The One I Hope I Don't Turn Into.

Last week I treated you all to the lovely and delightfully foul mouthed Sophia. I would consider myself lucky to spend my last couple of years on earth as sweetly out to lunch as my beloved Sophia.

I have to assume I will lose my mind and need tending to. I will piss my pants. I will shit them too. I had better continue cursing. I hope I will remember how to tell people off in Sign Language.

What concerns me about my impending dementia, is the possibility of ending up like Lucy.

*******

Lucy was a teensy little thing. I doubt she weighed 80 pounds. With her great steely halo of wiry hair going every which way, her enormous glasses with the thickest lenses possible magnifying her eyes so they were impossibly huge, a pointy beak of a nose and an even pointier chin; she looked more like a Jim Henson creation than an actual human being. Her almost non existent lips were stretched over toothless gums.

Not only was she mostly blind, she was mostly deaf . Because of the mostly blindness and mostly deafness, one had to get dangerously close to her face for her to comprehend anything said to her. Once one got that close, one couldn't help but wonder how a toothless mouth could house such a foul odor.

One might find oneself thinking; Isn't that what asses smell like?

One would be correct.

Lucy never had children. Her niece Ginny, a grade school teacher, was responsible for her. She would yell for Ginny frequently during the day, demanding that we call her. With Ginny's permission, one of us would go hide in an office and call the nurse's station pretending to be Ginny. We usually got away with it. She bagged me once during a rare lucid moment, asking me what my kid's names were. I hadn't a clue. "You. ARE. NOT GINNY!!!", slamming the phone down.

She also shouted requests for food, though she hardly ever ate what was given to her. She did however, dine on a Christmas cactus one year. She ate the whole thing. With no teeth. Poison Control assured us we had nothing to worry about. She spit little green bits at us for hours.

Squawking for food or Ginny were welcome diversions compared to what she preferred to holler about.

Sex.

Apparently she liked it. A lot.

If you happened to walk past her room, you'd likely be treated to something like;

"In and out, in and out, in and out..."

Or you could find her at the end of the hall loudly demanding;

"Somebody Fuck me! Please! I need to get fucked!!"

The horror.

To make matters worse, as she cackled about getting laid, her hands were down her pants. All. The. Time.

The horror.

Every morning I had basically the same conversation with Lucy;

"Good morning Lucy."

"Oh!! You're pretty!" (I told you she was mostly blind.)

"Thank you Lucy, I have your medicine."

"Are you married?"

"No Lucy, here's your medicine."

"Do you have a man??"

"Yes Lucy, take your pills."

"Does he have a big dick?" or "Does he fuck you good?" or my favorite; "Can I fuck him?"

All I could do was make like she wasn't saying lewd things and carry on about my business.

All of us on the unit were on alert when visitors were around. Someone would whisk Lucy away and attempt to engage her in some activity that would deter the dirty talk. We weren't always successful.

My coworker Sue's son Nate came by to visit and was accosted by Lucy near the nurse's station. He was lucky that we were there to tackle him as he almost grasped the hand that Lucy was offering him to shake.

"Hi!"

"Well, hello there."

"Come here! Let me get a look at you! You're handsome!" (He totally was.)

"Why, thank you." Clueless.

"Are you married?"

"Ummm, noooo." So clueless.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Ummmmmmmm, nooooooo" Getting a tad uncomfortable. Rightfully so.

"Do you want to fuck me!!??"

Poor unsuspecting thing turned a shade of purple I'd never seen. An aide scooted Lucy away before Nate had a stroke.

*******

Like I said, I do expect to enjoy some degree of dementia in the winter of my life. I accept the ugliness and incontinence.

All dirty talk and bad smells aside, I loved Lucy and remember her fondly. The children she never had are so lucky.

And though Al may be deserving of such high praise, I hope I check out before I start fondling myself while detailing our sex life to Owen and Bea.