Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

Yesterday marked the one year point since Mom and I entered the nursing home. She as a resident, I as an employee.

In many ways Mom's life is much improved. Before she went in, she would sit in her apartment for weeks on end. The only company she got was me, or the mooches in her building who were always trying to hit her up for cash, or worse-drugs.

Most of the mental hospitals in my state have been closed down. The surprising result has been an upswing in younger disabled people populating what once was senior high rises. The last years in Mom's building were frightening. There were several very mentally ill people residing there, and "home" wasn't so sweet anymore.

The night I went to begin clearing Mom's apartment, I came upon a very surprising event. The place was swarming with police. It was the culmination of a months' long investigation into a drug and prostitution ring. IN A SENIOR HIGH RISE???? Yep. A woman had gone into a nursing home permanently, but her granddaughter had maintained her apartment for over a year. The rent was based upon her grandmother's income, so for about $200 a month, the girl had a nice one bedroom apartment. She was selling drugs and turning tricks in the old folks' home!!! Sheeesh!

I digress.

It's the one year point at the nursing home. It's good to see Mom making friendships. She's much more active socially than I remember her being for decades. But sadly, she's also doing less and less for herself. Mom's always been somewhat of a prima dona, expecting special service and complaining loudly when denied it. But now she refuses to do the simplest things for herself. It's not disability, it's choice.

An example of this would be, she insists that she can sew by hand and keeps demanding needles and thread, yet she won't peel and slice a banana for herself. Both tasks require the same motor skills, yet one task she insists be done for her.

As for my own one-year mark, I worry about me. I'm tired. I miss my old job at Fox's. I miss the people I had come to love so much. My job is so entwined with the difficulties I experience with my mother. At times, I wish I could just enjoy my work, at other times, I'm grateful that all my life-stress is encapsulated into an eight hour day. I can't imagine how I'd "work my mother in" to my busy life if she weren't with me every day....

One of my dearest friends-who also has worked in a nursing home- wrote this to me today:

I understand this intimately, Nansi. You are in one of the most draining "industries" of work. There is no easy way to manage the end of life. No one is winning: not you, nor your mom, nor any of the old people and their stories who haunt me sometimes still when I go to bed. There is only so much one person can do for our elders. I think, hard as it is, you are giving all you can. Please, find room to recharge yourself so you don't burn out at your job. Humanity needs you there.

I'm going to do my best to take her advice this weekend, although I think I've already failed. It's four in the morning, I can't sleep, I lay here and worry.