About the Loss of Glasses But Not of Marbles
When I visited the Communist in the nursing-home today, he was wearing some glasses that weren't his.
"Why are you wearing those? Do you know they're not yours?"
"Of course they're not mine. They've lost mine."
Where the ones he was wearing came from is anyone's guess. Clearly the Communist couldn't have lost his own glasses - he can't move. Even with his new electric wheelchair he can only go forwards, backwards or round a bit and he certainly doesn't have the strength to open a drawer and put his glasses in it, or any inclination to speed off down the corridor to leave them somewhere else.
So the staff in the home have somehow lost them: how, I don't know.
I decided to look in his bedside drawer, which turned out to be a repository for - well, just about anything really. In amongst the bits of old paper and other junk, I found two glasses cases, both of which were empty and neither of which was his. Then, more interestingly, I found two pairs of glasses, neither of which was his, either.
The thing is, most of the residents in this nursing home are there because they have some form of dementia, and therefore cannot be expected to know whose glasses are whose. So what I suspect has happened is that Someone has brought the Communist these glasses, and he's said that they're not his, and Someone has said sweetly, "Of course they're not, dear," and stuffed them in the drawer, not believing a word he said.
But the Communist has not got Alzheimer's: he's there because he can't move.
And, therefore, he's quite a good spy for what actually goes on in this home, one of the best in Leeds, we're told. Mostly he is well cared for - though everything seems to take ages to achieve.
Yesterday, however, two of the staff - healthcare assistants, not nurses - were having a furious row with each other as they came in to get him up in the morning. They didn't address a word to him other than "Get washed, go on, get on with it, you know what to do," and then just carried on arguing over him.
My mother went to visit him later and found him very upset by this: he felt terrible, and just wanted to leave the place: though, of course, he can't. My mother was so cross that she rang up to complain, and the Manager has been to see him today, and heard what he had to say, and I hope she listened.
Firstly: surely, in a place costing six hundred pounds a week, they could come up with some strategy for making sure that crucial aids like glasses don't get mislaid?
And secondly: if I were in charge of a nursing home, and if it were proved to me that two of the staff were having a row with each other whilst supposedly tending to a patient, then I'd have it in their contracts that this would mean instant dismissal.
Of all the indignities of old age, being ignored, or treated as though you don't matter - and the staff losing your glasses is a part of this - is by far the worst.
The Communist was feeling better today: I showed him Silverback's photographs of Twelfth Night, (see previous post), and those cheered him up mightily. Because, in his head, they took him out of the nursing home and into a world where he used to have respect.
"Why are you wearing those? Do you know they're not yours?"
"Of course they're not mine. They've lost mine."
Where the ones he was wearing came from is anyone's guess. Clearly the Communist couldn't have lost his own glasses - he can't move. Even with his new electric wheelchair he can only go forwards, backwards or round a bit and he certainly doesn't have the strength to open a drawer and put his glasses in it, or any inclination to speed off down the corridor to leave them somewhere else.
So the staff in the home have somehow lost them: how, I don't know.
I decided to look in his bedside drawer, which turned out to be a repository for - well, just about anything really. In amongst the bits of old paper and other junk, I found two glasses cases, both of which were empty and neither of which was his. Then, more interestingly, I found two pairs of glasses, neither of which was his, either.
The thing is, most of the residents in this nursing home are there because they have some form of dementia, and therefore cannot be expected to know whose glasses are whose. So what I suspect has happened is that Someone has brought the Communist these glasses, and he's said that they're not his, and Someone has said sweetly, "Of course they're not, dear," and stuffed them in the drawer, not believing a word he said.
But the Communist has not got Alzheimer's: he's there because he can't move.
And, therefore, he's quite a good spy for what actually goes on in this home, one of the best in Leeds, we're told. Mostly he is well cared for - though everything seems to take ages to achieve.
Yesterday, however, two of the staff - healthcare assistants, not nurses - were having a furious row with each other as they came in to get him up in the morning. They didn't address a word to him other than "Get washed, go on, get on with it, you know what to do," and then just carried on arguing over him.
My mother went to visit him later and found him very upset by this: he felt terrible, and just wanted to leave the place: though, of course, he can't. My mother was so cross that she rang up to complain, and the Manager has been to see him today, and heard what he had to say, and I hope she listened.
Firstly: surely, in a place costing six hundred pounds a week, they could come up with some strategy for making sure that crucial aids like glasses don't get mislaid?
And secondly: if I were in charge of a nursing home, and if it were proved to me that two of the staff were having a row with each other whilst supposedly tending to a patient, then I'd have it in their contracts that this would mean instant dismissal.
Of all the indignities of old age, being ignored, or treated as though you don't matter - and the staff losing your glasses is a part of this - is by far the worst.
The Communist was feeling better today: I showed him Silverback's photographs of Twelfth Night, (see previous post), and those cheered him up mightily. Because, in his head, they took him out of the nursing home and into a world where he used to have respect.
posted by Daphne at 6:16 pm
3 Comments:
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It's a bit like two checkout assistants in a supermarket conversing with each other while they rack up bills for their invisible customers - the ones who pay their wages - only your father's experience sounds ten times worse. I very much admire carers in residential homes but only those who genuinely "care" and deal with their "residents" with appropriate respect.
I hope you will treat your dad to another day out at your own home real soon.
Aww Daph that had to have been hard for your Dad and not much easier on you! Den and I worked at a nursing home in Florida last year and it was an awful place. Most of the staff didn't speak English and as far as we could tell there were only 2 that cared about the residents. It was heartbreaking! I had hoped your facilities were much better than ours! Hugs!
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