So many factors determine the ease with which a loved one
makes the transition into long-term care a successful one. First, the health of the individual in
question, mental and physical. Second,
making her surroundings comfortable, with familiar items flanking her left and
right. Third, the culture of the care
home where the loved one is now residing. Finally, the effort family and
friends put into making themselves and loved ones feel as if they now are
simply part of a larger family.
This thought occurred to me, as a lesson learned over time. I
have been managing my mother’s care since she transitioned into a care home in
July, 2012. Mom went into the care home, a grieving, but not remembering
wife, with little or no physical challenges, as she had already put cancer, G/I
and thyroid challenges behind her.
Mom entered her next place surrounded by the fuzzy green afghan
she used to cover up with while napping on the crème couch at home, a body
pillow for her security at night, something she could cuddle up to, and a baby
doll, which she can still lavish her love upon when she needs.
While the culture of her first care home was less than
desirable – for where she was in her disease - I soon moved her where she settled
in promptly because she could wander outside spontaneously, attend community
center events, including watching How Green Was My Valley if she wanted, and be
herself with no restrictions.
But it’s the final point I contemplated, when I entered her
care home for Ash Wednesday services. I had called earlier to inquire about
timing of the service and was told three-ish
because who adheres to a schedule when time is all you have.
About fifteen residents were watching a short film about Burma shave – “Dinah
doesn’t / Treat him right / But if he’d / shave / Dyna-mite! / Burma-shave,”
when I arrived. The pastor showed up at “three-ish” after braving snow and
close to zero wind chill temperatures.
Pastor P. entered a room full of willing and not-so-willing
because they kept forgetting participants, ready to share in the glory of the Lenten
season. He knew and greeted each
resident by name, and for the most part, recalled the names of family
members. I glanced around, surprising
myself by acknowledging the names of those residents as well.
We had formed our own sort of family at Mom’s care home.
It’s a blend of work-family life. Work, because when loved ones arrive to
visit, while it should be pleasureable, none of us have tricked ourselves into
believing it will be all pleasure. There are many painful moments and pain is
work.
Work because I sometimes spend more time conversing with
other’s family members, swapping stories about their loved ones, as we are only
the mouthpieces, the sieves through which the essence of our loves one’s life gets
distilled. Work because getting to know
the staff, their families as they know mine is relationship-building, and
relationships take effort and time.
Pastor P always delivers on-point, audience-specific
sermons, and usually includes a focus on thankfulness. When he opens up for the
floor for the residents to speak of their gratitude, I am heartened by the
responses. A few mentions involve whatever the weather is producing outside,
whether sun or wind or rain. But the underlying message is residents still are
moved by what is happening outside of them. My mom occasionally mentions the
wallpaper border, for which I doubt she is thankful for, but she can point to
it, and make commentary on its presence. It’s her contribution.
Most of all, one resident will inevitably call out, “Each
other.”
“That’s right,” Pastor P will agree and extend his long
arms, and as if scooping us all into his arms. “We are family. We are all
family here. We take care of each other.”
The employees care for our loved ones. Earlier, the
activities director had shared with me a photo of Mom, a photo which I know
took great pains to capture, because Mom is like my dog, she doesn’t like to
have her picture taken, she doesn’t understand the purpose. But the director did capture a photo worthy
of going viral.
Residents and loved ones look out for each other. Many
times, my greatest joy comes in observing the residents in how they treat each
other, a touch on the arm, a pat on the back, and encouragement to walk down
the hall, with no idea where they are going.
Many times, my simplest joy comes in watching other families and loved
ones interact with Mom, or vice versa, my interacting with someone else’s Mom,
as if I am somehow giving respite to the family who is not there, still
connecting.
And families give back to the caregivers. I have brought in Servatti cookies for Mom’s
corridor, bought Chipotle lunch for the employees as a thank you and made the official
family cookie, pizzelles, for the Sinatra impersonator party. My mother does not get better care because I
am bribing the staff. Instead, I am thanking them, and thank you’s go a long
way in boosting the morale so employees can be at their best for all residents.
So, after a loved one has settled in, its time for families
to do the same. Fix yourself a cup of
coffee, have a cookie (but not all). Watch a movie, sing along with the
sing-a-longs. Attend communion service.
Play Outburst, alongside the residents. Ease into your place in the family of
care.
