Have you ever visited anybody in an assisted living facility? It's where they put people who can't take care of themselves: they can't dress themselves, go to the toilet without help, remember who their friends are, know when it's time to take their medications. Some of the people at a facility I visited, I admit, did indeed seem to be enjoying themselves. When I asked a group of Jingo players what was the differende3 between Jingo and Bingo, one old lady chirped: "the name!" The experiences, however, seem to be quite variable.
During the last two years of her life, my mother had suffered a series of transient ischemic attacks and suffered from dementia as a result. She knew who we were, but clearly couldn't take care of herself. When he was in high school my son Thabie gave piano concerts in assisted living facilities. The residents whimpered for their cookies and kool aid while Thabie was playing. Nurses tend to talk to them as if they were children. It's still a place you go to only when all other options have been excluded.
A friend of mine, who is just a year older than me, was put in assisted living by his son who thought his dad should not be living alone. My friend didn't really need to be in assisted living but there were no independent apartments available in the retirement complex. We visited him there four or five times and walked around where we saw old people playing bingo or sleeping while watching TV: a thoroughly depressing place. He said the upper floors were filled with people suffering from decrepitude or dementia. My friend said he was depressed, especially in the morning when he would wake up with nothing to look forward except sitting in his chair.
For this guy there was a happy ending as he was able to move into an independent living apartment with a gym with trainers, clubs and speakers, a library, doctors and dentist offices. The majority of residents were tooling around at good speeds in their walkers. My friend was much, much happier and we were happy for him. He drove his walker like a teenager in a sports car.
These visits made me ask myself, how do we spend our final years? It seemed that the people in assisted living were essentially sitting around waiting to die. Nobody should be doing that. Everybody, no matter how decrepit or demented, deserves to be treated with respect and dignity. Everybody, as far as possible, should be engaged in meaningful social interaction and individual creative activity. Our final years need to be as important as years in our twenties or thirties, filled with activity we find valuable.
I confess that my own inclination has been to spend too much time reading in my living room chair
My recent trip to Brooklyn (see my post "Browsing Brooklyn") was one successful effort at moving around more and soon I'll be trying to hike the easy trails in Shenandoah National Park.
At least once a year since we've been dating, my girlfriend Natalie has taken me to her hometown of Kingston, Ontario, for reverence and enjoyment. On each of these trips, she's made it a point spend a lot of time with her grandfather, Paul, who's inching ever closer to his 90s. He currently lives in a retirement apartment complex, though he lived alone up until last year, when he suffered a stroke. The complex he lives in is filled with a lively bunch of elderly canadians, and Paul found joy in introducing us to his new friends, and the polite, young staff always address him as "Mr. Fortin". We dined on the gourmet meals served there (though, I'll be the first to admit the portions were a tad modest) and drank wine and beer in his private studio apartment. The rooms and halls are carpeted, the elevators adorned with local news and daily menus.
ReplyDeletePaul's situation stands in stark contrast to the facility his son (Natalie's uncle) Francois lives in, just a few blocks down the street. Francois received an injury from a car accident an his early 20s (he was the only one without a properly fastened seatbelt) and as a result lost many of his motor functions, as well as a lot of his mental capacity (it can take several minutes to recognize his own niece, even by name). The facility seems and smells like a hospice. The hallways are tiled and filled with medical equipment. Nurses can be seen jogging with agitation from one room to the next to deliver drugs, or else outside of the building smoking fatalistically. Francois keeps a high spirit each time we visit, but it's hard to see how. He's in his late 40s, but I wouldn't be surprised if the staff planned activities like finger-painting as a special treat on the weekends.
A somewhat bleak reminder that if you take care of your mind and body, you maybe able to spend your golden years in comfort and luxury, without ringing the nurse each time you wish to use the toilet. Come to think of it, I may just spend the rest of my morning drinking carrot juice and working on a crossword puzzle, just in case.
Hi Seth, I appreciate these contrasting stories. As you can gather, I strongly believe everybody, regardless of decrepitude or dementia deserves to be treated with dignity and respect. The story you tell of Francois, harried nu8rses needy patients is all too familiar. For those without a lo0t of money, I don't know the solu8tion
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