contemplating elder-care

We are beginning to navigate the tricky rapids of elder care on behalf of my beautiful and gallant 90-year-old mom. In our province that means you first have your senior assessed by the local community health nurse. She has at her fingertips, a variety of in-home options she can dispense, from an aide who can oversee getting into the bath a couple of times a week, to twice daily visits to supervise taking pills. It’s all designed to keep seniors in their own homes as long as possible.

And so we had Mom assessed by nurse Shelley a few months ago. She came into Mom’s home, noted things like the bathtub railings, the raised toilet seat and the powered chair which raises her gently from a sitting to a standing position, and gave her blessing on Mom staying in her home. So far the arrangement is working beautifully.

But in the last few weeks, Mom’s ability to stand up from sitting in a regular chair, get out of cars, and generally walk around is getting noticeably worse. Suddenly we’re at the stage of not being sure exactly what to do next. We’ve begun to ponder the more drastic step of hedging all bets and putting her name on the waiting list (some as long as a year) of various institutions which offer a variety of services, at a variety of prices. So far, though, we’ve held back. It seems so drastic and final...

A couple of weeks ago, Mom herself put the wheels of that in motion when she suggested we put her name on the list of a seniors development being built in our town (a 45-minute drive from where she lives now). Because many of the units in that development are government subsidized, getting on that list means meeting with the nurse again. We had an appointment to do that yesterday.

When we arrived at Mom’s, she was visibly anxious. She’d just come from a funeral, where she’d been with many of her friends. Now the thought of moving from her community to ours, along with comments thrown her way like, "Stay in your place as long as you can...you’ll be sorry if you move..." were giving her great pause.

We tried to reassure her. But the nurse, Shelley, really carried the day in that department. She let Mom talk and vent her anxieties. She gave Mom options that we weren’t aware of closer to Mom’s home. She helped Mom understand that once your name comes up, it’s perfectly ok to say "No thanks, I’m not ready to move yet."

As I let her out, Shelley said to me, "Keep talking. It’s the best thing to do in a time like this.

"I’ve found too," she went on, "that once the uprooting’s been done, and the move made, there’s usually very little regret."

Kudos to wonderful professionals like Shelley, who come alongside seniors and their bumbling kids facing difficult crossroads, with an air of efficiency, patience, understanding and just plain niceness. Yesterday Mom wasn’t the only one reassured.