The fourteen days spent in recovery at the nearby Seniors Retirement Residence was quite an eye opener, renewing my determination NOT to become a permanent resident during my advanced years. But I suppose if I was really in my dotage, I probably wouldn't mind the lifestyle.
The staff were very attentive, bringing me toast and coffee every morning, and assisting me and my trusty walker on the slow roll to the dining room for lunch and dinner every day. I had help in washing my hair and showering... no modesty here!
Clean towels and housekeeping every day, nurses on call 24 hours, they could not do enough for me. And there were all sorts of entertainment and activities available if I had felt like taking part. One evening I shared a table with 3 white-haired nonagenarians and we had a fine time colouring pages from an adult colouring book. It was fun!
Of course, the residents were 80% widows, and only 20% widowers.... be warned, men! You're going to pop your clogs first!
It was a bit like being at a geriatric boarding school.... lots of cliques, and groups of friends who seemed to criticise other groups. I often occupied an empty chair at the dinner table with 3 lovely ladies: Ethel, Mildred and Mary (names have been changed to protect the innocent). The three of them were merciless in criticism of the usual occupant of my dinner seat, who was visiting her son. Then one day the missing lady showed up, and I have to admit, I agreed with them!
Oh no, I'm turning into one of them!