Category Archives: Elms Haven in Thornton

Am I supposed to celebrate or cry instead?

I’m wondering how I might do as a panhandler on a corner of nearby 120th Ave. here in Thornton, CO. There’s a McDonald’s and a King Soopers within walking distance, and maybe a little extra cash would make life more pleasant.

I’ll have to think about it . . .


Looney Tune update:

I wonder what that stupid social services director, who believed Floyd’s false accusation that I stole his breakfast tray, has to say now . . . I’ll be alone at my meeting with staff next Wednesday afternoon, because the state ombudsman will be unavailable then, but I’m no longer apprehensive about it. I’m going to demand an apology from this [rhymes with “witch”], after I ask her point-blank if she’s a black racist who hates old white guys like me.


From Twitter:

Every morning at Hungry Asylum, soon after I arise about 6AM, I go online looking for interesting stories and commentaries. Seems I hit the jackpot this morning! (One of the best ideas I’ve ever had was suggesting to the Activities Dept. here that they should purchase a laptop for the use of residents; turns out I’m about the only one who wants it.)


Trazodone Man returns to Hungry Asylum

And, right on schedule, I’m getting a whiff of diarrhea from his side of the room as I type. At least, he didn’t poop himself during his eye exam . . .


My roommate’s ‘field trip’

It’s the most hardworking, capable CNA (who is apparently quite strong despite being skinny as a rail) dressing, grooming, and otherwise preparing this loser as I’m writing this post, and I’m having to endure the stench of his third fit of diarrhea since early this morning. I’m not telling him it’s possibly the trazodone causing it, since his theory of lactose intolerance has been debunked; he’s been off any dairy products for days, is still crapping like a goose, and it was never plausible that he’d suddenly discover his bad reaction to milk at age 66. Maybe when he suffers the profound embarrassment of crapping while the eye doctor is doing the exam he’ll become more motivated to seek a solution . . .

When he gets back here, the physical therapists (who have been anxious to get hold of him for the past two days, but he’s BSed his way out of it so far) fully intend to roll him down to the gym and make him work, to whatever limited extent he truly can. It’s one of the mysteries I haven’t figured out in the nursing home setting: Why do some residents want to do nothing for either mind or body, and simply vegetate until they croak? Depression? Okay, but my roommate is taking the antidepressant trazodone, hence his nickname of Trazodone Man.

I’m going to enjoy being by myself for a short time, window wide open for fresh air!


More drama from Trazodone Man

He thinks that the surgeon who apparently botched his back surgery will make a house call to see him here. (Chances of that are slim and none, and Slim has left town.) If this is really medical malpractice, he ought to call a trial attorney who will gladly make a visit to Hungry Asylum (and likely pass out business cards to all of the crippled residents).

I’m not offering any advice . . .


Dinner at Hungry Asylum

None of the outside contractor’s food service workers at Hungry Asylum would last as long as a week at McDonald’s. I ate better living at my homeless campsite with no open fires, frequently dining on cold canned soup or spaghetti, sandwiches, and cookies.

In my experience, hospital food is excellent and there’s plenty of it. BUT, nursing home food seems as scarce and bland as what you’d find in a Third World refugee camp.