My mom lives in a long-term care seniors facility. I haven’t written much about that here because frankly, I am saving up a lot of the things that have happened there for a much, much larger media forum. I’m a writer after all, and for the sake of those who will follow her, which in a sense includes you and me, I want to try to do some good.
On her floor there are two dining rooms, each one seats about 30 people. When she arrived there, she was assigned to the table in the farthest corner, and in the seat that faces the corner. She really can’t see anything else that goes on in the room, nor can she tell when a server is nearby or approaching so she can ask for something. There is a window, but the tables are on an angle, so her best view is of the roof of the adjoining part of the building.
In her previous facility, they had a great system. Each person rotated one seat to the right every month. Once or twice the whole bunch of them got to move to a different table. It made for change, and it also created equity.
In this facility, nearly a year went by and she started to feel the inhumanity of her seat assignment. So I started asking questions on her behalf. The treatment I got was about equal to what she was experiencing.
“In order to change her seat, we would have to contact the families of the other three people at her table;” I was told. Really? Seriously?
I told them that I would not want or need to be contacted if her seat at the dining room was being changed. I don’t even see the relevance of family being part of which table she sits at. In that exchange, I really felt I was being played for a fool.
Soon it will be three years. She’s a rather slow eater, so we’re talking three hours a day. Every day. Every week. Every month. For three years. Staring into the corner. No visible indication of what’s going on in the rest of the dining room. Not given the dignity of honoring her request for a change…
…On Wednesday she told me that a woman at her table had spilled some soup. She cleaned it up herself with a paper napkin, and then proceeded to eat the napkin.
“Why;” my wife asked, “Would you want to be party to seeing more of that?”
It’s a fair question. But I think she (and we) should have some choice in the matter.
I’ve appealed this before all the way to the top. Usually, when I do things like this on behalf of people, either logic or a sense of justice wins. Not this time.
Did I mention this is a “Christian-owned” facility? It’s run by the “Benevolent Association” of a large Evangelical denomination. Benevolent to whom, exactly? What’s worse, decades ago she was a long-time volunteer at this same facility. Her own mother and mother-in-law were residents. Her picture appears in their commemorative, anniversary book. And she’s treated like crap.
Right now my prayer is that the people who head up this place find themselves, when they reach that golden age, placed in residence at the facility they now manage.
It will be a most appropriate revenge.