Welcome?

My Mom was moved to a hospice yesterday and, although I promised myself I wasn't going to post about her anymore, I feel the need to vent here. My first experience with her new surroundings was not at all pleasant/reassuring, as I'd hoped. I try and take the positive out of everything these days because if I don't I'll be totally consumed with this negativity, so I'd looked forward to seeing her in her new home. That was quickly quashed.

I worked yesterday and after work Dad was waiting outside to meet me, visibly shaken/concerned. Although he didn't elaborate much, he reported that the hospice was "not going to be the right place for Mom". I thought perhaps he was just having a hard time adjusting to the change and missing her at home. But I quickly learned for myself why he felt that way.

I went over to the hospice and was really spooked by the creepy, desserted hallways as I entered the building. No one was around and I had no idea where to go. It was deathly quiet and, although it is a gorgeous, new facility, I was very unnerved there. I expected it to be buzzing with activity (it was four o'clock) - but nothing. It was like walking into a Hitchcock movie. Finally I bumped into someone who directed me to the "wing" I needed to be in. I found Mom's room, which was like a hotel room. Actually that's what her entire wing reminded me of...a quiet, isolated, empty hotel corridor. Mom's door was ajar so I peeked in but, from the doorway, all that was visible was her lower body. I saw her struggling, obviously trying to get up. When I entered the room I was shocked....I won't give the details but she obviously wasn't being attended to.

As the visit progressed, it went quickly downhill....again, no details are necessary but it was bad. And, again, it is a beautiful, state of the art facility with all the latest equipment/technology. Everything one could ever need but what was seriously lacking was any sign of "life". It was quiet, lonely, dimly lit, empty feeling and....reminded me of death. Mom never did like being alone....she loved people and the more the merrier was always her motto. She always welcomed company and you could stay as long as you wanted as far as she was concerned. She'd always enjoyed the noisy casinos of Reno and she just never ever did do "quiet" very well. Even at home, in the wee hours of the night, she slept with the comfort of the tv glow. It was weird in this place and I knew that if I felt it she surely would too. And she did.

I resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to give the place a chance and that, perhaps, I was rushing to judgement and that the change was just a shock for me. And when the nurses came in and got her out of bed and into a wheelchair, I decided to wheel her out for a smoke (yes, she should quit and no, I don't bug her about it. Neither do the nurses, who actually suggested that that's what we do). So we ventured off like the blind leading the blind, getting lost at every turn and with me realizing that the more I saw of the place, the more I hated it. The perfect dining room with cherry furniture. The lounge with big screen TV and gorgeous plants and decor. There was noone anywhere to be seen and it was only 7:00.

We rolled down the hallway and I realized that we were on the right track towards the exit. We were just about to open the door when I was shocked to see a huge bloody rottweiller standing on the other side of the glass door, nose pressed right up against it. WTF? (sorry Barb). "Nope, we ain't goin' out there Mom". We pulled a u-turn and went looking for the nurse. She then came along with us to investigate and of course, when we returned, the dog was gone. I think she thought I was losing it too for a moment there....until I pointed out the wet pawprints all around the door outside. "Well he's gone now so you'll be o.k." was her very unconvincing argument for us to venture outside. Reluctantly we did, which ended up being a big mistake. Within 30 seconds of lighting Mom's smoke, Cujo returned from the side of the building in full trot. He came right up to us and started sniffing Mom in her wheelchair, at which point I spun her away from him. I spilled her tea on the concrete as I did so and he began licking it, which gave me an idea. I threw the cup with the rest of the tea beside him and, as he went to sniff it, we bolted for the door. I managed to push the button to open it when I'll be damned if the bugger didn't slip inside the building. I let the door close behind him and Mom and I stayed outside, terrified half to death. There was another door and I frantically wheeled Mom over to it and buzzed for them to let us in. Just as they did, a nurse came and turfed the dog out the other door. As we entered the building he made a b-line right at us. Needless to say, we were a little rattled. Although Mom's not always totally "with it", she was traumatized enough to say, "where the hell have you brought me?" and "I'm scared, I wanna' go home".

I immediately scouted out the nurse who had thrown the dog out expecting her to be as concerned as I was but, apparently she wasn't - she actually thought it was quite funny. I asked if she was going to call the SPCA and she said, "nah, I think he's the dog from next door and the guy's a real jerk". I thought, "so how is that relevant?" I asked what she WAS planning on doing and it became obvious that the answer was nothing. "He seems friendly enough" was her argument. Yeah, like that made me feel safer....while she was inside behind the safety of her desk this monster could be tearing us to shreds out there. Not impressed.

Another woman who was visiting her mother came out of her room at this point and said, "oh my God, there was just a big dog in here and I'm terrified of dogs". Apparently he'd made the rounds to patient's rooms. Lovely.

The woman and I chatted about how inappropriate the nurses response had been and how the hell we were going to get out to our cars in the dark parking lot. We agreed to leave at the same time....strength in numbers. Or at least while he ate one of us the other could run like hell.

I returned Mom to her room and stayed a long time.....not only was she in a strange new environment but a 150 pound dog was terrorizing the place. He actually was barking right outside the sliding door in her room at one point. I didn't want to leave her. I cried as I did (although I obviously hid that from her). I did not feel that she was secure at all and that was a tough one for me. I went and found my new friend/bodyguard and we slowly crept outside together. And I'll be damned if Dr. fucking Dogenstein wasn't still out there, lurking in the shadows. His ears perked up as we stepped outside and, once again, he started over in our direction. We jumped in our cars (and locked the doors????....like he could open them or something). It was awful. He may very well have been friendly, but an ownerless dog on steroids who appeared hungry/thirsty was not my idea of a good companion at that moment. I called the SPCA when I returned home but apparently they never showed because when Dad showed up at the place at 7 this morning, there he was, curled up at the side door. Sad, but I've got bigger fish to fry than a stray dinosaur.

Now I'm scared to death to go there alone. Dogs can become aggressive and, without knowing the history of this one, I'm not in any mood to find out whether or not he really IS friendly. I'd rather not have to think about it. The hospice still thinks I'm overreacting and that it's quite funny. I don't. What do you think?