Nursing home should just fire everybody, close down, and put all the grannys and grampys on the street.
Reminds me of an experience. My father was a WWI navy vet and he out of the gate he had the worst case of sea sickness ever experienced. His bunk mates told him a shot of whiskey would cure it. Wonders never cease it did.
He took to having a shot of whiskey in his coffee every morning and did every day for the better part of 80 years.
My mother didn't approve at all so he was discrete (and believe me, you didn't want to see my mother on the war path). Never saw him drunk or even tipsy. Other than his daily shot he might have a beer or two every now and then but he wasn't a drinker. He was a wonderful father, husband and man. Never met anyone who didn't like him.
When he his 95 they went to a home. Yeah, broke my heart and on reflection we could have probably handled it at home, but that's another story.
But that didn't stop his lifetime habit. I kept him well supplied and, given my mother, he devised a method whereby he'd hide his bottle in his prosthetic leg.
One visit as soon as I walked in the door it was "Mr. Texan, the social worker needs to see you immediately". Knowing my priorities I went on to see my dad only to be interrupted minutes later with another plea.
So I relent and there before me is a twenty something ernest looking young man who was clearly agitated.
"Mr. Texan, do you have any idea what we found in your parent's room?" No, says I, thinking that perhaps he'd been cooking up crank or something equally sinister. "A bottle of....whiskey!"
Why yes, of course, I know, I got it for him.
"But, but Mr. Texan, do you have any idea what effect whiskey can have on a 95 year old man? Why, why, it could KILL him."
Barely able to contain either my mirth or a desire to hold him upside down I gently explain that my father was 1) over 21, 2) had developed a liking for whiskey in his coffee during his tour in WWI and 3) if it killed him he'd die happy.
"Well, well, well, we just can't have this sort of thing going on."
That's kind of you to be so concerned, I appreciate that, but let me ask you, how did you find his whiskey? Like a good lawyer I knew the answer before asking the question as I knew good and well he had it well stashed but I wanted to play it out. "It was sitting on his bedside table.". Knowing this was an outright lie I told him so and wondered what the state agency would think of room searches much less prosthetic leg searches. It was like throwing Holy water on a vampire. Nonetheless whiskey would not be tolerated.
I go back to the room, pick up the phone, call his doctor and get a prescription for a shot of whiskey a day and a beer on Sunday.
When he died at 99 I made sure there was a bottle of JD in his pocket. I still feel guilty; if I'd withheld the whiskey he'd probably have lived to be ...99 1/2.
Sorry for the long story but it's one I try and remember every day; God save us from those that want to save us from ourself.