Strange Days

Strange days, waking up at 48 years of age in a nursing home. This is not the thing you expect at that age, or any age for that matter. Not many people plan early on for retirement in a nursing home, but here I was, as I was leaving a primary care facility to going to a secondary care facility.

Many nursing homes have therapy and since they provide care, it is not unusual for someone to be admitted as a patient knowing that it could be short term or, as in my case, much longer than normal. It is considered secondary care and is the next option as most insurance providers have strict limits, including time spent, in primary care facilities.  

The reason I was going there was to have therapy with round-the-clock care that I needed. Good therapy coupled with constant care was the order of the day. There was really no choice in the matter.

During an ordeal that spanned 496 days – not that anyone was counting - I got emotional only 2-3 times, and this was one of them. Just the thought of going to a nursing home made me upset, but the fact that I had a private room and would now have to share with someone else really got me. My needs were great at that time and I was not far removed by having someone with me 24/7, I was that bad.

Now I was going to a strange place with strange people, a strange day indeed.

My wife Lisa, sister Gayle and brother-in-law David reviewed many facilities before a decision was made. The overriding factors were therapy capabilities and facility and proximity.

My wife’s Uncle Jimmy (coincidentally his name is Jim Morrison, but he cannot sing) had insight on the workings of nursing homes as his mom, Lisa’s grandmother, was in and out of a few nursing home facilities during the last years of her life. What was important was to always make sure that when I had a visitor that the visitor would stop by the front desk so they would know I had people visiting me. It was important so they knew I had visitors and these visitors were checking on me and my condition. My family would question them repeatedly so there would be no questions about my care. In other words, my family was monitoring the care.

The food was awful. The only thing worth eating was the macaroni salad, which, in fact was the best I ever had, but everything else was just terrible. Lunch was the biggest meal of the day and in many ways this made sense. The patients were old and a light meal at dinner time was the order of the day. My family brought me food every day. The food was a constant source of conversation as no one could believe that the meals I received were edible.

At first glance I thought I was in an abyss for therapy. I had just left a well-known name, was making progress and friends, had people my own age around me, a good room and was comfortable with my care.

Now, let’s just say I was nervous at the very least. Although there was some trepidation we went into therapy full force and quickly developed a routine. The final result was this where I learned to walk. This is where I got up the first time, got to be upright on a regular basis, knew everyone in therapy as I took it seriously and the therapist spent more time with me. Not to get anyone in trouble, but it appeared they spent more time on me than was allotted. Being in a smaller facility may actually have been better for me.

I met some very interesting people, some of whom really had a great heart. In a way it was sad as there were some residents who never had any visitors and here I was with a crowd around me. Some we ended up befriending not out of pity but during the normal course of events as we just got to know one another. Each had a story and some were remarkable. Some we became close to and talk about to this day.

One was a lady that went by the name Auntie Em — I kid you not. She was cheery, entertaining and very, very nice. She and my youngest daughter got along very well. Her stories were amusing in a ‘tall-tale’ sort of way. She always stated a ‘Wizard of Oz’ line as she really played to her name, Emily; and was now called ‘Auntie Em’ by everyone. There were others I met, some were war heroes, others were entrepreneurs and each with a story, a life well lived.

There was a strangeness about all of it as it provided a glimpse into the future, the latter part of life where looks have long since faded and good days gone by. Some were physically unable to care for themselves.

Worse yet were some others, as they were losing their sense of self. They were now strangers in their own home. The nights were at times scary as you would hear someone scream from time-to-time.

The smell was awful. There was a reason I had the window open in my room at all times regardless of what the weather was like outside. When I finally had a chance to go outside, I did so every day. A close friend of our family – who actually ARE family to us – gave us a used wheelchair for my use and I got it at Christmas; and it provided me with my first level of independence.  

There is much I could write here as there are so many things I saw and experienced during my time. This is where I learned how to walk. This is where I learned how to move on. But this is not where I want to end up.

The final result was that my family and friends were actively involved with my care and the facility knew it and respected it.

The final verse of The Doors Strange Days sums it up.

Strange days have found us
And through their strange hours
We linger alone
Bodies confused
Memories misused
As we run from the day
To a strange night of stone

Strange, yes… but then again, this whole situation was strange. What was important is that we stayed on top of it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyrVIY3EnUw