In this blighted house: The Tea Bag did it!

The Tea Bag did it!

There's no doubt about it the NEW nursing home we were given for two week respite care was spanking clean, new and highly clinical. like an American private Home.

Nurses were mostly Asian, and were kind. (though being deaf it was very difficult to understand their English) there were some Irish care workers too. again kind. No arguments about kindness. they were all fully trying hard.

When 'admitted' a flock of 4 of 'em circled around me welcoming, in the entrance lobby, - bowing down to eye level and rather patronisingly , in voices structured for the 'dim witted' (sorry about words I'm expressing something here) said hello, petting me on the shoulder and rubbing my back as if I was some poor waif and stray needing comfort. I immediately felt demeaned. I wanted to scream "DON'T PET ME"

this 'tone'/approach immediately got my hackles up. I felt like screaming "I've a bloody PhD you know". you'd think I had completely lost me marbles. It was somehow assumed I was 'deficient' upstairs! (Of course you must be if you're a wheelchair user, age 66 and entering a nursing home - you poor bloody sod)

The nursing home 'lobby' was like a hotel. but 0lder people were sitting watching TV and an activities board told me that every day something was 'on'. It looked on the face of it - nice.

The activities guy was introduced to me. a heavily tattooed, He was a nice guy. (Who later agreed we were not suited to this place)

Nurses carried my stuff to my room and staff nurse on duty was with me. I took one look at the bed and thought 'crikey'. small , narrow, and no grab rails. I had visions of falling out. I said; "I need grab rails to help me turn over". none could be supplied. the nurses said there weren't any and no-one to fix them on. so I ended up putting commode one side of my bed and a chair the other so I had 'rails' to grab to enable me turn over. Whether 'heath and safety' would agree with that is questionable. but I needed something to help me turn over. later on going to bed at 12mni had to put my own 'slippy sheet' I had brought on the bed. a difficult task as I now need crutches to even stand up.

what also distressed me was the stripy bedclothes. I thought it reminiscent of prison supply. (I hasten to add I don't know what prison supply looks like - but it looked 'prison-like'. )

I discovered later beds were lowered to floor level for safety instead of rails these days. indeed I saw them so lowered in other rooms..

looking out my window I saw a wall. a wall. no view whatsoever. a wall.

The heat was suffocating. noticeable. alarming. I was going to die here I thought. I could barely breathe. not healthy at all.

my medication was emptied onto my drawers top and staff nurse said she'd come and take a list of what I'm taking, when etc. she spotted the butrans patches (5mg and 10mg Ones) and picking them up declared she'd have to lock them away as they were 'controlled' drugs (morphine). fair enough. but in the whole 48 hrs there they were NOT taken off to be locked away. nor did anyone come to make any medication list, or discuss them with me, though that night the care staff, a man, most normal individual there was, told me, again, he'd make a list. he didn't.

there was no information leaflet in bedroom, a phone was there but no advice on number to ring for help. no fire safety advice was given. what to do if fire alarm went off etc.

anyone could have come into my room, a wandering patient for example. and helped themselves to any or all of my medication now heaped up on the set of drawers.

clothing stuff was packed away and a carer showed us around. so we got to know where the nurses station was, never anyone there. where dinning room was, water dispensers, lounges etc.

a nurse came to talk to us about food preferences and filling out a form said "can you remember your date of birth?"

This grated enormously and I was again feeling "get me outta here". yes, I DO 'remember' my DOB. I do. Yes, I DO!

lunch was then on offer and we got to dinning room where chairs/tables were moved to allow us access. Ann & I were given our own table.TG.

all around sat frail, gloomy, morose, 80-100 year olds; many with dementia. we were told that was the age range.

Food was superb. very high standards indeed. chef was 'normal' in demeanour and great craic.

nurses/care workers, continued to be kind but extremely 'suggery', patronizing and too 'touchy-feely' altogether. I was 'petted' at every communication event. shoulders, arms, back, knee. UGH UGH

"Get me out of here"

It was awkward to say the least; as you knew they meant well, but to say "Please don't 'pet' me" might sound offensive.

I'd had a word with the activities guy and asked him if there was access to a computer as I'd brought my memoirs stuff to look at it and perhaps spend two weeks sorting it out. NO computer access. forget THAT activity Margaret!

Ann discovered there was NO art space - she had to set up a corner in the lounge to paint.

Lunch over and there was 'art & crafts' on. so this was in dinning room. we went to suss this out and were horrified. older residents were falling asleep in chairs.

After lunch, most older people DO fall asleep and arguably should have been on their beds for a nap. a nurse was to tell Ann the residents were thus so because still suffering affects of previous nights sleeping pills. What? at 3pm next day? HIQA might want to know that! HIQA might want to know about other stuff too.

Some were painting in large alphabet letters. one was stabbing a page with a stencil brush. Ye Gods and THAT was called 'stimulation'.

We 'legged' it, distressed and upset.

enough to depress a saint. certainly hugely depressing to Ann who has a diploma with distinction from the Crawford College of Art Cork in how to work through art with elderly and disabled people to 'empower them'. and who herself, had done brilliant work with older people in nursing homes. THIS was far from her standards. it was fairly insulting. Ann said "My God, we are going backwards - not forwards".

back to room to watch TV. nothing else to do.

no library, no board games, craft, art room, no nothing.

There did not seem to be a difference made between elderly -'having end of life care' and 'disabled active - resting but NOT near going out'.

wasn't there a comedy on TV called 'waiting for God - where Stephanie Coles - a rebellious 'old person' caused havoc in the old person's home Demanding her power, control and autonomy. I felt like doing likewise.

we never got any induction to the place. no-one came to 'book us in' so to speak. no-one came to ask about us, our needs, our capabilities, our drugs, our ability to walk, wash, dress, our interests, what we wanted to do for two weeks, etc.

Indeed according to Ann's GP notes Ann was 'paralysed'. so if they went by that they got a very different picture. I don't think they had any medical notes on me.

Yes, our temperature (thermometer stuck under our arm old fashioned like) blood pressure were taken and food preferences form filled out - that's all.

In our room, on our bed, we could not reach the light switches. you had to get out, turn on or off, get back in to bed. a risk if ever there was one.

though there was an emergency call bell beside our bed and in bathrooms. there appeared none in the lounges so if we'd fallen there god only knows what we were to do. we could get hold of no staff from the lounge area.

there was never anyone at the nurses station, and very few residents being newly opened. the lounge was continually empty.

we explored and found the garden. a nice space surrounded by high 15ft 'Berlin walls'. no view.

in fact the feel was you were hermeneutically sealed from the outside world. with a road one side, the 'berlin wall' the other and the Health centre to the side.

that evening we escaped to the empty lounge to watch TV.

at around 7pm a nurse came, introduced herself, and asked us if we knew what tomorrow was? "I'll give you a clue - today is the 31st" -

we looked at each other and said "HAPPY NEW YEAR NURSE" , loudly.

and silently screamed "get us outta here"

she asked if we wanted to go to bed - 7pm - "er, no" we said - "what - its 7pm"! . She was asking a very genuine question.

when the night staff came, a man, all normal and cheery I said "I want to state from the outset I have a full set of marbles" tapping my head. He laughed.

he got us tea.

we went to bed at 11.30 and I rang the new year in with giving myself an enema, and sitting on a commode shitting as the fireworks went off somewhere in distant town.

I groaned at this sheer ignominy and 'forced' dependency from the HSE 'powers that be'. THEY, no doubt were not doing likewise!

Slept from 12.30 to 5am when I woke in a pool of sweat, hot as hell, dripping, rang the bell and asked for cold water and toast. (last meal was 4.30pm previous evening. I was starving. and very, very, hot.)

I went to bathroom , got a dripping cold flannel and doused myself to cool down. (Ann said she poured her water decanter down herself)

We both had breakfast in the lounge. separate from the older residents. couldn't bear to be watching older people in last stages of life when we were FIGHTING to still live life to the full.

it was emotional/psychological cruelty to put us in here at all. it was a complete denial of all we'd fought for. Independent living, fighting to live life to the full.

Yes we agreed to come here. based on "oh its a lovely NEW nursing home, just built, very few residents".

we a) wanted to show willing b) we were exhausted and decided it sounded like it may be more progressive - being NEW.

Jazus, it was a warehouse for the last days.

older demented people holding teddy bears. like my mother did who had Alzheimer's and ended up in such a place herself. I didn't like them then, I still don't like them.

I skipped a beat when I agreed to come here. never again.

was the HSE determined to psychologically 'break us'. we felt manipulated, hoodwinked, deceived. dis-honoured. dis-respected.

the next morning we had breakfast in the lounge. the nurse brought the tea and holding up a tea bag; waving it in front of our noses, declared ; "This is the tea bag"

"Get us outta here"

the tea bag did it.

after lunch - in the lounge we discussed how we were destined to spend two weeks in this lounge, with daily 'tea bag' 'petting', 'do you remember your date of birth', 'do you want to go to bed - at 7pm' and 'what day is tomorrow?" carry on that would have us in John of God quicker than you can say "get me outta here".

we made the decision "we are getting outta here - NOW"