The Retirement Home

I spent the weekend helping my grandmother, who is 84. She is in the assisted living section of Richfield outside of Salem.

She was in one building and needed to move to another. This is because of money. Isn't it always about the money? Her personal funds ran out. She has some kind of insurance policy that will pay for her to stay in a semi-private room in assisted living for another year or so, and then I guess it's off to the "true" nursing home, with a bed and nothing personal around her, so Medicaid can pay the bills.

That is the future I envision, unfortunately.

I am not her caretaker. That falls to my aunt, who is, unfortunately, in Georgia. Her son, my cousin Matt, lives here, though, and so does my grandmother's sister Susie (who is 87) and one of Grandma's four sons. Also there is me and my brother, although my brother does not speak to anyone on Mom's side of the family, just as I don't speak to my father. And I have two other cousins in town but they don't speak to Matt or my brother but they speak to me.

We're a convoluted bunch.

Anyway, Grandma was supposed to be moved next weekend but suddenly she was moved Friday. I do not know why.

She moved into a room that she now shares with her sister-in-law Elsie. I have no idea how this came about and can only scratch my head at it. Aunt Elsie had something to do with it, I suppose, but I was outside the loop. I only know they didn't get along well when I was a child, and can't help but wonder how they think they can manage it now.

I decided to slip up there Saturday and see how she was getting along, because she was very nervous about the move.

When I walked into my grandmother's room, none of her personal stuff had been moved except for her special chair she sits in. She had one pair of underwear in the room. I don't know what she slept in Friday night. She had brought along her mattress pad and and a bedspread but no one had placed them on the bed.

I could not believe that they moved her and thought one pair of underwear was all she needed. I went over to her former room and found my cousin Matt in a dither. He'd been told, as had I, that maintenance was going to move all her things except for two pieces of heavy furniture. They had done nothing, obviously.

We were unprepared for a major move but somehow we managed to get her stuff together. Her personal items now consist of a big dresser, a cedar chest, a curio cabinet filled with dolls, a stuffed bear collection (about 20 large bears), her clothing (the closet's full), assorted food stuff, puzzle books, her TV, and about 30 pictures she keeps on the dresser. I was grateful Matt had brought along a friend.

I took over the move, which Matt seemed grateful for, and with effort we packed and transported. Then it had to be set up. We could not figure out how to get all of this into the room. The room is not tiny; it's about 12 by 7, maybe, but that is not large, either. We finally came up with a configuration. Matt and his friend moved all the furniture around but then left me to deal with the clothes, the dolls, the bears, the photos. . . . it was a very long Saturday.

Unfortunately in our hurry and frustration, we did not realize that Grandma's nurse call button was on the other side of the room, away from her bed. Her special chair was at it but not the bed. If she became ill in the night, she could not get help.

I asked the nursing staff about this before I left and was told not to worry about it.

I woke at 4 a.m. this morning worrying about it. So there was nothing to do but get up and go back up there today, nevermind that I was up there for nearly six hours yesterday.

I took my husband this time and within an hour we'd rearranged the entire room again. Now her nurse call is by the bed and her special chair.

To make matters worse, while we were moving the furniture around, one of the nurses came in and said they were glad we moved the furniture. They were worried about her inability to reach the call button and had "put in a request" for a cord extension so she could reach it. Meanwhile I guess everyone was supposed to hope for the best while the bureaucratic wheels of the do-nothing maintenance people turns.

I am furious with the nursing home for not taking better care of my grandmother. I am also rather upset with my uncle, who visited my grandmother on both Saturday and Sunday and lifted nary a finger to see that she was getting proper care and that her things were taken care of.

I am grateful that my cousin and husband moved the furniture. We showed up because we wanted to check on my grandmother and thought it was the right thing to do. None of us know what is happening or what needs to be done as far as Richfield is concerned. That is out of our control.

But I shiver when I wonder what would have happened if we hadn't gone.