diabedes

AND THEN THERE WERE NONE

I visited with my friend Eva this afternoon. I have mentioned Eva and her very talented musical family, originating from Hawaii, who

finances

Running out of money adds to the stress of aging and Alzheimer’s caregivers.

entertained many of us living here on the Mainland. Whenever we craved the swaying of palm trees, balmy beaches and the setting sun over the Pacific we asked them where they would be holding their next luau. Eva’s husband, Ed, and his band played the very best dancin’ music in town. Not only did they make an evening romantic in its artificial setting, the group provided authentic food, young and beautiful grass-skirted women doing a variety of Polynesian dances, and a traditional fire dance, accomplished by their oldest son as part of the grand finale. Eva taught her girls everything she knew, and when the entire group danced you would swear their hips were on springs. Everything you dreamed about being in the Islands was there during those wonderful evenings of long ago.

Eva now has Alzheimer’s, as did her husband. She is also 90 years old. It seemed that no sooner had he passed on that Eva began showing the same signs of confusion and forgetting. Yet, with the help of her youngest son Matthew, Eva, dressed in a fitted muumuu of her own design, a flower tucked behind an ear, continued to volunteer her musical talents, singing and strumming her ukulele at Senior facilities throughout the East Bay of San Francisco. Eventually, as the disease took hold, she sang her last song and her ukulele lay silent in its case.

She has been absolutely content living in her own home with Matthew, whose mental capacity had prevented him from reaching responsible adulthood. The rest of the family agreed they would be able to remain there by doing a “Reverse Mortgage.” When she was 82, the family helped her work out the details with the bank and a long-term professional caregiver, which included an iron-clad contract for her care until she was 90. The family was certain the 8-year contract would suffice, knowing that Eva was also plagued with diabetes.

Every year Eva’s children came from far and wide to help celebrate her birthday with a grand party, music supplied by friends, and tables filled with Island food. Hearing her friends sing and play the familiar music seemed to bring her confused mind back to what she loved most: music, singing, entertaining and her beloved family. Eva sang bits and pieces of songs she had known and the sounds floated through the air as many joined in to help her recapture the past. She even kicked off her shoes and danced a little. Unfortunately, we all knew that it would be forgotten the next day.

This summer Eva turned 90, and we helped her celebrate the end of an era with family and a few scattered very old friends. It also brought an end to the contract, her caregiver and her home. The house belonged to the bank. As the old book title states, “And Then There Were None.” In this case it was money. The estate was broke. The reversed mortgage had paid its last payment. So now what? When the elderly infirmed reach a point when there is no money left, and the family, scattered all over the U. S., is unable to furnish additional funds, or care for a loved one what happens?

I visited Eva today in her new home which her daughter had found several months ago, explaining the situation to the admissions director and arranging an entry date. I was pleased to see it roomy, comfortable and clean. I also appreciated the important part: the air smelled fresh. Apparently, when family funding runs out for an older patient, the state picks up the tab. It’s no longer like the 1800s when Charles Dickens wrote his sagas about people without the ability to pay being turned out to live on the streets – or were tossed into a debtor’s prison. I couldn’t imagine my frail, gray-haired friend who had given so much in time and talent to the community not to be cared for in an appropriate way. She also needs full nursing care as complications from diabetes made the amputation of one leg necessary.

Arriving at the location I rambled down two long halls before I peeked into Room 36B. Finding the bed empty I couldn’t imagine where she might be. In my return journey down the hall in search of Eva I spied her sitting in a wheel chair with a few other people – also in wheel chairs. They didn’t seem to be chatting, but at least they were company for one another. She smiled up at me, but then she smiled at everyone. I gave her a hug, asking the duty nurse if I could take her for a ride, she nodded and I wheeled Eva into a nearby room where I pulled up a chair so we could talk. It was mostly idle conversation where she could fill in the blanks. Like Ken, deep-thought communication was not likely. By filling in the blanks, she gave no wrong answers. I quietly sang some of the church songs she had taught the children many years ago. Eva managed to join me with some of the words. Later, she asked, “Did your husband come with you?” I doubt she remembered who I was much less Ken, but I took it for what it was worth and said that he hadn’t been feeling well so he stayed home. She sighed, “Oh. That’s too bad.”

Matthew comes to see her daily; the rest of her children and grandchildren come on occasion. Separated by hundreds of miles keeping in touch in a physical way is difficult. Additionally, most of her friends are gone – separated by a spirit world. Again we could say, “And Then There Were None.” Life has a way of making such gradual changes that we hardly notice until we look around and see how alone life can become. Sadly, that applies not only to money, but to family and friends as well.

I wheeled Eva back to where I had found her, reminding the duty nurse that she was back. “It’s good seeing you looking so well,” I told her, giving her another hug and a quick kiss on her cheek, “I’ll come again soon.” She smiled and said, “Thank you.”

photo courtesy of http://www.seniorliving.org/

Originally posted 2011-09-03 20:09:03.

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