For Whom the Nursing Home Tolls

Marquel, TPVs NYTimes Old People Ain’t Worth Shit Section correspondent, was searching the web to buy Depends with Bible verses printed on them, when he stopped and read To Collect Debts, Nursing Homes Are Seizing Control Over Patients.  A New York State statute to protect the infirm has become a routine tool for nursing homes to ensure bills are paid.

Marquel was told the legislation was special interest lobbying by the nursing homes. Sheldon Silver helped ram it through the state legislature and, of course, governor Cuomo signed it when Sheldon sent him a message to do so, from the Federal lockup.

Marquel went to St. Mary’s Home to see how this was working. Sister Mary met me.

“What do you do with residents who have difficulty paying?” Marquel asked.

“We have several things we do. We don’t just throw someone out.” She said.

“I’ve heard you don’t throw anyone out,” I said.

“Oh, that’s true,” she said, smiling and taking my hand. “We do things in stages, to spare the residents any discomfort, as St. Mary has dictated.”

“What are those stages?” I asked.

“Here is the dining room. The two last tables,”she said, pointing, ” are for those behind in their payments.”

I went to the two tables and on each was a place card that said, “DEADBEATS.”

“That seems awfully cruel,” I said.

“No, I think not,” she said. “The Lord has told us to be true and honest so we can’t deny it or lie.”

“Did he say to put a card on old people’s tables?” I asked.

“The Lord said, ‘Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.‘ Corinthians. We are teaching love.”

“I don’t think those people at that table feel love,” I said.

“They will when they pay.” She said, smiling and squeezing my hand.

“You said stages.” I reminded her.

“Yes that’s the first stage. Thirty days arrears.” She said.

“What happens if it goes to sixty days?” I asked.

“Come with me,” she said, still holding my hand tightly and smiling broadly.

We came to a locked door. She opened the door with what looked to be an antique key, large, black, and filled with decorative elements, but it fit, turned, and the door opened. It looked just like another hospital ward. Except all the people lined in wheelchairs up against the walls of the corridor were dressed in black and white striped suits and had chained to each a big black ball on the ground.

“Why you’ve got them in balls and chains,” I protested. “That’s really cruel!” I exclaimed.

“You’re overreacting,” she said, “they’re all in wheelchairs so it makes no difference. When we wheel them, we put the ball in their laps. It’s less than a pound. It’s the symbolism.”

“But…but….” I sputtered.

“Now, now. ‘And these will go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.‘ Matthew. ” She said.

“That doesn’t look like eternal life.” I said.

“If they pay…” She started.

“Yes,” I interrupted, “if they pay they will. So what about the third stage?”

“Well that’s more complicated. In that stage, and this was given to us by that blessed, and persecuted, Sheldon Silver, we are appointed their guardians ad litem. We can then seize all their bank accounts, their retirement funds, their social security, sell all their property, and evict all their tenants if they happen to be allowing their family, say grand children or other moochers, to stay at below market rentals.” She said, still smiling, but with her eyes cast up to the heavens.

“And what happens to the residents?” I asked.

Still holding my hand, she led me through the second stage to a third stage which looked the same as the second. Wheelchairs, chains, balls. “What’s different?” I asked.

“Look at the TV,” she said.

I watched for quite a while. It turned out it was an endless tape. It was Hillary Clinton explaining one thing after another in a rather supercilious tone guaranteed to offend anyone.

I went up to a resident whose eyes were on the TV, and asked, “Did they take all your money?”

A single tear dropped from her eye and she nodded. I asked, “Did they evict your family?” Another tear, another nod. I put my hand on her head and kissed her cheek. “God bless,” was all I could say.

She motioned with her fingers and I put my ear to her lips. Her voice was guttural and raspy. “Please dear God get that whore off the television.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

Sister Mary still had my hand and led me away towards the exit.

“Ecclesiastes, ‘Better not to vow than to vow and not pay.‘ “She said instead of saying good bye.

I couldn’t help it but I lost it. “Bullshit,” I said, “you’re doing the devil’s work and Shelley Silver is going to jail for ten. He’s lucky compared to you. Your term will be eternity.” I waved.

She gave me the finger.

***

By MARQUEL: For Whom the Nursing Home Tolls