Imaginary Road Trips

Long-term care residents fantasizing about a road trip to buy Cannibas

“Weed in the breakfast muffins!”

That is still my favorite answer I’ve ever heard at a long-term care (LTC) resident council meeting.

Resident council meetings happen monthly and give residents a chance to talk—openly and collectively—about what’s working and what isn’t in their LTC community. They’re semi-formal, sometimes complaint-heavy, and occasionally surprising. I attend as a long-term care ombudsman, a county employee or volunteer who advocates for residents’ rights and quality of life.

The meeting was winding down. Complaints had been aired. Solutions had been suggested. Then the activities director asked the standard closing question:

“How can we improve your life in this facility?”

“Weed in the breakfast muffins!” Paul yelled from across the room.

Another resident quickly added, “Weed in the staff’s muffins.”

The room erupted. Residents began speculating—loudly and with great enthusiasm—about who in the building most needed weed. Laughter bounced off the walls.

“Can we even use weed here?” Paul asked.

The answer, for this particular facility, was no. While cannabis is legal at the state level, many long-term care facilities follow federal regulations because they receive Medicare and Medicaid funding. Those decisions are usually made at a corporate level, and policies vary widely. Some facilities allow tinctures or edibles. Others prohibit cannabis entirely.

Undeterred, Paul had a solution.

“We’ll steal the van and drive to Oregon.”

The room roared. Other residents chimed in, expanding the plan to plot an out-of-state field trip fueled by freedom, laughter, and just a tiny rebellion. It was a conversation among friends—born out of lives shaped by institutional schedules, limited finances, and rules they didn’t create.

Then the activities director gently reminded them, “The van was in a crash.”

“Oh, right,” Paul said. “We can’t even drive to Walmart.”

And just like that, the mood crashed too.

Reality returned. Once again, ten silver-haired seniors wearing briefs sat in wheelchairs around a table in a facility dayroom.

The residents groaned. I smiled.

Because for about fifteen minutes, they had something precious.

They had joy. They had imagination. They had plans. They had each other. They were laughing, dreaming, and going somewhere—if only in their minds.

The conversation may have been make-believe, but the needs underneath it were not.

Living in a care facility doesn’t erase the need for pain relief, stress reduction, autonomy, adventure, friendship, or fun. It doesn’t eliminate the desire to make choices or feel like yourself.

As an ombudsman, I listen to complaints, advocate for change, and work within the system. But moments like this remind me why autonomy matters so deeply. Residents in long-term care often have little control over their daily schedules, their caregivers, their roommates, or even where they live. Choice becomes rare—and therefore powerful.

So the next time I attend a resident council meeting, I’ll listen for more than grievances. I’ll listen for laughter. For humor. For those flashes of freedom that show up disguised as a “weed-fueled” fantasy road trip.

Whether it’s dreaming about Oregon or deciding how to spend the afternoon, every bit of control matters.

And sometimes, autonomy rolls in on four imaginary wheels.