They're Still Gone by Dick Weinman, The Thin Edge of Dignity

THEY’RE STILL GONE  Please Come Back by Dick Weinman, The Thin Edge of Dignity

The tables in the dining room of our ALF are still tissueless. No longer does the plaintive request of the residents, “Please pass the tissues.” resonate through the dining room. Residents continue to suffer: there’s no way to blow our noses – unless you soil shirt tails, place mats, or napkins. We need the return of tissues: the Kleenex, the Puffs, the Marcals, the Angel Softs, and the most often former table fixture, the extra thin, cheapo house brand.

But by an order from higher-up, they’re all gone from the tables, never to catch the mucus from a sneeze, or swipe away a steady stream of nasal drip, or receive a swatch of phlegm.

What’s a drippy-nose geriatric to do?

First, let’s define the problem. Let’s examine the medical facts: we old folks are in the age group most susceptible to rhinitis:

“Chronic rhinitis is a frequent problem with age. In the nose, normal physiologic changes of aging include loss of nasal tip support, atrophy of mucus-producing mucosal glands, and decreased olfaction.” [http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2885381/]

If “. . . atrophy of mucus producing mucosal glands. . .” [Ibid.] is not enough for ALF residents to clamor for their noses’ rights, then how about:

“The fragmentation and weakening of the cartilage of the septum also causes airflow changes contributing to nasal stuffiness. These changes contribute to geriatric rhinitis.”[Ibid.]

Wow! Stuffy and runny. Sniff and drip.

Health experts warn us old folks of the necessity of blowing our noses, or

“ . . .conservative surgical treatment {will be} . . . needed.”[Ibid.]

Yikes!

What’s worse is extreme rhinitis, or as the medical profession calls it, rhinorrhea. It is the anterior equivalent of the posterior … rrhea.

It’s time to demand … well, maybe ... request - nasal freedom.

But, as rational residents, we should examine some possible, logical reasons for this tissue-phobia.

Implicit in the administrative fiat is the need to cut costs. Surely, the residents don’t want rates to increase because of a bloated paper budget .

Secondly, think of the saving of trees. And, oh, sustainability!

I must admit that overuse of tissues is wasteful: after wiping away my drippy snot, I should toss the wet Kleenex and not try to reuse the sticky thing. It’s not healthy. It’s not recyclable, either.

These are reasonable motives.

One way management can cut costs and balance the budget, is to institute a BYO philosophy. If it would preserve the financial health of the institution, I would be happy to buy a box of Kleenex, bring it to each meal, and return it to my room after using. I would even be open to the idea of standing at the entrance to the dining room and hand out a tissue to each person who enters. If that altruism proved too costly for me, I still would be doing my duty, if I brought a couple of my personal tissues to the table. I could then blow when needed, and put the used tissues on the table for the caregivers to bus.inst

That would be a better solution than bringing a whole box: there would be less clutter on the table.

Wait a minute! Could cutting clutter and neither cost cutting nor tree saving be the hidden agenda in the no-tissue-box-on-the-table command?

Yes, it is! While hunting for a tissue box behind the books on a cluttered shelf in the ALF library, I discovered the secret document that throws the light on the whole nasty plot:

“The Dining Room is a public space and not an extension of your private apartment. . .

. . .We are leaving the ‘mess hall’ look behind. . . Personal items will no longer be left on the table . . . Residents who have personal items they like to use will return them at the end of the meal and bring them back to the next meal.” [Document Number 00x, spring 2014]

We’re taught that “looks are deceiving,” and that “you can’t tell a book by its cover.” Now we know that a tissuless table doesn’t mean that rhinorrhea doesn’t run rampant.