In all that time, we have cleaned out my mother’s house in Tennessee - bless all whose houses are cleaned out by other people, and all those other people who clean out their relative’s houses - and moved her to Greensboro. The move was precipitated by a startling discovery - that she wasn’t getting bathed regularly in her assisted living holding tank in Tennessee. It was only after getting her here that we discovered she was on four times the dosage of Ativan that is recommended, putting her into a constant sleep state. This while they parked her in the lobby.
To our shame, we discovered all this, slowly, after moving her to Greensboro to a place that respects their residents, as well as truly cares for them. Greensboro is an hour and change for me and an equal distance for my sister, and now we happily visit with her once a week instead of a reluctant once per several months. She was surly and difficult and whiney and full of what sounded like conspiracy theories in this other place. We didn’t know.
She was throwing food in the dining room, called the staff the police and the director The Commandant. We didn’t know.
We didn’t know that they had her drugged. We didn’t know that the staff was yelling at her, and not bathing her even though she was in Depends that she couldn’t change by herself. That she was sitting in a wheelchair all day, put into bed at 7 p.m. and that they weren’t coming to help her get to the bathroom at night, so she was in a metal hospital bed with a thin rubber mattress and had to stay there until morning. We didn't believe her when she tried to tell us all this, in a hushed frightened tone.
“Why is she in a hospital bed?” asked the new young doctor on his first visit to her room in Greensboro. We hadn’t thought about it. Suddenly, it was clear she didn’t need to be, so here came a new Sleep Number bed, with beautiful bedding instead of thin worn institutional blankets. Suddenly she wasn’t incontinent since the staff responded to her call button and came to help her.
“Why is she on all this Ativan?” We didn’t know that either. Cautiously, he said, with steel undertone, “some institutions do this to keep their patients from being too much trouble.” We didn’t know.
Last week, as I sat across from her in a Sports Bar in Greensboro, trying to keep up with her analysis of the University of Tennessee football season, I was thinking instead of how beautiful she is. She had her glass of wine and some bar food, while I sipped my tea.
Pay attention, softly played in my head, pay close attention.
