Volunteers Spread Sunshine

Nursing home. Most of us feel a chill when we hear those words, for they remind us of a reality we’d rather not face. The tummy tucks, the hair dye, the exercise regimens, the midlife sports cars - none of it will work. We are all going to get old, frail and dependent on the care of others.

Will anyone be there for us, when that moment comes?

Yes, someone will, if enough people follow in the footsteps of Ken Lalonde and Gus Apsey. These two gentlemen bring sunshine to the twilight years of life. They bring smiles to the lonely, support to the abandoned, and constructive intervention to workplaces where dedicated staff work hard for low pay under heavy burdens of stress, regulation and cost control.

Lalonde and Apsey are volunteer ombudsmen.

Their little-known, chronically underfunded program prevents nursing home scandals before they develop. Created by federal law and funded largely by the states, it sends trained volunteers into long-term care facilities. The volunteers visit the residents and serve as their advocates.

Here in the five-county region of Eastern Washington, Linda Petrie is the lone supervisor for 35 of these volunteers. With 270 adult family homes, 52 boarding homes and 35 nursing homes under her jurisdiction, Petrie needs more volunteers but lacks the budget to train and oversee them. That is unfortunate - for the facilities, as well as for their residents.

It costs a lot more for state licensing authorities to investigate a scandal, possibly shutting down a facility, than it does for Petrie to send in a volunteer whose daily mediation nips problems in the bud.

But the best rewards can’t be measured with a dollar sign. Apsey says his service as an ombudsman “opened up my mind to what it is to get older, how it is to need care and be in a home away from home.” He has learned how fulfilling it is to help an elderly person “preserve the dignity and respect you deserve, and hold on to every shred of independence you can.”

When you’re in your 90s and suffering from dementia like a dear little white-haired woman I met last week, dignity means that the busy aides dress you in your favorite warm night shirt before you got to bed at night.

Dignity means getting the right medicine, when you need it.

Dignity means that if greedy relatives try to manipulate you out of your savings or guilt-ridden relatives sign you up for an exhausting rehabilitation program you just can’t handle, a third party will find out about it and protect you.

Dignity means that if you’re all alone with a case of Alzheimer’s and the family lives far away or finds you an embarrassment and rarely comes to visit, you still have a friend to brighten the confusing whirl of days. Even if you never remember his name.

This week, I was strolling down a nursing home hallway with Lalonde. A white-haired man, slumped in his wheelchair, brightened and extended a friendly paw. Lalonde gripped his hand, patted him on the shoulder, asked how he was doing. “He doesn’t have a clue who I am,” Lalonde chuckled as we walked away, “but I’m his buddy.”

Several yards away, a tall young man walked slowly down the hall, holding like a fragile bird the hand of a stooped, elderly woman. There, Lalonde says, goes a great nurse’s aide. The pay is poor and as cost cutters clamp down, understaffing and turnover are a constant headache. But the bad apples don’t last in this business, he says. The homes are better than they used to be. Administrators respect Lalonde’s expertise, listen when he discovers a staff problem and appreciate his diplomatic mediation of difficult disputes. State investigators respond immediately if Lalonde finds a serious shortcoming, but that is rare. He’d rather fix problems on the spot.

Lalonde tackles his role with a firmness developed during a career in the military courts. But an infectious love for people overrides that retired-military bearing. “The best part in my old legal job was helping people, not sending them to Leavenworth,” he explains.

He acquired his compassion the hard way. His wife suffered from multiple sclerosis, spent 17 years in nursing homes, and died following a tragic nursing home accident. Once, a man who had discovered agony in the deteriorating condition of a loved one railed at Lalonde about the frustration of it all. No one understands, the man felt. You’re looking at a guy who went through more than 17 years of pain, Lalonde replied.

Often, he says, the residents are happy and oblivious. It’s the family members who present the challenges. “They’re in denial,” says Lalonde, who helps reluctant families face grandma’s medical needs.

Through the doorway of a brightly lit room with lovely paintings on the walls, Lalonde and I watched an exercise program. Arranged in a circle, old folks in wheelchairs were playing catch with an enthusiastic aide. Sometimes the ball bounced off motionless hands and dribbled across the floor. Once, an old man sent that foam rubber football spiraling into the air with a quick, practiced motion from a playfield 80 years in the past.

We Americans would rather watch the Super Bowl. But that was a beautiful scene. With our rapidly aging society and the ruthless pressure to cut medical costs and services, we have got to make sure that our loneliest, most vulnerable citizens still have someone to play catch with, and someone to listen to them when they can’t pick up the ball any longer.

If you would like to volunteer as a long-term care ombudsman, call Linda Petrie at 456-7133. Then call your legislator and demand an adequate budget.