My mother is 91 years old. And she is tired of living. She tells us this every day, in various ways: “if I were a little bird, I would fly far, far away, never to return”; “every evening, I beg Marcel (our dad) to come get me”; “the good Lord has forgotten me” (she who is not more religious than necessary). And how not to sympathize!
She has indeed lost everything that can connect her to life: her eyesight (she who has always loved to read); his dexterity (losing many of his passions, from sewing to embroidery, from knitting to cooking, from painting to quilting); taste (she who loved well-cooked meals so much); the gradual use of his legs; great difficulty getting dressed, combing her hair, washing herself (she who was always so proud of her appearance).
Added to this are incontinence (to her greatest confusion and humiliation) and a completely broken digestive system. His heart is acting up, his pressure too, diabetes has set in, not to mention a whole host of other unpleasant ailments. Fortunately, she is lucid… but, given the state of her body, one wonders if the opposite would not be better.
Tired of living, you say? Who wouldn’t be under these conditions? But the health system being what it is, we push these poor elderly people who can no longer live to live even longer. Even more miserably. We stuff them with drugs, we make them do exercises that they can’t or don’t want to do anymore, we hang them on walkers, we put diapers on them (no, no, it’s true, we have to say panties of ‘incontinence… what an understatement!), we force them to eat, we wash them (when there are staff to do it), we try to make them laugh. Yellow laughs.
And if, at least, we offered them adequate services and pleasant and safe living environments! But no way! So, recently, my mother was hospitalized. New clashes with the health system: the doctor who changes the medication without notice (and, one suspects, without even consulting the family doctor), with repercussions on my mother’s well-being; complaint for three incidents of abuse; porridge-type food for cats; overloaded staff, tired by two years of pandemic, which floats in all this. And this, in a dilapidated hospital, poorly organized, dirty and having, I am told, one of the worst reputations in Quebec.
And here we are two months later (and a change of hospital, much better). My mother, still so tired of life, only able to survive surrounded by care (which only professionals can give her), has to go to the care unit. However, for several years, she has been living in a residence for seniors (those famous private sector RPAs). His: a place in constant disorganization, with a high turnover of staff, an execrable food in no way adapted to the fragile health of the elderly. And if, again, we had the choice: but no, the regional market is almost dominated by a single company!
No places are available in the public, so we have to fall back on the care unit of this RPA where my mother lives. We visit it. No, but what a shame: it’s only disuse, dirt (walls and floors), dining room verging on unsanitary conditions, smashed chairs, bad smell. The price: $5300 per month, nothing less! No, out of the question, our mother will not go there! But what to do: taken hostage, we have no other possibility… nothing at all. We fall from Charybdis to Scylla!
We proposed to our mother to move her to Montreal, where we are three of her seven children to live, but she does not want to (we understand her). It remains to convince the RPA to provide care in his current room, with the help of the CLSC, which cannot guarantee anything because the waiting lists are so long. In short, DIY to stay in an RPA that is not worth much. But that remains our only “choice”… How ironic!
In short, the healthcare system is there to help seniors live as long as possible. Without having, however, the means to offer them decent living environments. Aging in decency, you say? No, aging in decline, such is the conclusion!
My mom just wants to go…