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Pros and Cons of Putting your Aging Parents in Nursing Homes
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If you can afford one, excellent "alternating air pressure" medical mattresses keep the patient free from bed sores. keep on top of dentist, optician, physio and chiropody visits. Spend time finding practitioners, if necessary. easy care, easy-dress clothes in fleecy material are good, if your parent will wear them. don't feel you should visit every day one day off a week is essential for your own sanity. Stay contactable by mobile phone and see if someone else will go in on your day off. do what shortage you must to get over the initial stages of the changeover.
Britain's baby boomers (born 1946-64) increasingly have to look after elderly parents, the fastest-growing age group in the country. The average stay in a nursing home is 14 months, the average cost is 30,000 a year. If you need to find one, here are short some tips from louise Smith: Involve your parents in the decision-making process if you can. Once moved in, maintain a "family and friends" schedule of visits to keep the home on its toes. Include evenings short and night-times. build up a good relationship with the manager and the nursing sisters. Remember that care assistants earn low wages and do a job many of us would not want. get to know the nursing home doctor and be there during rounds, if you can. most homes will let you install a personal phone line, if you pay for.
Watching her die that night was, strangely, a wonderful experience, an enormous privilege for which I will always be grateful. Afterwards, two disinterested carers sloped into her room, enjoying a joke, and did the necessary, screeching with laughter from behind the door. It then proved impossible to get anyone to put my father to bed and the over-stretched staff became fractious. The next morning, my mother's body lay under a sheet, which the nurses had covered in rose petals. I cleared her things, stopping in my tracks when I found her handbag full of her odds and ends. My father was distraught and it took three carers to dress him. For the first time in two years he remembered the day before. Within a year, he had died. As a departing gesture, a care home nurse gave me a polaroid taken on his arrival smiling for the camera with the rescue cat on his lap, unaware of what the next few months would bring.
Ederly parents Should live in Nursing Homes or Not?
Their personal effects are a reminder of where they have come from: former lives, former selves. Certain memories haunt me and I consider them due punishment: trays of supper coming round in the afternoon once relatives have left; the dad's Army theme tune drifting down the deserted corridors. Christmas day, when gifts are distributed (one per person) and you don't know which is worse ignoring the event, or pretending to celebrate in a place that emphatically isn't home. As both my parents' deterioration continued, staff moved them into the main sitting-room during the day to keep an eye on them. They were fed supper.30pm, wearing bibs. The day before my mother died, i was lucky.
I had a brilliant visit. The call came at 7am the following morning. She was alive, but unresponsive. We sat talking to her all day, holding her hands and using a baby brush on her wisps of white ghostwriter hair. I lurched between piercing being fits of giggles (lifting the sheet to find enormous turquoise padded booties encasing her feet) and moments of incapacitating grief.
On a good day, i'd read to them, relieved to see them sleeping when I left. On a bad day, i'd turn up, my mother would criticise me and we'd argue. Occasionally she'd ring me at my desk, accusing me of never visiting; or in the early hours, frightened by male carers who appeared at her bedside to do night checks. After months of fitting visits around work, exhausted, i took some time off and she went into overdrive, berating me for unheard-of laziness. My father settled into his routine, enjoying jokes with the nurses, comforted by my mother's presence.
Soon, though, her dementia began to take hold. She'd pull her bedding off and lie on the bare mattress. I'd put the covers back and she would tug them off again furiously. Eventually, i'd leave, because i couldn't stand. Faced with a challenge to which I was absolutely unequal, i behaved like a coward. I now believe i made a terrible mistake, putting my parents into a home, even if I felt I had no other option. Any manager will tell you that after three months residents shut down and their decline is precipitate.
Should Elderly live in Old Folks home?
They had clothes bearing new name tapes, favourite toiletries and some prized little ornaments. That evening, staff took down details and we put their things into the unfamiliar bathroom, with its hospital smell, while institutional sounds echoed outside. From day one, there were problems. My mother's presence agitated my father. He kept her awake at night filsafat calling out. During the day, they spurred each other. One would need the loo and the other would ask to be taken as soon as the first returned. My mother hated the overheated room, the residents' cries and the constant presence of the nurses. She hated being talked down to and physically manhandled.
I cleared a lifetime of idiosyncratic clutter. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses with lenses so strong that the wearer's eyes quadrupled in size; annotated cookery books disaster. Never again a stuffed pillowcase labelled "yak hair. Do not throw out". Four local care homes were recommended. The last had a good atmosphere: uniformed staff, sleeping cats in the corridors and a manager who knew all the residents personally. I got the room ready, hanging favourite pictures, adding their furniture. I bought radios, lamps, a huge telly and brought in a new rescue cat for them. On 28 December, one of the most wretched days of our lives, i drove my parents to the care home, dressed in their warm winter coats.
she stayed at home, independent and resilient. I fell into a routine, exhausted, but running on adrenaline. Work gave me unlimited time off. I lacked the space to take my parents in and it didn't seem sensible to abandon my secure job to look after them. They had generous savings and so i set about finding a good home for both of them. I decided to sell the family house as at full stretch its upkeep was beyond.
My parents, married for decades, were self-sufficient. Their house was crammed with books and things accumulated after years of travel. Although well off, they lived simply, rather eccentrically, and didn't like spending money. Friends visited from around the world and the house was busy. In their 80s, a physiotherapist came once a week (there was stifled essay derision when she praised their skill at standing on one leg) and a wheelchair (branded "Breezy was delivered for my mother. Although mentally sharp, she used a walking frame around the house. My father took on the shopping and became a bad cook. From the moment of his stroke, it became clear that the thankless, isolating task of looking after my mother had played its part. Within a fortnight of taking over, i was ready to kill.
897 Words bartleby
I would never put my parents into a care home. Only selfish children did that. I knew that - until the night I dropped by the family home to find my father sitting on the floor. He had a vague expression, as if nothing unusual had happened. He was experiencing a massive stroke while my mother was asleep. Within three years they would both die in a local home. Of all my life's unimagineable scenarios, this was the most unlikely, but it happened to me and it could happen to anyone.