The Nursing Home

Dave (Juicy) says he wants to be in a nursing home before he dies.

Most folks say the exact opposite.

This is the kind of thing we talk about in the morning on our way to find some coffee. We get to thinking out loud.

Dave says he and my mom could be neighbors.
But we know they’d only get into trouble knockin’ off the med-cart and all. But that’s another song that I need to get recorded one of these days.

My mother, bless her heart has been in a full time skilled nursing care facility since she suffered a devastating stroke in the fall of 2001.
I guess my differentiation between the aforementioned and a ‘nursing home’ gives me some consolation in having to say it at all.

I’ve said many times how grateful I am for the men and women who take care of my mom. I know they truly care about her. They’ve become family to both of us. And as Linford has said, we give standing ovations to the wrong people in this world. At the end of every shift change at every hospital, nursing home, and care facility there should be a line of folks standing at the door applauding those nurses, aids, social workers, and caregivers that give so much of themselves day in, day out.

When we submit our loved one to a facility for full time care and relinquish so much of their day to day to the hands of strangers, we encounter a fear and an unknown that we’ve not known before. That fear makes us nervous, anxious, edgy, even hostile and defensive toward these very people that have dedicated their lives to the care of these individuals in need.

I’m not saying it isn’t good to be wary, cautious. I did my homework before I subjected my mother and her care to a facility like this. I knew what the state inspections ratings were. I knew how long the administration had been in place and that the turnover rate for the nursing staff was tellingly low.

I unfortunately had to find out the hard way that these things make a significant difference in the equilibrium of a care facility. And consistency is key. I was the first in our circle of friends to be the durable power of attorney over the care of a parent or loved one. I was scared to death and had to learn fast. Mom had no other children nor close relatives to help out with the intensity of her situation. We were on our own.

I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without my partner, Linford. Truly.

But I’ve seen, and still see, families coming into this new scary world of wheelchairs and hospital beds, medicines and catheters, trauma and depression, resignation and recovery with their tired eyes widened and glazed over, absolute fear coloring their every interaction. I’ve been witness to verbal assaults born out of confusion and exhaustion.

And I’ve been there myself.

And I’ve seen how a caring trained professional handles these crazed moments with calming assurance and grace. And I’m often amazed at their patience.

It helped I suppose that I was raised by a nurse and I know about those times when she was just trying to do her job and do it well and encountered some angry family member. I remember what that did to her and how she would sometimes be able to shake it off, and how sometimes she couldn’t and she’d bring it home and wear that useless negativity like a noose.

And I know Dave’s wife, Sharon, who works the night shift in the emergency room at Children’s Hospital has had more than one occasion to cry on her husband’s shoulder. She bears witness to things we can only imagine and deals with parents that are no less in shock.

Hospitals, nursing homes – scary places at times and all places we would not want to imagine life without.

Nobody is perfect and no situation is perfect. I’m sure some of you reading this have had bad experiences involving the medical care of a family member, experiences that never should have happened, that maybe were neglectful or even criminal. It’s unfortunate that this happens, but it does. And in those cases the family and loved ones are left to pick up the pieces. It’s an ungodly burden to bear. I’ve been there too and was fortunate and aware enough to sense an imbalance in one facility in particular in time to get my mother out and on to the safe home she has now.

I was fortunate. And lying awake at night more than I would have liked.

I am sleeping better these days. I have trust in my mother’s caregivers that has been earned by them – by their care and dedication, their reputation, their attention to detail and their relationship with my mother and myself.

I’m thankful for them and what they do. I wouldn’t be able to live the life I feel I’ve been called to live if it weren’t for them.

We’ve had an extensive touring season beginning last July. Mom is doing so well. I’m still scheduling (with the help and understanding of our booking agency, Skyline) our tours with the necessary breaks so that I can check in, visit with Mom and make sure everything is up to snuff, so to speak. And it works out well for all the families of our band and crew. We’ve found that it is possible to balance this way of life – the road and home, work and family, occasional chaos and stability.

We have learned to verbalize our gratitude to the people that help us do what we do.

So as we were thinking out loud looking down the double line of about 200+ miles to Ann Arbor, I realized I needed to write about my experience thus far and felt like part of that process involved again thanking the caregivers that enhance the life of my mom. And I am truly grateful, again. A handful of them will be joining us at The Taft again this year along with Mom.

Oh, and as I commit this to the internet, it’s Dave’s birthday.

Shuffleboard Dave? Or maybe just a little game of Bingo?