1.29.15 Sometimes It Does

     The supervisor of home health aides added, on the phone, " And he grabs the girls, so watch out." Gave me a pause, as I left the Home Health Care I worked at, as a Caseworker, and headed off to the man's home.I was 33, several months pregnant, and learning this new job, after working in and managing residential programs for awhile.
     Turns out he rented the back end of a house, in Sunderland; I drove out back, got out of the car, and knocked on the worn door. A voice yelled out 'What do you want?", so I cracked the door open, and said "I'm from Home Care, here for a visit."
     "Oh, alright, alright, if you have to." I heard, and made my way into the dark apartment.
     There past the hallway was a small kitchen, the open gas oven heating the place. He was in his early eighties, with worn working-man's pants and shirt that hadn't seen a washer in awhile, the windows and floor and counters cluttered and dirty, HIs face scrabbled with whiskers that were neither beard nor shaven, but in that land in between.
     He took my measure, as he limped with a cane to a metal chair, pulled up to a Formica table, settled himself with a oomph of discomfort, and asked me what the hell we all wanted now, for Christ's sake.
     I stood in the doorway, looking all comfy and standoffish, a necessity for older people who have pride, and are caught in the truth of having seen better days. You just have to start out being matter of fact, so they can relax about the circumstances they find themselves in, as you stand there, in their home, figuring out what kind of help they could use.
     I made some small talk, asking what it was like to be retired, versus getting up early to milk cows and farm potatoes. He glared at me for a moment, then decided to take me at face value, and said "Oh, I miss it some. Being younger, being able to get around. Having things to do. Being able to keep up." He went on, about how it was, and what kinds of situations he dealt with, another important part of being older I was learning. Because the person in front of you, the young person, had idea the person you were; which was in fact a big part of the person you still were today. They didn't know and they couldn't see it and they hadn't known you, and there was a real danger that they would take one look and think that's all there was to your whole life, when in fact you had HAD a life, and muscles, and brute strength and responsibilities and a marriage and sex and beer on weekends with friends.
     When it all begins to change, which it does if you live long enough, and you're not surrounded by offspring with lots of time and money, well then it gets dicey. The ability to care for yourself, to cook and move about and shop and do your laundry. And it gets all tangled up, with hiding how you are living, and scaring people away so that in that moment, when they see your toenails or your sheet or your toilet, you won't see the truth of things too.
     So to support older people, you have to be real casual, and act like you don't notice things, while you squirrel your way carefully into their lives. And you can't be all thin skinned, because they're scared to death about seeing for themselves where things have got to. Nope, you have to just focus ahead of you, same as counseling teenagers, the both of you safely looking ahead and not at each other, and only then, can they feel safe and respected and in control. And in those moments that follow are the opportunities to support them.
     We kind of got a little banter going on, and I edged over to the table, put down my folder, pulled out a chair, picked up the miscellaneous pile of items and moved them to a chair in the tiny living room, and distracted him by talking, while I sat. Once I sat, I was in, of course.
     I changed topics, and said "You know, I see how hard it is to keep up, visiting people all day long. I hear how hard it is, and how the aides cook wrong and shop wrong and clean wrong, and how lousy it is to have them around." He looked at me warily, and then agreed. "Those girls are a pain. They snoop and look down on me and buy the wrong things and can't cook like my wife did. What's wrong with them?"
     I commiserated, and then I leaned in, and said "You know, you worked all your life, and you need help now. You need to just get that they're going to do things all wrong, that your wife isn't here anymore. I really need you to do this. I want things to be as ok for you as they can be. I know it's lonely and it's a pisser, to not be able to take care of yourself. But you need to learn to not be a big crab. So these aides can begin to catch up. You need someone to help you catch up. You do. I'll even make you a bet, that you act all cross on the phone, so your kids think you're a jerk, and don't come find out how bad off things are. " He looked pretty angry there, for a moment, and then just sad, as he looked down at his hands. "Yeah, I guess I do that. "
     "So, listen to me, can you give this a try?" I asked, staring at him so he had to look up. "You know, no one but you, and me, and maybe your kids, will have any idea who you have been your whole life. But there you are. We know. And you deserve better than this. You do."
     He looked away then, which I expected, because this was just plain hard. Hitting it right on point.
     "Oh, alright. Just because you're so bossy. And nosy." He replied, and I sat back, and agreed I was such a pain it was ridiculous.
     "Okay," I said. " So, I'm going to put in an order for an aide again. And I'm going to show up just before they get here later on this week. And I want you to remember the good man you have always been, even though things have gotten away from you here. I'm going to sit here with you and remind you of all that, and when that young woman comes in, let's not be embarrassed or feel bad or be mean. I'm going to tell her that you're all frustrated by not being able to catch up, and real glad she's here, to slowly catch up, week after week. We're going to sit at this table, and you're going to make her welcome. We're going to talk about how lousy it is to grow older and how things get out of hand, and how much you will appreciate her help. Then, I'm going to tell her that you know you've grabbed some women who came to work here, and you realize you need to be a gentleman and give the Aides some room and some respect, so they can do their job and feel as comfortable as you would have wanted your young wife to have felt, if she did this for work. That sound right?"
     And he ran his hand over his bristles, said "Alright. Alright."
"Hey, that's good." I smiled at him. "Because I want to help you turn things around. Life still isn't easy. We know that. But we can make it better. And hey, maybe things will get cleaned up, and you can give your kids a call sometime, have the aide make up a soup and some biscuits, and ask them over for lunch. I think they'd like that."
     "Let's not get all carried away here, woman" He crabbed to me, but his eyes held a faint note of possibility. I saw it there.
I arranged a new aide, an older woman who took no crap. I spoke to her, filling her in on the strategy, and she liked it, me paving the way. I arrived about 10 minutes before she did, and sat myself down, making room for her at the table too. Began talking him up, while I asked if it was ok if I just wiped the table a bit real quick, and he told me a story about he and his wife years ago. I saw that he had some cleaner clothes on, and had put his dirty clothes piled up in a hamper, tried to straighten his bed, that still needed washing, as we heard a knock on the door, and I went to answer it.
     I invited her in, introduced them, and we sat, going over the same stuff I'd said to him earlier in the week. I told her the story he was telling me when she arrived, and he broke in and finished it, while we all smiled at what he held dear. I mentioned that it would take awhile, with visits twice a week, to get things up to speed, but that he realized he couldn't keep up, and that after a lifetime of hard work, he was ready for someone to come in and do things all differently, and see if he could get used to that.
     It kind of set things up, parameters, for everyone, then. I wasn't really allowed to go by so often, but I just realized that in the long run, clients would settle and come to accept an Aide coming on in to their house and doing things all differently, if I started things off on the right foot.

      So in the beginnings, when someone's life and home had really gotten out of hand, I intervened and had the satisfaction of getting things settled down.
     Sure enough, the next month I went by, and things had gone smoothly. Floors were clean, clothing was clean, he was being respectful and the Aides were willing to help him shave, and set him up for showers.
     The month after, I went by while the Visiting Nurses came to visit, gave him a quick once over, and I distracted him while they quietly clipped his nightmarish nails. SO many older people end up with nightmarish toenails, and then all they can do is keep hiding them. But we got that squared away, I got them connected up with the life he had and what his wife had been like and how well he farmed, until there was some respect in the room and some ease in his demeanor, and he kept up with the monthly visits for his nails.
     The next month, I bugged him about the meal and the kids. And he laughed at me, telling me what all of a bully I was, but with pleasure in his smile. The Aide was there, so we talked over what kind of meal could be made ahead of time (and afforded) and they planned it out, so that when he called his kids, he could talk to the Aide about the timing.
     Lo and behold, the following month I went by, the meal had taken place, with a few phone calls I made to his kids, updating them and setting them at ease. Whatever was between them all, his shaven face and clean clothes and clean home and chicken and biscuits somehow did it enough, and he began having them by each month.

     A few times, when they called to bring him out to lunch, he actually (with prompting from me) accepted, the Aide having gone and bought with his tiny money new pants and shirt and shoes and jacket, for "going to meeting' as he called it.
     It was still a small dark tiny place he lived, he still wiggled the coat hanger on top of the old tv, the radio crackled, and the bed sagged. His wife and friends were gone, and he couldn't get around much. But he was friendly to the Aides, so had a chance to have that be a sort of visit, together with meals on wheels that he began to accept without scaring the delivery volunteers.

      They even began bringing him hunting magazines from the library, and a few other things, and then picking them up and replacing them with new ones the librarian had put aside for him, all a big conspiracy.
     Sometimes when we are in need, and life is tough, it doesn't work, what people offer us. And sometimes, it does.