otherwise) in the dead of night and interrogate him for hours. Surely it can’t have been that urgent.
Incidents such as this, mark my words, will make doctors hesitant to give their patients morphine, no matter how much pain they’re in. They’ll be too afraid that a patient will die as a result – and of course there’s a good chance of that happening in the case of the very old – and they will be held responsible. An aspirin tends not to do the trick any more.
Mr Bakker, this home’s biggest pain in the neck, ran his Canta through the car wash but forgot to close his window. He went to push the window button, but it was too late, he was already sitting inside an aquarium. We split our sides laughing when the porter told us. He’d seen Bakker come in drenched from head to toe.
Friday, 18 October
‘I’ve just about had it with all the reports about breakthroughs in Alzheimer’s treatment!’ said Grietje. ‘It’s mustard after the meal.’
But she remains chipper in spite of everything, gleefully confessing to leaving her slippers under her pillow and her pyjamas under the bed. And she often has trouble remembering what she’s supposed to be doing or where she’s going. ‘The loo isn’t a problem yet. The day I forget what I’m doing in there, it’ll be time for me to move to the other side.’
We’re having another Old But Not Dead Club excursion next Monday – it’s about time! The organizer: Edward. He is busy sowing confusion with contradictory dress codes and constantly changing departure times. It wasn’t really his turn, but he wanted to have this particular date. Expectations are running high.
Yet more good news: our cook, the blandest, most tasteless, no-salt cook in the Netherlands, has been given the sack. For reasons not made public, but rumour has it that he was too liberal with the wine. Not in the food, you understand.
The Residents’ Association board has asked to be included in the search committee for a new cook. All four board members. There’s not a chance in hell their request will be granted, but they couldn’t agree on whom to send as their representative.
Saturday, 19 October
When the US finds itself in financial difficulties, and the Republicans want to shut down the coffers of the Treasury, we are prepared to offer an impartial opinion on the subject.
‘If America’s going broke, they’ll need a good bailiff,’ Mrs Blokker suggested.
‘If it comes to that, they may need more than one good bailiff,’ Graeme muttered, adding theatrically, ‘Help, we’re sitting in a rickety little boat about to pitch over the edge of a waterfall, and nobody’s doing a damn thing about it!’ Graeme is a great fan of the late, great thespian Ko van Dijk: he likes to lay it on a bit thick. He usually follows it up with a broad wink at Eefje or Grietje, or if they’re not available, at me.
‘Ah yes, we live in uncertain times,’ I chip in. ‘Life is a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle with no template to follow.’ Not bad either, even if I say so myself.
There’s no point counting on the so-called experts, anyway. They are mainly good at prognosticating in hindsight. Not a single Eastern-bloc specialist ever gave advance warning that the Wall would be coming down. Not a single economist foresaw the banking crisis. Perhaps mankind is too stupid and too irrational to make accurate predictions. If that is so, then why not get rid of all the so-called ‘experts’ hogging the airtime on the talk shows?
Be that as it may, every discussion we have here comes down in the end to one incontrovertible truth: we probably won’t be around to see it!
Tuesday, 22 October
Some time in the early hours of Sunday, Eefje had a serious stroke, presumably in her sleep. She is almost totally paralysed and unable to speak.
The nurse who found her on Sunday morning called for an ambulance, and she was rushed to the hospital. She’s in intensive care.
Her daughter was with her on Sunday.
Monday afternoon she was allowed to have a very short visit from non-relatives. I went to see her with leaden feet. It was dreadful. The only thing she can do is shake her head almost imperceptibly, yes or no. Judging from the way she reacted to my questions, her mind seems to be clear. She is in great pain.
I held her hand until she nodded off into a fitful sleep.
Then the nurse said I had to leave. I asked her to tell Eefje I would come again the next day. That’s later today.
Thursday, 24 October
Four days since Eefje’s stroke, and there’s very little improvement. She is able to make some sounds, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. She is out of intensive care and is in a regular hospital ward.
She can swallow again, so she’s able to sip through a straw, but it clearly takes a lot of effort.
She is visibly losing weight. And she weighed barely fifty kilos even before she had the stroke.
When I visit her she’s almost always asleep. If she wakes up, she seems to be happy to see me. Her eyes light up briefly, but after a few seconds they??
?re back to looking so tired and sad that it brings tears to my eyes every time. Then I have to look away, so as not to add to her sadness.
I usually sit and hold her hand for fifteen to twenty minutes, until she dozes off again. There’s no need to talk.
Yesterday we spent an hour playing billiards, but our hearts weren’t in it.
‘There’s no point,’ Evert remarked. ‘If you’re just going to stand about with long faces I might as well stay in my room. I’d rather stare at my own crotchety face.’
He was right; I said I was sorry. After that we did play a bit better.
Friday, 25 October
The founding of the Old But Not Dead Club ushered in a period of new-found joy. It now seems that it may have been happiness’s last gasp.
Evert disabled, Grietje demented and Eefje a basket case. That’s a blow from which a club with only eight members cannot recover, no matter how many glasses of good wine you enjoy together.
We are all doing our best to be there for one another; it’s quite touching. It gives me some strength to carry on.
Two of us go to the hospital every day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, and we also see to it that Grietje and Evert receive whatever help they need. We’re all constantly working on bucking each other up. But it’s optimism that goes against our better judgement.
I try to write every day. That keeps me sane to a certain extent. Besides that I read the paper, watch a bit of TV, sit at the window, drink tea. You can’t get any more geriatric than that, I know, but I don’t know where I would find the energy for anything else just now.
Saturday, 26 October
I have always criticized those residents who do nothing but moan and complain. Now it’s my turn. Hendrik Groen, do yourself a favour, and the others too while you’re at it, and give yourself a good kick up the bottom.
The first outcome of that kick: I’ve asked Edward to arrange, at short notice, another outing to take the place of the one that was cancelled last Monday. After thinking it over, he said he would take care of it.
That was the first little step on the way back up.
Our lawyer Victor informs us, in writing, that the Board of Directors has promised to supply the information we request by 1 June of next year at the latest.
Stelwagen is aware that she no longer has much to fear from us. Time is on her side, no matter what.
Finding me in the corridor, she asked solicitously after my lady-friend. She had heard there wasn’t much improvement. She sincerely hoped Eefje would be able to continue to live independently, but she wasn’t very optimistic.
‘Her room will soon have to be cleared out, I suppose?’ I couldn’t help muttering.
Oh no, there was no need for that yet, not at all, the middle of November at the earliest, if that. I do think Stelwagen’s sympathy for Eefje and myself is genuine. But only as far as it’s ‘in the interests of the organization’.
Sunday, 27 October
Yesterday I had a ‘conference’ with Eefje and her daughter, Hanneke. I was there at Hanneke’s express request; she said her mother wanted me to be there. I had never met Eefje’s daughter before. She’s a dear, but lives in Roermond with three children, a husband and a job, so it’s hard for her to get away.
The hospital has informed us that Eefje is to be discharged, and will have to be sent elsewhere for rehabilitation. Rehabilitation sounds hopeful, but according to the doctor the chance that she will make a sufficient recovery to live by herself again is as good as nil.
We sat by her bed. Hanneke asked questions. Eefje nodded yes or shook her head no.
To sum it up succinctly: she doesn’t want to go into a nursing home; she wants to die in peace. She has a written declaration somewhere saying she does not want to go on living in a case such as this. She told Hanneke the same thing while still in good health. She just doesn’t know where that declaration is.
I have never seen eyes looking as hopeless and miserable as hers.
Tomorrow we have an appointment with the consultant.
I have promised myself I will report on at least one positive or funny thing every day.
This morning seventeen old people sat in church for an hour complaining that the vicar was late. They had forgotten to set their clocks back – it’s the end of Daylight Saving Time!
Monday, 28 October
The consultant heard us out. We told him life has become an unbearable burden for Eefje. That she possesses a signed declaration stating that should she become totally dependent on others, she does not wish to go on living.
The doctor asked if he could see that declaration.
We had to admit that we hadn’t managed to find it yet.
‘I don’t want to give you any false hope; even with a signed living will, in this hospital we will not take any steps to end Mrs Brand’s life. I advise you to consult her GP.’
Now there’s an interesting twist to the ongoing debate in here about that GP in Tuitjenhorn who first euthanized a patient and then himself!
For the teatime conversation to jump from euthanasia to the controversy over Black Piet is but a small leap. Black Piet enjoys many faithful fans in here. Every year there’s great hilarity over which of the ladies Piet will invite to come and sit on his lap. They have been known to fight over the honour. It’s always the same Black Piet and St Nicholas that come here. Our St Nick is actually more than ready for a rollator himself, but last year he managed to hobble to his festooned chair propped up by a stout attendant and his bishop’s staff. In real life Black Piet is head of cleaning services here. He’s the only Piet I know who wears pink rubber gloves and carries the goodies in a cleaning bucket. He doesn’t strew the sweets on the floor as is customary, out of respect for his colleagues. No one in here can bend down to pick them up without risking a fall anyway.
Tuesday, 29 October
Code Red yesterday, wind force 10. Nobody went outside. Every storm inevitably brings up the old saw about stubborn old Mrs Gravenbeek, who was blown into the canal in 1987 and sadly drowned.
‘And she’d been expressly warned, too!’
I let the scooter stand idle for a day. Flying is easy; the problem is in the landing.
Spent yesterday afternoon searching for Eefje’s living will. We didn’t find it. Her daughter and I combed through ten folders comprising the sum total of an entire life. I felt awkward having to handle all sorts of private papers and letters. I passed the most private ones to Hanneke at first, but she found them even harder to deal with than I did. So I scanned them as quickly as possible to see if there was anything in them about ending her life.
After two hours I had to stop.
I went over to Evert’s for a shoulder to cry on. In a manner of speaking; I didn’t mean to literally, but a few tears escaped nonetheless.
Evert brought out a twenty-year-old whisky that he saved ‘for special occasions’. He also ordered a takeaway and put on an old comedy DVD for us to watch.
Afterwards I did feel a bit better.
Wednesday, 30 October
‘You are born, you die, and the rest is just marking time’ (James Joyce).
I must try to draw a few ounces of strength from somewhere so that I may stand by the dearest friend I have in the world, to be of support to her in her terrible plight. That’s a sensible way to mark time.
In practice, lending support to Eefje consists of holding her hand every day for half an hour, and trying to think of what is left to say.
She is barely making progress. They are moving her to the nursing floor on Friday. We haven’t been able to find the living will that says she doesn’t want to go on living once she’s incapacitated.
We decided the most poignant photograph of the storm damage was the one showing the capsized Chips Ahoy!!! snack bar on wheels bobbing in the waves at Lauwersoog.
When it comes to storms, we have front-row seats in here behind the geraniums. Mr Bakker, sitting at the window in his armchair on the fifth floor, cou
nted six toppled trees, two car crashes and three near-accidents. What a day!
Over coffee I heard the following rationale: when they introduced the euro, everything suddenly cost twice as much; so conceivably, a return to the guilder will automatically make everything twice as cheap.
I have an even simpler solution to fix the economy: let the banks shift every decimal point one digit to the right. Nothing really changes, but everyone is suddenly ten times richer. Spending goes up, the economy grows exponentially, problem solved.
Thursday, 31 October
Mrs Van Diemen is considering a facelift.
‘What’s the plastic surgeon supposed to do with all the extra double chins?’ Evert asked straight-faced.
‘Maybe he can give them to someone else,’ said Van Diemen. She seems a bit out of her depth these days, and well on her way to the locked ward.
Another resident, Mr De Wijs, is changing banks for the third time. He started out at the Postbank, then took his money to ABN AMRO, and finally the Rabobank; and now even that bank’s no good. ‘Can anyone recommend a bank where my money will be safe?’ he asked as we were having our coffees. He was met with blank stares. Someone offered to keep his money for him in the meantime. Under the sofa.
An initiative that has been welcomed here by many residents: a last will and testament drawn up for you by the high-street shop Hema. ‘It’s so reasonable!’ Many of the inmates are leery of solicitors – and I can’t blame them, considering what the profession charges for just a few pieces of paper – but they have great faith in Hema. Two residents, who had to go anyway because they were out of sausages, decided they might as well pick up a will while they were there. They were greatly disappointed to learn you can only do it on the Internet.