Thelma Orinion

“Thelma Orinion, like onion with an extra ri.” I explained for the near millionth time in my life. You see I have been around for a while and unfortunately I have had several opportunities to give this speech about how to pronounce my name.

This time was a little different though. In all my 90 years of life I had never had the displeasure of having to explain my name to a stranger on whom I would have to depend so heavily.

“Well I’m Sally Ortego.” Said that ‘sweet lil’thing from down south’, oh how I hated that accent. And it didn’t help that she was so beautiful and young. As I watched those vibrant milky white breasts shake slightly in a red bra that showed through her white nurses coat and squeezed those luscious round breasts tightly together, I couldn’t help but feel an old and saggy dinosaur.

“Okay Miss Orinion, I’ll be by every mornin at 8am to make sure you get your pills, help you with your bath, and take care of anything else you need.”

It really wasn’t that bad. I didn’t mind her too much but it was more what she represented. Her being here meant that I had to admit that I really was getting old and I had to finally let go of the independence I had always held onto so tightly. I often thought about finding a way to go that would spare my family the need to take care of me, and to spare people like sweet little Sally the trouble of coming and help me with such simple tasks, but I just couldn’t find the courage.

If it weren’t for that accident I could have probably made it through another year or so, but after that there was no way my kids would allow me to go back to things they were. Anyway I could tell that the next few years, if I lasted that long, would be more difficult than I expected.