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Recline Yourself, Resign Yourself,
You're Through
By Maureen Dowd, The New York Times
April 13, 2005
Baby boomers' almost comic fear of aging reminds me of that silent movie scene in which Harold Lloyd hangs precariously from the hand of a giant clock, literally pulling time from its moorings.
Despite the boomers' zealous attempts to stop time - with fitness and anti-aging products, with cosmetic enhancements by needle, laser and knife - time has caught up.
The deaths of iconic figures and the noisy debate over assisted suicide have brought boomers face to face with their nemesis. "Suddenly," The New Republic observed, "we are all speculating about the feeding tubes in our future." Boomers want to control mortality so they're looking at living wills, and legal and medical options.
I've visited the future, and it isn't pretty.
My mom fell and fractured her neck one night a couple of winters ago. She was sent to a nursing home to recuperate. It was the third circle of gloom. Residents sat around, zombie-like, or slowly maneuvered in wheelchairs or with walkers. I suddenly understood why all of my mom's friends who had gone into nursing homes had become listless and died soon after. The facility was depressing, with bad food and impersonal attendants who seemed inured to their surroundings.
It seemed like the sort of place people checked into but not out of. My mom's hazel eyes were filled with dread, so I bought a sleeping bag at the nearest R.E.I. and slept on the floor beside her bed for four weeks.
There were blizzards outside and lethargy inside. All through the night, Alzheimer's patients would moan: "Help me! Why doesn't anyone come to help me?" They were unable to remember the last time an attendant stopped by. After a while, there didn't seem much point in getting dressed. I put on one of my mom's extra-large flannel robes and some slippers and started shuffling around the nursing home. I felt like one of those cursed women in Grimm's fairy tales who turn into crones in a blink. Soon the residents began acting as if I were one of them, just one with better mobility. They would call out for me to fix them tea in the microwave - "Just Sweet 'N Low," one woman ordered briskly.
One night an elderly woman asked if I would come into her room and dial her daughter's number for her. "I haven't heard from her in so long," she fretted. I called the number and left a message on the answering machine: "Your mother misses you."
As I hung up, the old woman looked up at me with big suspicious eyes. "What are you doing in my room?" she demanded in a hostile voice. She had forgotten me already.
Most nights, I watched two sweet-looking old ladies sneak down the hall to purloin supplies at the nurses' station - cat burglars heisting Depends.
In my old life, I read glossy catalogs from Bliss Spa and Bergdorf's. Now I sat in the drab community room reading Dr. Leonard's "America's Leading Discount Healthcare
Catalogue," which promotes the notion of senior superheroes with vision-enhancing
Eagle Eyes sunglasses; Sonic Earz, to amplify sounds up to 60 feet away; and Frankie Avalon's Zero Pain roll-on pain reliever.
It was upsetting to see how many body parts could go wrong. For $12.99, you could get "heel wraps," little slings to keep the cream on your heel cracks; for $4.99, a straightener for overlapping toes; for $12.99, a "control panty" to banish unflattering tummy bulge.
I told my mom about the control panty. She looked intrigued. "Who does it control?" she wanted to know.
Why was I fighting aging so hard? It would be so easy to succumb. I could stock up on everything I'd eventually need: extra-long easy-grip scissors to clip toenails; the "button helper," a wire loop to help reach buttons; Toppik, the "amazing 30-second hair transplant," which sprays the scalp with color-matched hair fibers; a "Remember Me" poem and photo mat for departed relatives, friends and pets; and the best seller "Natural Cures 'They' Don't Want You to Know About."
Dr. Leonard's assumes seniors have a healthy interest in sex. It offers a device called an Eroscillator for women, with a guide from Dr. Ruth. And for men, there's an aerobics video featuring "totally nude" young women: "Because you can see the naked, well-toned bodies of the female instructors, you can follow each exercise and see exactly how to achieve the precise muscle extension and position." Right.
Once Mom was sprung, I quickly went back to fending off mortality, ordering the latest age-delaying moisture complexes from the Bliss catalog.
But I know Dr. Leonard's is out there, waiting patiently for me. Not an Appointment in Samarra, but an Appointment with the
Eroscillator.
My Mother and Her Nursing Home: 4 Letters
The New York Times
April 15, 2005
To the Editor:
Re "Recline Yourself, Resign Yourself, You're Through," by Maureen Dowd (column, April 13):
My ex-wife returned to France four years ago to see her mother in a nursing home that the other two children in the family had deemed sufficient. This 86-year-old woman was at death's door from depression and a sense of abandonment.
My ex-wife took her out of the home and returned to the family property, where her mother came to life. Within months, she was able to go on a pilgrimage to Lourdes with friends. She was playing Scrabble regularly and enjoying good health and the company of friends.
She died two weeks ago at 90, with a happy four years' reprieve.
There might be more stories with happy endings if concerned family members made an effort.
Sam Goodyear
Mobile, Ala., April 13, 2005
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To the Editor:
Maureen Dowd's dismal picture of life in a nursing home (column, April 13) does not address the significant problem of cost and the effect on the patient's family. The average nursing home costs between $50,000 and $100,000 per year, the bulk of which is not covered by Medicare.
Ms. Dowd's description of life in her mother's nursing home may be amusing at times, but not to those who are faced with financial disaster and the pauperization of the entire family in order to qualify for Medicaid, which does cover these costs.
This disgraceful abandonment of the elderly by the richest country in the world is shocking and shameful.
Meyer Rangell
Lake Worth, Fla., April 13, 2005
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To the Editor:
Finally, someone is talking about the most avoided topic in the news today: elder care.
When I was home over Easter, the one thing my dad, a retired doctor, said when discussing the Terri Schiavo case was, "Never send me or your mom to a nursing home!"
When my dad was still working, he would talk about his visits to nursing homes. He used words like "depressing" and "disgusting," and called them "human junkyards."
What he was saying, in effect, was what Maureen Dowd said: "I've visited the future, and it isn't pretty." Twenty years later, I realize what he meant.
I hope that this column inspires a fruitful discussion about nursing homes. Perhaps we can start talking about how we treat our elders in America instead of telling the world
how to create new democracies.
Linda Wong
San Francisco, April 14, 2005
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To the Editor:
I am one of those baby boomers who has resisted cosmetic enhancements, but I have tried to stop time with fitness and diet. And I have become more familiar with the problems of the elderly by watching my relatives age and witnessing the role that gerontologists play.
We baby boomers should address the sad state of elderly care now, before we're too weak to be effective. Then again, we won't age; we're the baby boomers of the greatest generation.
Steven A. Ludsin
East Hampton, N.Y., April 13, 2005
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