Fatties at the nursing home. "Oh weelll I guess I'll have to eat this." Hello FPH, alpaca here. For those who don't know, I work at a nursing home. We have all kinds of patients; from underweight to bed-breaking fat.We also have all kinds of workers. From skinny to "how the fuck haven't your knees cracked yet?" Todays post doesn't have a specific theme, but it does have stories. "YOUR BEDS ARE FREAKING PYGMY BEDS" As established in a previous post, the beds our patients sleep in are normal sized. It's a single bed, approx. 36 inches wide. I can roll around in it just fine, and I have pretty broad shoulders and hips. Skinny people might complain about the bed being too soft/not soft enough. Fat people.. complain about how wide it is.  So we have Arthur, who's either in a wheelchair or in his bed. He can move his arms just fine but his legs are bum. He needs help with clothes and diapers and whathave you. So while I and my coworker work with him, we decide to chat with him (or rather, if we don't chat with him he will blow a fuse.. Oh how I wish he would blow it). Anyway. As we're rolling him from one side to the other, talking about the food or whatever he had on his mind he suddenly swears about the beds. I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going  heard similar things enough times to know what's up. "Aww, Artie, is the bed no good?" "NO! IT'S TINY. YOU GUYS HAVE FREAKING PYGMY BEDS HERE." Yeah, and pigs can fly. Arthur isn't the biggest guy we have, and we can roll him around without his knees or face hitting the ledges of the bed. As far as any rational person can tell, the bed isn't too small. But it's wrong to tell fat people that.  "Haha, aww, Arthur. The bed's are just alright. They're a standard size." "THEY'RE NOT FUCKING STANDARD SIZE YOU CUNT, YOU'RE LYING." Yeah, you really shouldn't tell fat people they're wrong. Such a charming guy. I've got a newbie with me this time, and she looks absolutely terrified. I can't blame her; Watching a grown-ass lardsack scream and spit profanities can be quite scary if you don't know him. "Arthur, I have no reason to lie to you, none at all."  "I KNOW YOU'RE LYING. YOU'RE ALL LYING. I'VE MEASURED IT MYSELF (lol, with what?). I WILL REPORT YOU TO THE POLICE". Yeah. It's a lost cause. We just cleaned him up, tucked him in and left. Thanks to Arthur I had to spend my coffeebreak explaining to the newbie that he's just like that. Unpleasant. No wonder his relatives never pay him any visits. . Oh weeeeeelll sigh I guess I'll just have to eat this then..." I've previously told you guys about Bob. Well, I'll tell you some more about him. Unsurprisingly this tale also revolves around food. Why I'm still trying to apply logic to this guy, I have no idea. Must be my primitive monkeybrain trying to keep me from getting fired. Anyhow. It's fika-time. Fika is a very Swedish thing, and it's basically another word for coffee/tea/soft drinks + some cookie/sandwich/cake + chit chatting.  So, the fika we had for this particular day was a sponge cake, jelly roll type of deal. We don't force our residents to eat what we serve. If they don't like lunch/dinner, we serve them something else. If they don't like the cake/bun we have they can get a sandwich or a cookie. It's not a freaking bootcamp, no matter what some patients and relatives think. So. I ask Blob Bob if he wants fika, which he of course does (useless to ask at this point). No problem, just like feeding my dog. Deliver and walk away. Only when I actually bring the coffee and jellyroll to him, he looks at me as if I brought him some kibble and not fika.  "WHAZZAT" (No, seriously. He sounds like that). "That's a jellyroll Bob. You had one last week." You can see the gears turning in his head. I'm pretty sure I could smell something burning, but that might as well have been my coworkers starting dinner. "I don't like jellyrolls. I like buns."  "We don't have any buns today Bob. I can get you something else if you'd like though, like a cookie or sandwhich" "Why not? I had a bun yesterday" "Well, Bob, that was yesterday. I can get you a cookie if you want that instead" "Ugh, you guys suck, why don't you have what I like?" Now, it's okay to not like stuff. Really. We try to have some variation, with some core being what the residents like. If you really want something you're free to go buy it with your own coin, have us buy it with your coin, or have your relatives come get it for you. Whatever. You're free to get what the hell you want. Just ask our resident alcoholic. He drinks wine that the nursing home gets, and when he's not allowed to drink more from our wine (cause it's supposed to go towards everyone), he buys his own booze. Good on you alco-guy. Good on you. Before I can explain this to Bob, and again repeat the offer to give him something else, he gives me a long suffering sigh mutters "Oh weeeeeelll sigh I guess I'll just have to eat this then.." before he digs into the jellyroll with the same enthusiasm a whore would show a cock. He then asks for a second slice of jellyroll. Not even surprised. . "Why don't you guys have any sugar on the table?" Once upon a time we had sugar on the table everyday. Small sugar cubes in a bowl, two or three at every long table. The residents could freely grab how much sugar they needed for their coffee or tea. The only table that didn't have sugar was the table where Anna sat, because Anna's demented and forgets how much sugar she puts in her tea, which means the whole bowl will disappear.  Nowadays we only have sugar on the table if it's 1) a special occasion or 2) someone in the staff has a brainbleed and decides that "hey we need sugar on the table.". Why you ask? Do we have our residents? Are we so shitlordy that we don't want these poor grannies and gramps to have sugar in their drinks? No, of course not. We love them. Of course they should have sugar.  However, since some grannies and gramps believe that half a freaking bowl is an acceptable amount we've been forced to manually hand out sugar with each cup. Now, we really don't care if they sugar themselves to death (unless they're like.. demented). They're adults, they are perfectly capable of limiting their sugar intakes (not really). However, we do care to have sugar left until our next food delivery, and that's just not possible if fats eat up our sugar stock in the matter of a few days.  Also, sugar isn't that cheap in my country and our boss already rides our asses if our budget is one toe over the line. So, no thank you. With the amount of complaints we've gotten from fatties you'd think we're not giving them anything to eat or drink at all. . "I think I have some water weight.." Edema is a real thing. It's painful, and if you have enough water collected it will seep out through your pores. Blisters form more easily as well, and they're filled with water. It sucks to have, but it's treatable. Depending on where it is, you can gain one or two sizes, and about 8 lbs in weight. However, unlike fatties will have you believe, you will not balloon up 100 lbs in pure water. Your skin will burst before that happens. We've had residents who've gotten edema, but it has been treated. Unfortunately for Riannon, what she had wasn't water weight.  I'm dressing Riannon for the day, with some new clothes (or rather, old clothes she found in the back of her wardrobe. Exciting!). The shirt is a bit of a tight fit, but I manage to squeeze her in. Despite it looking somewhat uncomfortable, she beams and says it's okay. The pants however..  "Ri, I think we're gonna have to find another pair of pants..." "Noooo, no, no, they're gonna fit me! Just gotta rearrange a little" At this point she lifts her bellyflop/fupa. "See, see, just pull it up!" The underside of a bellyflop is warm, dark and often moist. It does not smell like roses. Fortunately for me, Ri had showered recently so it didn't smell like death had paid a visit.  "Ri, I really, REALLY, can't get them up. The zipper will break." "Piush posh!"  She lets go of her fat, takes the pants and drags them up with the flab hanging above it. She does somehow manage to pull up the zipper but as soon as she exhales the zipper takes the opportunity to pop free with what sounded like a cry of freedom.  We stare at her pants for a bit before she huffs out a laugh, pats her fat and sits down. "Oh hehe. Would you look at that! I think I've managed to get some water weight.. Must be the medicine." Yeah.. You believe that Ri, you believe that.