This story is about the unexpected way I moved into the
beautiful retirement apartment I now call home. As a hint — although my daughter
and I had planned every detail together — when the day came I never even saw
the moving crew.
Yes, I was moving into the apartment layout I’d requested,
and waited months until that model became available. Yes, it has a wonderful view.
Yes, it has a bathroom for me, and one mostly for Vanessa, the cat. Yes, it has
the perfect study for writing.
My day before moving was, like anyone’s, busy with last-minute
details. My daughter and I spent the afternoon in my new home putting away all
the items we had carried in previously: The contents for the kitchen cabinets
and the linen closet, plus bathroom essentials. Tired, I drove home while my
daughter went to pick up a pizza for our supper.
First thing at home, I checked phone messages — to discover
a real estate agent had called earlier and would be showing my house at 7:30 p.m.
It had just gone on the market — and they would be here in minutes. Excited, I
immediately moved into action: Turn on lights, check bathrooms and kitchen, and
get myself gone before they arrived.
The catch: I forgot that stroke victims shouldn’t rush.
After turning on the second lamp, I turned to cross in front of the fireplace
to the next lamp. However, my right foot caught in the carpet as I turned and I
went crashing sideways, my head bouncing off a large vase and landing on the
fireplace hearth. When I came to, I felt my right arm pinned under me, so I
rolled enough to pull it out, noticing my right hand was at a weird angle to my
arm. “That’s interesting!” I thought, and blanked out again.
The realtor and my daughter arrived soon after. Splitting tasks,
the realtor called 911 for an ambulance while my daughter phoned my sons and
got me ready to travel. Luckily, a fine surgeon was on call that evening, and
took care of the compound fracture of my wrist and closed the head gash. I was
in the hospital more than a week, then entered my chosen retirement community via
the “back door” into the nursing/rehab unit where I spent three comfortable weeks,
mostly in rehab or resting. Rehab therapists are tops, in my book!
Meanwhile, my four children had set up my apartment even
better than I’d planned, ready for my arrival, and I was thrilled beyond words.
By then I was aware that my experience was hardly unique. In all retirement
communities a small number of new arrivals experience a health challenge
between the months of signing up and moving in, and there are often a few in
rehab before moving into their new homes.
A big safety difference is that retirement communities
provide bracelets or hanging neck pendants connected to an alarm system, for
all residents to wear 24/7 for their security. While I was quite fortunate to
have been found quickly at my former home, here we do not have to rely on luck.
We know that trained help is available immediately for any health urgency, one
of the most important aspects of retirement living — both to us and to our
families.
For many excellent reasons, my decision to no longer live
alone has been a very good one. I hope you think seriously about your own
living situation and consider your future options carefully. You, too, might
opt for a pleasing new lifestyle with a wide variety of choices for your use of
time. It’s YOUR life, after all! Carry
on!
***
Ann Burnside Love's blog appears here every Thursday. Comments are most welcome!
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