Money Can’t Buy Health

She was prim and proper.  The once baron room was filled with art work and photographs.  Pictures and memories.  You could barely tell that she was in essence living in a nursing home.  The food was better.  The nurses and aids maybe slightly more solicitous.  But underneath the sheen, her daily activities were supervised by a team of medical professionals dedicated to the small number of wealthy people who had the cash to buy into this elite retirement community.  She  dwelled most of the last decade in the independent wing.  After her husband’s death, she moved to the assisted living side.  And now after her recent hospitalization and the masses were seen on cat scan, she landed in the skilled services area.  Despite all attempts at clinging to that which had made her happy over the years, she was flailing miserably.  No matter how hard she tried, money can’t buy health.

And boy did she try.

Kill em With Kindness?

Although death was staring her in the face, her basic coping mechanism was to pretend that nothing had changed.  The rich baroness that she was, nothing made her more happy than ordering people around.  She scolded the certified nursing assistant for not arranging her food tray just so.  She manhandled the nurse when her meds were a few minutes late.  Each verbal lashing accompanied by the same refrain:

I didn’t pay all this money to be treated so!

Money.  The weapon she tossed around like a dagger slicing through all who chose to come near.  She replaced her regular doctor, and paid a few thousand dollars extra to have a concierge one. Although money can’t buy health, it can grant access.  Her dollars paid for late night calls and much hand holding.  It paid for her obnoxious behavior and snooty ways.

Second Opinions

Second opinions were forthcoming.  Not only medical but intellectual and spiritual.  She was visited daily by an array of advisors.  Religious, alternative medicine, and just about every kook she could wave a hundred-dollar bill at.  She proclaimed the rightness of any who would deny that her fate was sealed.  She argued relentlessly with her medical team based on her astrologer’s recommendations.

Her vigor and incivility were notorious.  Money can’t buy health, but it can excuse inexcusable behavior.

She was tolerated because of her net worth.   Otherwise she would have been thrown to the curb.

Family Legacy

There was no shortage of family members tromping in and out of her room.  They came in with solicitous smiles and honeyed tongues.  They tolerated every last cruel and insensitive opinion the she bowled their way.  She held the inheritance above each like a tiny gold-plated carrot atop a very long stick.  They jumped and jumped to try to grasp the treasure.  Money can’t buy health, but her progeny definitely saw it as an easy route to happiness.  A happiness in which they could use their wealth to treat people just as poorly.

They would fight for her favor.  Fight from her very first breath each day to her very last.

The End

Her vile behavior lasted until the very end.  She wheeled her material wealth like a battle-axe aiming to cripple the illness which had taken over her body.  But the masses progressed.  And her battle-axe did more self harm than anything else.  She sent all the staff, family, and friends fleeing away as opposed to huddling by her side.

There was no sadness when she passed.  Money can’t buy health.  It can’t buy meaning.  There is no way to pay your way to being loved.

It can buy, however, fear and disgust.  Relief.  A staff of dedicated healthcare workers no longer suffering the abuse.

And a gaggle of family members fighting among themselves and licking their chops at the spoils of an inheritance.

So that they could live equally miserable lives and die equally tragic deaths.

Alone.

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