Day 6 in Assisted Living: The Help

Last fall my Aunt Moe was having trouble getting around in her home - she had a sharp pain that would shoot down her leg and she was often tired. She was told it was a pinched nerve and if she strengthened her core she’d be able to work it out.

While I don’t know for sure, I think the last time she exercised was when she was forced to in high school or maybe college. Strengthening her core wasn’t exactly on her to-do list.

She started relying on a walker to get around, which included sitting on it and scooting around the kitchen (which, by the way, it was not built for her weight but that little sucker held her great!). Thankfully her townhome had one-level living so it made it a lot easier for her, and probably easier for me, too.

What I mean is that I had loved ones suggesting I have “The Talk” with her. You know… the one where I say, “You’re no longer safe alone in your home and we should look into alternative options where you can have care.”

I FOUGHT THIS SO HARD.

1, because the conversation was hard.

and 2, because I knew she was going to fight me.

She’s lived alone since her divorce in her 20s and, while she avoids conflict, she’s also incredibly stubborn and when she says, “NO” well, that’s the end of that conversation.

But, there was actually a 3 to this list. I’ve heard horror stories of assisted living and nursing homes and I didn’t want to pull her away from the comfort of her home. Just as I thought it was bad enough for “the talk” she’d then turn around and start feeling better… so I, too, avoided it. As much as I knew she didn’t want it, I didn’t want it for her, either.

… and then all of this happened and we had no choice.

On her better days I question whether moving her to an Assisted Living Home was the right choice. Is she mad at me? Does she hate me for this? But the only time she’s “fought” it is when she has been confused and she doesn’t understand where she is and she’s ready to “walk home”. (Mind you, she cannot walk anymore).

Then days like today happen and I know it was the right choice.

This morning I arrived and I whistled like I always do (and like her mom always did) upon my arrival. It always gets her to quickly open her eyes and usually we can have a bit of a conversation. But not today. Today it was nearly impossible to get anything out of her.

She was coughing and saying her back hurt, which is the first time she’s mentioned PAIN in, well, weeks. She’d slightly move and grimace, and while she said it was a “Level 5” the grimaces increased with every movement and I finally got her to admit it was higher than that. I text the nurse line and within a few minutes Tamika was there.

Tamika is the nurse there most of the day. She is kind, she is patient, she is gentle, and she has a heart of gold. When she’s not at The Village at Mission she is a private nurse for a family who has a 4 year-old with a trach. Her own son, who is in his 20s, has Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, and she cares for him, too.

Because Moe is unable to walk, they have her in Depends all of the time. She needed those and her clothes to be changed, and she welcomed my assistance. I thought Moe would fight it, as she was in her most vulnerable state, but instead, she leaned on me and fully allowed me to be present.

It’s weird being in this role for someone who, for her whole life, has been so incredibly private. A proud introvert who finds peace being alone at home and proud of being self-sufficient, she now relies on people for her most basic of needs… and she doesn’t hide from me. Instead, she welcomes my help and support.

At this point I’ve admittedly written a lot to say I am so incredibly grateful for the team at Village at Mission, and at the same time I’m avoiding the hard part: today was not great.

She was unresponsive most of the morning, although I did get a very clear, “I love you, too” when I was leaving. Her hospice nurse, Av’i, arrived not too long after I left and, instead of texting me a summary, said, “call me, please.”

While her vitals are mostly fine, she is refusing medication, barely eating or drinking, and when she does, it’s not fully getting where it needs to go which is causing coughing (and can lead to pneumonia). They are providing a medicine that helps clear it up and re-positioning her as they can, but it is still an ongoing challenge that is just going to continue to get worse. She is also having trouble staying awake or keeping her eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. She suggested stopping all medication except those that make her comfortable to see if she can pull out of this - and also increasing visits from 2x a week to 1-2x A DAY. She let me know about the next steps to pay attention to: They may ask for a volunteer to be present throughout the night. We know our days with her on this Earth are numbered, but that will be the sign that she is nearing transition.

Now it is my plan to spend as much time with her as I can - and not just me, but my children as well. They are her whole entire world.

Because she needed some more gowns, we went over to her home before visiting. I’m not going to lie: We were a couple of blocks away when the emotions took over for the first time in quite a few days. “Is this the last time we are going to Aunt Moe’s, house?'“ my kids wanted to know. “It’s not, but it does feel so very different this time,” I said. And boy did it ever…

We then went to drop off the nightgowns and visit her. The whistle opened her eyes and they got even wider when she saw the kids. She’d taken a few bites of dinner, which was a positive sign, but she could also barely keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds. She was very present, though. The cooking channel was on and for the few seconds she had her eyes open she’d reach to a dish she saw - which is very “Moe”. And then when we had Finding Nemo on one of the kids asked, “What is ‘Finding Dory’ about?” to which she didn’t skip a beat and said, “Finding Dory.” (Also very “Moe.”).

So, I’m ending this on a high note. While overall it wasn’t a great day and the painful reality of what’s to come in, likely, the next few days is eminent (especially with the change of 2x a week to 1-2x a day with hospice)… I am grateful for how present she could be when the kids were there with her.

The Village at Mission isn’t perfect but I can tell absolutely every single person I have met that works there absolutely cares and they are doing their best and when you have a loved one living their final days with strangers in a strange place, that is about all I can ask for.

… and I am grateful.

Devastated.

…. but grateful.