The social worker here at the facility commented that my adjustment to life at Bailey Boushay seemed to go surprisingly smooth. I had to agree.Perhaps if this was the first nursing home I'd been to I wouldn't have the appreciation I have. I looked at the previous home as a prison. I think that more than ever.
I did my best to be accepting of my lot in this life. When I landed at Life Care Center, I was abandoned and discarded by the very people I love and trust in this world. I had a tough "adjustment period". I don't think I ever truly felt great or safe or "at home". I kept trying to fit a square peg (me) into a round hole (LCCFW).
What's more, is that when they came back into my life, they chose to discount my complaints and pleas for help. Whether it was due to their ignorance (of the peculiarities of my disease), or their own denial (lack of acceptance), it was still heart-wrenching on my end. I was virtually alone, save for my friends in recovery, and precious few caregivers-turned-friends.
It was up to me to train my caregivers over and over again ad nauseum to little avail. I was hurt incessantly and my complaints fell on deaf ears. I was dropped when it was entirely preventable had the two aides deigned to listen to me saying "move my pants from under my foot!". Note: non-slip socks do not do the job if you stand me up on fleece sweatpants. And when you pick me up off the floor, do not pull my arms backwards and expect them to hold my body weight. It was a losing battle. As they say, you can't fix stupid.
My room was dark and ugly. My roomate was passive agressive, borderline illiterate. I was denied access to the outdoors. There was no place for private reflectivity. Every day was Lucille Ball,Golden Girls, the Hallmark channel, and old movies. The music was always golden oldies. It was all getting old fast.
I hated the overall quality of care, the restrictive tone of the establishment, the inconsistent use of "policy, the death march feel of the place, even the neighborhood felt sketchy. Upper management proved to be unfriendly, false, and unforgiving. The huge staff turnover made it impossible to acclimate CNAs and nurses to the unique needs of a person with my rare and debilitating disease.
Here at Bailey Boushay House, They know how to care for people living with ALS, not just warehousing me until I die.I'm not the first, second, or third ALS patient the facility has ever seen. I'm one of many who've relied upon their care. They're set up to handle me, a veritable quadrapalegic. They have lifts built into every room. And everyone has their own room. My room has natural light and a view of a hillside full of pretty downtown homes. Bright yellow and spring green adorn my walls (not my first choice but it's clean, reflective, and makes a sunny backdrop to my photo collages and upbeat messages.
The building is completely accessible to me. There are solariums, a plant room growing orchids, lillies, orange tree, bromeliads, etc. There is a garden, there are verandas, a real kitchen preparing healthful, delicious meals instead of institutional crap. There is an art therapy room with a real live visiting artist.
There are activities I can actually participate in: book club, meditation group, nutrition group, writing club, art group (with volunteer), recovering group, movie group with new movies. And there are lots of volunteers. I have two to read books to me. One's a literary type reading Joan Didion. The other reading, "Woman, Thou art Loosed" by T.D. Jakes. I love it!
I am treated with respect and patience and give it back. I've had very few issues. Oh yeah! I forgot. There is a beautiful roll-in shower that is clean. Imagine that! The shower chair actually allows access to clean my nether region. The temperature and pressure is consistent. And they have "the holy grail"...A walk-in bathtub with a lift. I see a bath in my near future. (my first in two and a half years).
What's to adjust to?
I did my best to be accepting of my lot in this life. When I landed at Life Care Center, I was abandoned and discarded by the very people I love and trust in this world. I had a tough "adjustment period". I don't think I ever truly felt great or safe or "at home". I kept trying to fit a square peg (me) into a round hole (LCCFW).
What's more, is that when they came back into my life, they chose to discount my complaints and pleas for help. Whether it was due to their ignorance (of the peculiarities of my disease), or their own denial (lack of acceptance), it was still heart-wrenching on my end. I was virtually alone, save for my friends in recovery, and precious few caregivers-turned-friends.
It was up to me to train my caregivers over and over again ad nauseum to little avail. I was hurt incessantly and my complaints fell on deaf ears. I was dropped when it was entirely preventable had the two aides deigned to listen to me saying "move my pants from under my foot!". Note: non-slip socks do not do the job if you stand me up on fleece sweatpants. And when you pick me up off the floor, do not pull my arms backwards and expect them to hold my body weight. It was a losing battle. As they say, you can't fix stupid.
My room was dark and ugly. My roomate was passive agressive, borderline illiterate. I was denied access to the outdoors. There was no place for private reflectivity. Every day was Lucille Ball,Golden Girls, the Hallmark channel, and old movies. The music was always golden oldies. It was all getting old fast.
I hated the overall quality of care, the restrictive tone of the establishment, the inconsistent use of "policy, the death march feel of the place, even the neighborhood felt sketchy. Upper management proved to be unfriendly, false, and unforgiving. The huge staff turnover made it impossible to acclimate CNAs and nurses to the unique needs of a person with my rare and debilitating disease.
Here at Bailey Boushay House, They know how to care for people living with ALS, not just warehousing me until I die.I'm not the first, second, or third ALS patient the facility has ever seen. I'm one of many who've relied upon their care. They're set up to handle me, a veritable quadrapalegic. They have lifts built into every room. And everyone has their own room. My room has natural light and a view of a hillside full of pretty downtown homes. Bright yellow and spring green adorn my walls (not my first choice but it's clean, reflective, and makes a sunny backdrop to my photo collages and upbeat messages.
The building is completely accessible to me. There are solariums, a plant room growing orchids, lillies, orange tree, bromeliads, etc. There is a garden, there are verandas, a real kitchen preparing healthful, delicious meals instead of institutional crap. There is an art therapy room with a real live visiting artist.
There are activities I can actually participate in: book club, meditation group, nutrition group, writing club, art group (with volunteer), recovering group, movie group with new movies. And there are lots of volunteers. I have two to read books to me. One's a literary type reading Joan Didion. The other reading, "Woman, Thou art Loosed" by T.D. Jakes. I love it!
I am treated with respect and patience and give it back. I've had very few issues. Oh yeah! I forgot. There is a beautiful roll-in shower that is clean. Imagine that! The shower chair actually allows access to clean my nether region. The temperature and pressure is consistent. And they have "the holy grail"...A walk-in bathtub with a lift. I see a bath in my near future. (my first in two and a half years).
What's to adjust to?
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