Ageing with dignity

Mrs. Harriet "Curly" Anderson, 93 and still going strong.

Not too many years ago, taking an ageing person into one's home for care could be overwhelming, especially if the person was suffering with serious physical or mental problems. Usually these lovely old people ended up in a "rest home," left to fade away quietly among strangers.

About a year ago it became obvious that my mom could no longer care for herself. My wife, Sue, had said earlier that when the time came there was no question who would care for her: us.

So we painted and decorated a room on the sunny side of our doublewide shaky-shanty and mom moved in. Little did I know what we had undertaken...

Once in our home she had only the nurse from Senior and Disabled Services coming to see her once a month for a check-up. Even though the support from this superb state agency is splendid, it is overstretched. The nurse was usually not available when push came to shove.

Every time mom began suffering with an unknown health problem -- dizzy spells, upset stomach, pains in her lovely old body, troubles with bowel movements, and other unpleasant symptoms -- I was hamstrung without knowing who to call, or what to do. Making contact with her doctor, especially on weekends, is difficult, and that left us 911, the hospital, or Merck's Manual.

Calling 911 for a non-emergency situation, even though she was demonstrating stress and discomfort wouldn't do. So I'd get in touch with an EMT through the fire hall social number and discuss the situation.

But these extraordinary people can do just so much over the phone, medically and legally. Once, however, they came to my house with the ambulance when mom was having severe abdominal pains.

"Just to be sure..." the EMTs said as they came in smiling.

Mom still talks about how wonderful she felt as they ministered to her.

In spite of the help the EMTs provided, each time mom went into another tough spell our frustration levels went into high gear.

"Just take me to the hospital, Jimmy..." was a frequent suggestion, sometimes an order.

Then one day after hearing my plight, a friend suggested I contact Hospice of Redmond and Sisters, and see what they could do to help.

I did... and the sun came out. I called at 9 a.m. and by 11:30 a.m. there were three Hospice people sitting in my living room -- two talking with Sue and I about how their services worked -- and a nurse going over my mom with a fine-tooth comb.

From that day many of mom's physical problems and my feelings of helplessness ended, we had a real live person I could talk to anytime, seven days a week. At first, Nurse Beverly came by twice a week, and her ability at giving mom a tune-up and smoothing out the rough places was uncanny.

One example stands out: Sores on mom's legs. Because she spends hours sitting in her chair -- only getting around with the aid of her walker to go to meals, bathroom, bath and then off to bed for naps and bedtime -- excessive fluids collected in her legs, causing sores.

Beverly didn't blink an eye.

"Curly," she said in her warm, cuddly nurse's way, "Jimmy's going to place a rolled up sleeping bag under the foot of your mattress and then put your feet up on a pillow during the day to take down that swelling."

It worked -- the swelling and sores are gone. End of problem.

Unfortunately, mom's Hospice services have come to an end. She's not gotten any worse. In fact, she's better, thanks in part to her own natural ability to cope with growing old, and the know-how and TLC supplied by Hospice.

I know when she gets ready for her voyage out among the stars Hospice will be with us to help make the event as acceptable as possible for everyone -- and I hope they're around when it's my turn.