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A description of an Old man

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A Description Of An Old Man I'm writing this in a crisp, white hospital bed. I'm getting old. So many things are getting worse: my joints are creaking, shrieking with pain; my hair is getting greyer everyday; my memory is going now but I still know what I want. Lying in a ward for elderly patients, I don't want to be here. My daughter forced me, my Doctor forced me. Why can't they mind their own business and let me die peacefully in my own home? It's what I want. The first line of my Will reads, "After dying peacefully at home, I leave..." That will never come true now. I'm too weak and feeble to go home. All this has been made worse by the medication they are pouring into my veins. I hallucinate, I forget things but I still remember every vivid detail of how I got into this state-into this ward. Huddling by the scarce warmth of the gas fire in the hospital waiting room I knew what was coming next. ...read more.


We're running a few minutes late." A few minutes! A few hours more like! It was just as cold sitting to the closed window as it was by the open one. The gaps between the glass and the rotting wooden frames were so big that great gusts of wind came in and chilled me right to my bones. I'm surprised I didn't leave this world that very afternoon. I don't know why they were so slow; there was no-one else in the waiting room. At ten minutes to two o'clock, four hours after my darling daughter had departed, I was finally sent in to see the Doctor. Twenty minutes of intense questioning proceeded x-rays, scans and blood tests. I'm sure he only sent me for the tests because of the huge bags under my eyes, or perhaps my face was too lined and creased for his liking. I refused to tell him the truth. I repeated stolidly that I was fine and could I please go home. ...read more.


My daughter doesn't love me and I have no other relatives. My friends are all in care homes or too ill to leave their homes to come and visit me. How I envy them, I wish I could be at home. The last few weeks of my life are going to be solitary but I am not afraid of what is facing me. However confused I may appear, I am excited about the next world. If only they would let me feel this way at home. Whenever I think about what it must be like to die, it saddens me to know that I could be next. Those sad thoughts however turn to happier ones as I remember that after you die you go to a better place, place with no evil; a quiet, loving place to rest in until the end of the world. Why don't they let me go home and get to this happy place when God calls for me? I don't want to go when they turn my life-support machine off. That's if I get that far. ?? ?? ?? ?? Si´┐Żn Robinson Old Age 10B 1 English Coursework ...read more.

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