Dad spent 13 months in a nursing home, always said he didn't want to end in one, but, oh well. My aunt spent five years in the same nursing home. During their stays, I visited regularly, especially the thirteen months my dad was in. Though they've both long passed, I still visit the home. I play and sing for the residents, and you could say the nurses and staff too, cause they listen, I think for them the entertainment can definitely break up the day to the positive.
People give me credit for entertaining at the nursing home, but I say it's me who has gotten a lot from the visiting. I even got a girlfriend out of it - for a few nights.
Tell ya what-Kelly, beautiful nurse assistant, my Godfrey, what a gal. She'd sit in a chair at the head of dad's bed, her long right leg crossing her left, with her pink-socked toes balancing a clog, and she'd feed dad sherbet. I'd stand behind her sneaking looks at her little wispy blonde hairs at the base of her tan back, gathered just below the waistband of her scrub. Holy cripes. It was too much it was, to be so close to Kelly, looking at her wispy lower back hairs, while she took loving care of dad.
She'd feed the cup's last spoonful of sherbet to dad and say, "How's that Bill," and before he'd answer I'd chime in "you want some more don't ya dad?" Course dad, fare-they-well into the dementia and a life-long sweet lover, would pipe up "Yeah, oh yeah, I'll take more ah that."
I run back and forth to the sherbet fridge so many times I wore holes through the soles of my boots. Same boots I got on right now.
Once a month you have a special meeting with the head nurse about your loved one. It's a private meet where you can voice concerns, ask questions, and take in specific details the head nurse has regarding your loved one. At one such meeting the head nurse started off telling ma and me she was especially concerned with something about dad.