February 8, 2021
For over 6 months, I worked for a Memory Care Assisted Living facility.
I understand why families would elect to place their loved ones in such a place.
It is difficult to deal with an elderly parent exhibiting the anger and mood swings associated with dementia and Alzheimer. It is frustrating to try to hold a conversation that cannot be held.
It is sad when a mom does not remember her daughter, or a father believes a son is the father’s brother, with whom he had a fight and is not on speaking terms anymore.
I understand that it soon becomes intolerable when dad, or mom, takes the car and goes for a road trip that was scheduled twenty years ago, and a Silver Alert must be activated.
I met sons that had to stop working to take care of fathers. I met daughters that, after having raised their own children, had mom move in, changed her diapers, and spoon fed her.
These sons and daughters wanted the best for their parents, and out of exhaustion and frustration, chose to move their loved ones in places like the one I worked for.
That place had glossy brochures promising a Country Club living.
Residents, mind you not patients, having choices of meals, entertainments, and camaraderie. Security behind locked doors and high fences. A nurse available at all time. A care giver assigned.
All of it coming at a high price, thankfully covered by long term care insurance, the sale of the family home, a condo, or a trust fund.
Before Covid-19 and the lockdown, what was promised was somewhat delivered. Families always visiting, days and nights, and taking care of their loved ones was key. Under the watchful eyes of the payers, the paid staff was on its best behavior.
Then, per the Governor’s orders, visitors were not authorized anymore. The paid caregivers became the sole caretakers.
Activities were restricted. Entertainers could no longer be admitted. Families had to stay away. Even the barber was banned. No more haircuts, no more pedicures.
And the residents started regressing… rapidly.
The place became a smelly jail. The residents, out of boredom, started fighting. They dearly missed their families and friends’ visits.
The caregivers, at least most of them, tried to not only keep the residents clean, fed, and safe, but also give them some company. Read to them when they could. Talked to them. But one caregiver for eight, or more, dementia patients is a stretched thin caregiver.
Some forgot to speak, others to walk. A few of them became incontinent. And a few just let go of the will to live and died.
Isolation and lack of loving human contacts became deadlier than Covid-19.
I want to believe that the restrictions imposed on these facilities came from a genuine concern. I want to believe that the whole charade meant to save lives. I hope that it was ignorance that dictated a barbaric isolation.
But come another pandemic, I pray that the lessons learned during this one will be remembered.
A grandfather, a grandmother, does not have much time left in this body, nor many reasons to stay around but for a weekly visit with a grandchild, or a daily quick kiss to a beloved son, daughter, or spouse.
That was taken away, arbitrarily, by an administration that could have done better.
I question which was deadlier. Covid? Or the lockdowns?
Katrin L.
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