Working With the Elderly

After yesterday, I understand why some people feel driven to work with the elderly.  Don't worry, I will explain.  I took a trip to see Baba yesterday with my mother, my weekly trip coinciding nicely with her daily trip.  When we got down to Westport and up to Baba's room, she wasn't there.  Surprisingly, one of the nurses there was able to convince Baba to eat her dinner in the dining room with a number of the other residents.  Upon walking into the dining room, which was silent upon entering, we saw about 15 residents including Baba waiting for their dinner to arrive.  In a way, it was saddening to walk into that dining room and see the residents there, some severely disabled either mentally, physically, or both, waiting in silence for their dinner.  It wasn't that silence was required, there was a TV set to the Turner Movie Classics channel(I think that's what TMC stands for) playing some old black and white film, it was just that most residents couldn't talk very much or didn't want to.  So in the silence of the room, my mother and I sat down with Baba and waited with her for dinner to arrive.  We talked about the day, how foggy it was outside, the good lunch that Baba had but doesn't remember exactly what it was, and the length of time it was taking for dinner to arrive.  During the conversation I had some time to look around the room and see who else was sharing in the dining experience.  At Baba's table there were three other women.  During the whole time we were there, only one of the women at the table uttered a word, and it was one word when dinner was served to her.  She looked to have some sort of continuous muscle spasm in her arms that she tried to hide by keeping her arms crossed in front of her.  She looked down mostly with only occasional glances at us to see who we were and to just stare.  She didn't look completely out of it like some of the other people in the room did, but she definitely had a reserved look on her face, her brilliant blue eyes trying to discern the activities around her, but mostly, just keeping to herself.  The woman sitting next to her, for lack of a better comparison, looked like Gollum from the Lord of the Rings Trilogy albeit completely clothed.  Her head was sunk so far into her chest I wondered once if she could even raise it.  Her hand was slightly askew, tucked almost permanently under her chin to cover her mouth when she coughed, and she looked completely drawn into herself.  She didn't say one word the whole time.  There was another lady there as well in a wheel chair who couldn't keep her eyes steady for one minute.  All of this made me wonder what Baba must be like when she doesn't have visitors.  Does she talk to any of the other residents or does she mostly keep to herself, seated in the corner of her room, reading away the remaining time she has?  I would have to guess that she mostly sits alone in her room for the majority of the day. 

What struck me most when I was looking around the room was how lonely everyone looked.  Despite the fact that there were 15 of them gathered together in the room, most of them looked withdrawn, stuck in their own little world despite the company around them.  Out of all the people in the room, I think only three or four of them uttered a word while we were in there, which was about 45 minutes in all.  One of the other people in the room was the gentleman I spoke of yesterday who went and got a package of cookies for my son.  He didn't look completely out of it, he just looked as if he hadn't had a visitor in a while, which I am guessing by both my mother's and Baba's accounts, is probably accurate.  I don't know if he does have family close by and they just neglect to see him or if he truly is all alone with no one to visit.  Whatever the case may be, it was saddening to see.  The bright spot out of all of this was the people who worked there and the patience and joy they had in working with the residents.  When the food finally came, enough for the entire floor, they took their time bringing it to those gathered in the dining room, cutting the food as needed, preparing tea, opening containers, and in some cases, helping the residents eat their food.  There was joy on their faces as they went around the room, serving food and helping those that needed it.  There was also a sense of peace about them, a gentleness that could only fit in their line of work, helping those who can't help themselves anymore.  I am sure it is often a thankless job, one whose real benefit is the joy derived from helping someone else.  Most of the residents in the dining room barely acknowledged the employees, not out of spite, just because they were completely sucked into their own little worlds.  I don't think I could work with the elderly on a daily basis, but I applaud those that can and actually want to.  Where does one get the drive to take on such a job as they have?  Is it something they experienced when they were younger that brought them to work with the elderly or did they just have it in them and knew that this line of work was for them?  I don't know, but I have a feeling it isn't something that you just wake up one day and decide to do for the rest of your life, there must be some deep seated desire to help others. 

For me, I feel driven to visit the gentleman who gave my son the cookies, even if it is just for a few minutes.  Next time I go to see Baba, which will be next week most likely, I will probably search out this man and spend a few minutes talking to him.  If it is indeed true that he never gets any visitors, he could probably use the company of someone who isn't normally there.  I can't imagine what it must be like to live in an assisted living facility and have no one come to visit you.  What makes it even worse is the fact that many of the people you live with are either incapable of talking or don't want to.  I think about my day sometimes and the lack of human contact I occasionally have while painting in a room by myself and I hate it.  I couldn't imagine being in a situation with plenty of people around yet no one to really talk to or at least no one who is willing to listen extensively to your stories.  From all appearances, this man seems very nice, perhaps not entirely "with it" anymore, but still capable of at least some conversation.  All this talk of loneliness makes me wonder if being in a place like Baba is in actually helps or if it just accelerates the decline of whatever ailment the residents there have.  It would seem to me that in a good number of cases, living in a place like that, surrounded by residents who can't or won't really talk to you, doesn't help anyone's situation.  Yet what can one do.  Despite visiting relatives there, which usually lasts for only an hour or so, there isn't much that can be done.  There isn't an employee for every resident there, it just isn't feasible.  Yet at the same time, it is comforting to know that the people there are being care for when no one else can.  Even in Baba's situation, it is better that she is there than anywhere else.  My family can't afford a live in nurse to take care of  Baba's every need and make sure she is safe all day long.  It is not easy for anyone involved, but at least the residents have what they need, a warm bed, good food, and help when they need it.  That, above all else, is the most important thing for them at this stage of their life.  Human contact with others trails close behind.  Some get the interaction they need such as Baba, others don't.  I will at least do my part to try and visit with the kind older gentleman when I visit Baba, even if it is just for ten minutes.