Taking Care
by Alice Outwater, Ph.D.

A Move to the Arbors

I never thought I would be answering my children, “No, your Father’s not okay. He continues declining incrementally and now has to move. He needs a higher level of care.” Someone explained to me that when one resident’s functioning falls below the level of the others, a nervous energy goes through the group. They all get agitated.
He will leave this community where he feels so comfortable and knows the staff. He’s always been curious about new experiences. With any luck, his sense of adventure will kick in and he’ll adjust easily. Let’s hope his coping skills are up to a second move.
My daily visits have recast Converse Home into a source of strength. The cheerfulness of the staff, the fine attention to detail in running the home, clean as can be, rooms always tidy, the pleasing rhythm of the days. I feel buoyed up by the staff. I’ve grown fond of them and the residents. I’m comforted that John is getting such good care. He’s content, he likes it here. He feels safe and valued.
All this allows me to re-create myself without guilt. I’ve gathered moral strength and see my place beside him on this journey. This is what life has handed us both; I need to stay balanced and do my best. With these realizations, our circumstance has become manageable.
From the beginning of his decline I knew major decisions had to be made. I sold our house in June and moved out in early August – dealing with 55 years of accumulation. I took pride in recycling everything and giving someone else an opportunity to find our things at second-hand places and Recycle North. The decision felt right, so the process didn’t present itself as a problem.
I resided at the Green Mountain Suites on Dorset Street for some weeks until my condo was ready. It was a most comfortable and welcoming place, and the front desk told me I was one of the family.
Still the sadness rises up in waves before crashing to the shore. It’s this expectancy of his death, so deep I dare not look at it squarely, afraid the anticipation will swallow me up. How does one brush it aside enough to function? I must face ahead and move into the future.
But hey, I remind myself, it’s not time yet. He’s still here.
Yesterday during our visit he was annoyed. “You know they want me to smoke my pipe outside and it’s too windy and cold. So I came into the reception area. They made me put it out. So I said, ‘I am telephoning Barack Obama, the President of the United States to get permission. He has the ultimate authority.’”
Instead of being annoyed, the head nurse was amused as she relayed this to me. “How surprising he knew the name of the President. I think he likes the way the name rolls off his tongue.”
Now John is apt to wake up at 5 a.m., go out into the hall, and in a stern, loud voice call for one of the nurses. Ladies in nearby rooms are roused from peaceful slumbering–and consequently feel cranky the next day. The male night nurse arrives and quiets him: “You know, John, you’ve met your obligations for the day and can go back to bed. You’ll find you will sleep well.” This calm statement settles John, who then turns around on his walker and follows the suggestion. He lived his life with responsibility and handled obligations with the utmost seriousness.
The night nurse has an uncanny sense about the residents. He copes with all the nighttime uneasiness with a gentle humor. Secrets and fantasies stir about like ghosts and become rampant as dawn approaches.
When a friend was working at another residence, she relayed how a former executive of a Chicago firm rang his bell to order a limousine to drive him home. The nurse explained that this is his home now. “For God’s sake, what kind of establishment do you think you’re running here!” the man grumbled. “I’ve got to be on time for dinner tonight. My wife’s going to suspect I‘m having an affair if I’m late again.” With morning’s light, he was back to his self-effacing self.
Another woman demanded the train schedule to Washington: “You go right down and pick up that ticket, then pack my bags so I can catch an early morning train. I need to get home. My husband never wanted me to take this trip at all. He absolutely forbid me to buy that fur coat I cherish.”
No, it’s not time for grieving. John still calls me his bride and cherishes my visits. His life is rich with surprising gems. I must keep in good spirits to enjoy them. They’re too delicious to miss.