The last posts I've made here are always when I feel overwhelmed or mad at my mom, but this is a different post.
I know that I do not have the patience or the sanity to take care of my mom if she becomes worse than she is. But my cousin, which is in her 40s, recently had a stroke that made her paralyzed on the right side. She doesn't really have anyone to take care of her. I certainly can't and her husband has already passed away and her kids can't do it either. So she's in a rest home. I've been visiting her nearly every day for the past few weeks because nobody else has. Her kids have visited her once and the rest of the family is too far to visit or just don't care.
When I first walked into the rest home it didn't seem so bad. I came on a good day though, it was "Candlelight Dinner" day. They had great music playing, the residents seemed in good spirits, and they were having a sort of party in the dinner room which was right next to my cousin's room. The staff seemed wonderful. And her roommate is a great lady. I had a lot of hope for her getting better there.
As each day passed the place seems to be getting dimmer and dimmer though. I realized that the Candlelight Dinner day was not an every day thing. The walls seemed to close in more. And the smells started to float through the air. And the staff started to seem less patient, more hauty and it seemed like they never gave my cousin a bath or changed her diaper until I came to see her when I could directly ask a nurse. The hallways are depressing with people in the hallways in their wheelchairs, or walking around in their diaper looking lost, one lady got completely undressed.
The outside area is beautiful. They have a courtyard with cute patio tables and lots of flowers, but inside the resident's curtains are always closed and they never seem to go out and get fresh air.
This is my first time going into a rest home so much and now i finally realize why my mom says she never wants to end up there. I can't blame her. I wouldn't want my mom there. I could not live with myself or look myself in the mirror if I knew that my mom was in the hallway in her diaper.
But on the other hand I know myself too well to know that I would resent my mother for the "burden". For not being able to live my life the way I need to for my sanity.
Life. Is. So. Hard.
Thankfully i don't have to think about that now really. But it is hard seeing my cousin in there like that.
Is there a happy medium?
I cared for my mother, now 88, for four years (Parkinsons, stroke and dementia) until she deteriorated to the point she needed care 24/7. In the last year she's broken a hip, had more strokes and, unable to sit up or stand, is in bed or a wheelchair. I don't know how long she has left - days, weeks, months, years? - and we just take it one day at a time. In the meantime she's safe, comfortable, fed and has the best care around the clock.
Shaking, you're right, today's civilization (if you can call it that) is a mess.Eighteen months ago I moved to a wee dilapidated cottage with 2 acres on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and left the rat race plastic people and their lifestyle behind. Surrounded by fields and forest, peace and quiet, just me and my beloved dogs, I plan to grow some of my own food and generally live a simple life close to the earth and nature. It feeds my soul each and every day.
We have to analyze the options and choose the best, based on the circumstances. Life is in fact about choices.
Having said that, I completely understand and sympathize with Jenny's points. And as JessieBelle stated, there are situations when it is no longer feasible or possible for family members to care for a severely compromised loved one.
We took care of my sister in her home during her last months battling cancer, and my father took care of my mother at their home (with help from my sister and me) until she became so fearful of falling that she was afraid to walk. It was just physically impossible for him to care for her then and we had to select a SNF. But there was no way that we were pleased at having had to do so.
And much as it saddens me that her last days were there, I've eventually been able to see it as a learning experience to help my father. We've both come a long way since the first SNF experience. I now have a several page checklist which I take with me when I interview a facility, I check out the Medicare reports on the facility, and sometimes ask the residents in halls or dining rooms how they like the place. The facilities my father was in for brief stays post-injury were of much higher quality as a result of what I learned from experiences with SNFs where my mother stayed.
My father is now in his mid 90s still lives alone and we've been able to bring in some services to assist him. He's also a very strong person and sees some of the aspects of aging as a challenge. Fortunately he has excellent neighbors and some church support to help him when I can't. Much as I dread it I need to line up support for him if the situation changes, and it will be in-home support for as long as it's possible.
However, I think the choice to use an ALF or independent living is a family one, based on unique circumstances, and don't criticize or presume to judge those who do. We each have to do the best we can under the circumstances.