Too Young for a Nursing Home

The decision for Jason to move into a nursing home wasn’t one any of us were ready for.  Sure, it was always floating in our periphery but given our ages we never really solidified it as a reality. It takes a lot of mental preparedness to pull the trigger on something like this especially with both of us (relatively) being so young, compared to the other residents that is.

Jason and I are only 48.

Forty-eight. Heh…the zone where teens think we are dinosaurs and people in their 80’s call us children.  Our backs are damaged, most of the time without us knowing, until one fateful day we sneeze or bend over to pick up a pencil and suddenly can’t move anymore. An age where we still patrol the hair dye section at Target looking to see what formula will color the look of our worn faces away. My mind always tells me, “You can make that jump!” but afterwards my knees tell me how bad of an idea it was to even try, leaving me to ask my sons to help me out of the ditch I totally didn’t clear.

“Age is just a number”, they say. For the most part I believe it. But for Jason and me, in this particular instance, that quote works in reverse. Usually people use it to apply to older people acting younger. In Jason’s case and mine, over the last few months, I’ve been met with touring nursing homes for my husband who is younger than me.

How’s that for perspective?

It’s commonplace for people to make a list of facilities where they want to place someone, usually an elderly parent unless, that is, you are under fifty-five.

I didn’t know this going in but quickly learned that nursing homes have age restrictions too and was as prepared for all the rejections we got as much as I was prepared to have to look for one in the first place.

Jason’s rapid decline shook things up as much as it did when he first got sick twenty-two years ago. It’s funny how that works…resilience. Resilience is totally underrated. As a newly-wed 26 year old, I never thought I would have made it this far and yet… here I am. What’s even more remarkable is how Jason was able to do it, most impressively with a smile…most of the time. But that’s another thing people underestimate…the power of family.

Rejection messages flowed as quickly as college ones for a senior in high school. Only instead of his score being too low it was his age. Unfortunately, being so young was a liability to the elderly which quickly dwindled options down to…two.

It wasn’t easy having to call 911 for the fourth time in less than eight months to pick Jason up of the floor. It wasn’t easy calling the kids and my brother for help to unsuccessfully pick him up either. And when falls happened during a bathroom situation, we were left with hurt backs, Jason with bruises, and a huge mess to clean up afterwards once we got him back into the chair forty-five minutes to an hour later. My only thought being proud of my kids for helping but feeling sorry for them also.

The rude awakening of “this is unsustainable” kept me awake most nights. My thumb cramping from endless internet searches for medical supplies and equipment that would make things safer and easier for all of us.

As Jason’s disease progressed so did the acceptance of my age.  What I was once able to do in my twenties, thirties and even early forties was quickly ending with tearful nights envisioning what life was going to be like without him.

It’s funny how relief and sadness can mix into one.

But being the determined and incredibly present family that we are, we didn’t give up without a fight.  Even though we knew the time had come we did everything we could to keep Jason at home, no matter how much of a mental, physical and emotional hit we were taking.

Having ten failed and unreliable home health aids, one who stole over $700 from us, and five agencies later, things were getting rough and Jason’s health took an ever further turn.

I knew the March 9th 911 call was going to be our last.

This one felt different. As Jason was placed on the stretcher I made sure that everyone came down to hug him and say good bye.  Jason would not be coming home. He knew it as well. Even though I know Jason is being well taken care of now, more than I could offer, this memory, that was less than two months ago still hurts.

It’s amazing how much damage a UTI can do to someone with a weakened immune system.  Jason lost function in his arms and legs this time, leading to three weeks in the hospital and extensive rehab with a team that helped him simply get to the point where he could sit up again. With a discharge a few days away, Jason knew he wasn’t well enough to come home. And our two choices had to be narrowed down to one, leaving me with the heavy weight to bare of picking the right place for Jason that would become his new home.

But how? How does one find the “right place” for a cognizant and lively man under fifty in a facility packed with people nearly double his age? Would he be able to relate others? Would he be as comfortable as he was with his family at home? How would he handle this mentally? Emotionally? Outside of Jason’s physical impairments his mind was sharp. His humor was on point. His memory was clear. And despite the obvious trials we lived through daily for over two decades we all loved each other.

After touring our only two options, I was the one who had to decide. Wherever Jason’s new home was, fell on me.

My observations.

My thoughts.

My research.

I struggled with a constant back and forth. Revisiting how much more I could do for him at home. How we could rally together like we always did to care for him. How maybe we’d get lucky on the eleventh home health aid. Maybe he would get better.  Maybe home is where he needed to be.  Could I give him what little energy I had left? At times I genuinely felt that I could yet knew I couldn’t. Jason knew this too.  It helped when he said, he couldn’t make it at home.

And while the place I ultimately chose was an older facility it was caring. Each nurse knew all residents by name. The head of admissions toured me through each hallway and somehow, through her compassion towards the residents, she washed away the discomfort I always felt in the halls of places like these. Something about this place felt…right. The tension in my shoulders released. My mind cleared and while discussing Jason’s situation with the team empathy emanated so much so that during the conversation, I was able to be myself,  joke around and even laugh.  This was the first place I had toured well into the double digits that had a realness to it that the others didn’t. Sure, others had fancy movie theaters, pretty fountains, and well stocked libraries, but none of them came with a genuinely happy group of employees with residents who seemed happy as well.

Jason always trusted me.

He knew it was time for a new place to live and he very willingly accepted. And while the adjustment took some time, like most things often do, he is doing very well there. He is stronger, healthier…happier. And for the first time we can focus on our relationships with one another.

Me as his wife, not his nurse.

Him as my husband, not my patient.

The boys and Jason as father and sons.

And while we are not the average or “normal” one…apart…we are finally feeling like a family.