My LTC Experience

Essay written for Human Growth & Dev about my volunteer expenence in nursing home:

Picture, if you will, a frightened nine year old girl pinned in a corner of a noisy, smelly nursing home by a wild haired, wild eyed old man muttering what seems to be curses in many languages. That was me, circa 1972.

At this point I must bore my gentle reader with a bit of background. My father was a devout Christian who took as his mission the charge to visit the sick and elderly. We spent many Sunday afternoons making the rounds of nursing homes and hospitals. The powers that were in those days had emptied out the state mental hospitals and many of those patients found themselves in nursing homes.

Fortunately that is not my only nursing home memory. I don't remember many of the individuals we visited, but I do remember the care and attention that Dad lavished on them. Some of them seemed to live for his visits. They knew they were still important to somebody, somewhere.

Now I find myself volunteering to assist activities in a local nursing home for class credit. I will attempt to gather a few impressions each time for your perusal.

9/11 We lead exercises. Residents seem to enjoy themselves. We close with "Proud to be an American" and spending the anniversary of 9/11 in the company of men and women of the Greatest Generation makes me very proud to be an American.

Next activity is "Name that Smell." Participants close their eyes, sniff and identify peanut butter, lemon, onion and other foods. Great idea for an activity but I wish we could use substances that might jog more memory, like motor oil for the men, sweet olive leaves for women and the scent of baking tea cakes for both.

We go through the Alzheimers ward to collect the few residents who are able to play Bingo. One woman talks to herself constantly in a loud, shrill voice. I am horrified for the workers, her captive audience, until they tell me that she literally never sleeps. Then, I am heartbroken for the patient.

9/18 Outdoor activity. Mr. X will happily pull weeks from the flower bed until someone stops him. I help him until ants eat me up. An old farmer's hands are, apparently, impervious to ants.

I remember Mrs. Z from my high school days. It hurts to see this vibrant teacher now frail and apathetic. I talk with her a little while and ask her to teach me some Spanish words. Then, she comes to life.

9/24 More flower watering, exercise and memory games. Residents frequently ask me when Bingo starts. I am puzzled by the allure of Bingo but happy to see their anticipation.

One of the fears that people have regarding LTC is the idea of losing their identity, being just a body to be fed, watered and pushed from place to place. The people I meet here definitely still have personalities.

10/2 Rousing game of "Flyswatter Volleyball" followed by room visits. One resident wears a somewhat frightened expression most of the time, as befits a Katrina survivor. She'll never know how if makes my day when she does smile.

10/9 Devotional time. One resident enthusiastically quotes Scripture along with the leader. A white haired husband sits gazing at his white haired wife like the pride of his life. Another couple has received some bad medical news. The staff enters into their distress with the comfort of friends. I am touched by the love in this place and am trying to think of excuses to come back and visit certain people.

To follow up the story of the little girl in the corner, I was in no way touched or harmed, just scared to death. My mother then convinced my Dad that a nursing home might not be the best place for a child to spend Sunday afternoons, and I avoided nursing homes for a long time afterward.

Having completed my class assignment, I walk the hall of heroes. In this place, the workers are caring and attentive, and the residents are heroes for their lives of service while active and their grace and good humor with which they bear their infirmities. As a soon-to-be nursing student, I find myself drawn to specialize in Geriatrics.

In the immortal words of Jerry Garcia, "What a long, strange trip it's been!"