John Smith's

A fleeting moment of Joy (after placing my hand in a box of happiness)

I remember the first feeling was one of warmth on my cold hand, followed by an overwhelming sense of excitement. It was tangible, solid, and real. Its pleasant fragrance filled my nostrils. A harmonious melody as though the voices of a thousand children sweetly singing filled my ears. Never have I tasted such a sweet nectar. ‘I can’t let this go! I will hold it to my chest until it sinks deep into my heart.’ Then in a very short time, in which I begged for it to last an eternity; it was gone! A fleeting moment of joy, lost to the ordinary drabness of the day and my relentless suffering returned.

A not so moment of joy (after entering a nursing home)

The entrance door opened and immediately I was welcomed by the familiar smells of soiled clothes and damp urinated pads clinging around unwashed sweat smelling residents. The stench not only filled your nostrils, but it also felt like it clung to the back of your throat that you could taste. Metallic bedpans clashing like symbols, rang out adding to the cacophony of moaning, groaning voices, that formed a despotic symphony of horror.  Avoiding the touch from one of these residents was akin to distancing oneself from a leper lest you become soiled by decease. The sight of all this added to my conclusion this was a badly run, underfunded, busy and understaffed care home. And I was the manager.