After my Mom, Adeline, suddenly died (age 82) of a massive cerebral hemorrhage in 2002 in San Antonio, Texas (USA), my brothers and I asked, then begged our Dad, Reuben, (age 87) to come live with one of us. He adamantly refused, "I have to be near my doctors!" The next year dad fell and broke his hip; he was also diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Instead of entering the nursing home for rehabilitation and then going home, he was to live there, until he died, six months later.
Dad's nursing home, as far as decor was concerned, was magnificent, as good as a fine hotel. The care was worse than horrible. Dad was tied to his bed, except for meals. I inquired about this with the nursing home staff, telling them, "We don't do that in Kentucky. I work in a nursing home. There are other ways to keep a resident safe." I was told, "Well, we do it here." I begged dad to let me bring him back to Kentucky. Again, he refused.
In that year, 2003, I felt that the nursing homes I had worked in and did work in, were trying to give excellent care. Yes, there were lapses, there were accidents, but most of us tried very hard to treat our residents like family.
This morning I was talking with a friend, Angie, who was extremely upset with the care her mother, a patient with Alzheimer's disease, was currently receiving in a nursing home here in Lexington, Kentucky. While visiting her mother recently, Angie witnessed a resident fall in the hall next to a nurse giving medications. Angie thought that surely the nurse would attend to the fallen resident. Angie was on her way to do an errand for her mother. In 15 minutes, Angie came back to her mother's room. The fallen resident was still on the floor, right next to the nurse who continued to give meds. Angie told her, "I can't believe this lady is still on the floor. Can't you stop to give her help?" The nurse had no answer. However, now Angie is taking photos with her phone of grossly bad care as proof, should she need it. (The administrator of the home advised her she could not photograph any one other than her own mother.)
Several weeks ago, another friend was in a different nursing home here in Lexington for rehab. This, also, was a large, extremely fine-looking, clean nursing home. But my friend thought she received poor care. She said that no one would answer her call light in the night - ever! I could go on and on about the many instances of failure to give care.
I unofficially conclude that care in the local nursing homes has significantly deteriorated! Ten years ago, we really tried our best. Now, it appears, a pretense is not even made.
If you have a loved one who must spend time in a nursing home, I would suggest that you keep close watch on the care given. Visit daily. Ask questions and get answers. There are state ombudsmen you can address 'issues' with, if you don't get good care after talking with the administrators. If you or a loved one need rehabilitation in a nursing home, the one thing that may save your life or theirs is this: know that the therapists, by law, can not treat a resident who refuses therapy after three times.
So what happens? Momma or daddy figures out quickly that therapy involves pain. This is unavoidable. If enough medication is given to prevent pain while moving, the patient will be mostly unable to do the exercises needed. Then what? Momma or daddy never receives and participates in the therapy that will get them able to do self-care and go home. They will be nursing home residents until they die.
I have witnessed this many times over. Momma or daddy are tired and weak and just stay in bed. They will die much sooner now!
Is there hope for leaving the nursing home after therapy? During the eight years I worked in nursing home, with dozens and dozens of patients coming in for rehab, only TWO participated in the therapy and went home. Why were these two different: family involvement every day, for every therapy treatment. The family members came and 'highly encouraged' their mothers to do the therapy - almost to the point of bullying! And the patients went home! The two patients were grateful for all the encouragement.
To end this, here's a true story about a visit daughter, #7, Marie, and I had one day with Daddy. By this time, Daddy thought I was my mother and Marie was me. Daddy kept asking, "What time is it?" I kept answering, "Daddy, there's a clock built into your side-rail. It's ---." After five or six times of the same exchange, it occurred to me, "The clock is digital. He probably doesn't even think it's a clock." Then I took my watch off my wrist and put it on Daddy's wrist. I showed him, "Look, if you push the little button, it lights up." Daddy pushed it and smiled. He pulled the blankets over his head. We heard lots of giggling. Daddy must have been playing with the watch! We left Daddy very happy!
Let's ask God, please help us value all our sick, especially our elders, especially those with dementia. Let us ensure they get the care and dignity they deserve. Let us remember your words, "Whatever you do to the least of my brethren . . ."
No comments:
Post a Comment