Age Is Not a Disability: Older Americans W/OMay 20 '01 (Updated Jun 29 '01) Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line It can be hard to look beyond a person's infirmities to see the human being inside. If you do, the rewards are greater than you'd ever imagine.
Yesterday I was driving, in a hurry to get to another client, when I noticed an old fellow with a cane and a shopping bag making his way haltingly down a busy sidewalk. I had noticed this same man on the same sidewalk headed for a residential part of town when I had driven by 15 minutes before. My initial thought was: "Poor guy. That sun is hot. I bet it's hard for him to walk with that bag. It's going to take him forever to get home at that rate." I wondered if I should offer him a ride, but I was in a hurry as always. I passed him by. Halfway down the block, I realized my mistake. I had pitied him for the slowness of his gait, for the infirmity of his body, when I should have been cheered by the fact that he had been out in the world shopping, getting some exercise and enjoying a beautiful day. As I remembered his face, I realized he'd been smiling. The bill of his red "gimme" cap was tilted jauntily so he could look up at the blue, blue skies. He was enjoying himself on one of the first warm days of spring while I was rushing around trying to beat the minute hand of my watch. I should know better. You see, I work with elders every day. I am a respite worker, which means I go into older people's homes to give their "primary caregiver" -- sometimes a son or daughter, but most often a spouse -- a break from their 24-hour duties. Stated that way, the very premise of my job implies that older people need to be "tended," watched, taken care of, almost like children. Rubbish. My clients experience many difficulties -- everything from blindness to Alzheimer's disease. It is true that they require assistance and care, but they aren't babies and they don't need pity. They do deserve my respect and my empathy. It is sometimes difficult to describe my job, because I do very little. Sometimes I cook a meal. Sometimes I help someone get dressed or read the paper or write a letter. Most of the time I sit and listen, or just sit and "be with." The rewards far outweigh these small tasks. My clients give me the best of gifts: love, experience and history. From them I constantly learn true courage, generosity -- and spunk. Still, it is sometimes hard to look beyond a person's physical or mental infirmities to see the human being inside. I catch myself (more often than I'd like to admit) feeling pity, or superiority, or impatience toward my clients. If I find it hard to keep my perspective, I know it can be even more difficult for the people closest to my clients, the loved ones who provide assistance and care day in and day out. For the caregivers, and for myself, I've made a list of five of the most important lessons I've learned from my elders. 1. Old people are people. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Makes sense? Then why do we tend to see our elders as "old" before we see their humanity? Why do we focus on our differences? Why do we fear aging, shun the aged, claw and struggle to keep our fleeting youth? If we can remember that our elders are people more like us than not, we can begin to address them with fellow feeling rather than sympathy. We can treat them as we’d want to be treated: not with condescension but with patience, respect and love. We can look them in the eye, ask questions, share insight, laugh together. And, perhaps best of all, we can stop fearing our own old age and embrace each new stage of our lives with joy and pride. 2. People have bodies. Guess what? Old people are people, so old people have bodies, too. Bodies wear out. This simple fact is probably the biggest source of fear, grief and shame for my clients and those who care for them. And yet it doesn't have to be this way. Yes, our bodies may weaken as we grow older. We may be unsteady on our feet. We may lose our eyesight -- then the biggie: our driver's license and our sense of independence. We may even require help with such simple tasks as cutting our food, taking a bath, even going to the toilet. There is no easy answer, no one cure for our alienation from our bodies and the ways they change. I know that those who grieve their losses and then focus on what they can do are the ones who live the longest and happiest lives. As a caregiver, I can help by acknowledging the changes and the emotions that go with them. I can treat bodily functions matter-of-factly and without shame. I can ask permission before I help, and have patience when an ordinary task takes longer than it would for me to do it. I can refuse to foster unnecessary dependence by not jumping in before my help is truly needed or wanted. Perhaps most important of all, I can provide loving touch. Most people crave touch, and yet many older people find themselves isolated from any physical contact at all. If I ask permission, I can hug. I can squeeze a hand. I can even give a shoulder or foot massage to ease tensions and aches. And I can acknowledge the beauty I see in the person before me. 3. People also have minds. I have often found that those elders with the frailest of bodies have the quickest wits. And yet our stereotype of an old person is someone in her "second childhood," senile, perhaps suffering dementia or other problems associated with diseases like Alzheimer's. One of my clients is a 91-year-old man who suffered a broken neck several months ago and yet lives alone in his own home. He keeps his mind nimble by working jigsaw puzzles on his computer. This "old dog" taught himself to use a computer when he was 89 and uses it every day to check his stocks, email loved ones and meet new people. (A widower with limited mobility, he still hopes to find someone special to share his life, and the computer is his tool for meeting and corresponding with potential partners near his own age. So far all his cyber relationships have been platonic, but the hope is still there -- and it is not unreasonable.) I can hear the stereotypes cracking as I write. I have perhaps learned the most from clients in the early and middle stages of Alzheimer's disease. Many people complain that these folks do nothing but repeat themselves, and they become frustrated because Alzheimer's robs their loved ones of their short-term memory. I have found that I can sit and listen to a person with Alzheimer's repeat the same story over and over, or ask the same questions over and over, and sometimes I can pull old memories out that nobody else has heard in years. I realize that many people don't have the patience for this, and I also realize that this frustrates and exhausts the 24-hour caregiver. One of the greatest gifts I can offer my clients is my attention. I try to make my focus tangible as they repeat their stories, their memories and their experiences. I try to memorize their words and their way of speaking. Never think there's "nobody home." I learned this lesson the hard way. A person who never spoke and seemed not to notice anything around him suddenly laughed at me when I dropped a glass of juice -- and then told me a bawdy joke. I never heard him speak again, but I also never thought of him as a body without a mind again, either. 4. All people have hopes and dreams, needs and fears. These are the things that make us human, and these are the things that define who we are. Every one of us needs to feel useful and needed. We need friendship and companionship. We need to have something to look forward to each day. Too many times I meet a client who has given up on life, who thinks there is no use in dreaming about anything "at her age" and that life is just one big downhill slide from here on out. These are often my favorite clients, because they are the most challenging. I try to introduce new things and new people into their lives, and if I can't do that, I try to make their lives seem new again by being interested in their experiences. Listen, ask questions, and watch a hopeless person blossom. I used to believe that all people fear death. Now I know that people fear loss of control even more. The biggest fear seems to be not dying, but dying badly: in pain, alone, or in a process prolonged by needless life support. Sometimes we don't know what we fear until we name it, and once we've named it the fear has less power. One of the most loving things I can do is simply to listen without flinching as a person describes his fears. If possible, I can offer reassurance, but I can never deny the reality of fear. 5. Destroy a person's spirit, and you commit murder. How do we destroy a person's spirit? By constantly focusing on "you can't" instead of "you can." "You can't walk steadily, so you should sit here while I do everything for you." "You can't drive, so you have to stay home unless I can take you." "You can't remember what happened just a minute ago, so you are a danger to yourself." Instead, let's say, "You can learn to use a cane or a walker so you can walk the dog and get your newspaper." "You can go out on your own because there is public transportation for seniors." "You can remember the most interesting stories, so I want to sit here with you." Here's a simple example. Think mom can't cut her own meat because of the arthritis in her hands? Cut it for her and she'll certainly be unable to do it on her own before long. But provide an adaptive knife -- perhaps a pizza wheel or an ulu and a plastic cutting board -- and you've allowed her the dignity of doing it for herself. Just as important, you've given her an opportunity to exercise healthy movements. Even better, let her help prepare dinner by cutting veggies with her new knife, and you've allowed her to feel useful and valued. It takes creativity and patience to find ways to say "you can," but if you don't, you'll find yourself following your loved one along the path to "I give up." And when a person gives up, he dies… or lives a life that isn't a real life. Age is not a disability. It is an asset. I hope I will remember my mistaken perception of the old fellow of the sidewalk. I hope I will remember all the times I have seen a person in terms of her challenges instead of her gifts. If I can keep these mistakes in mind, perhaps I will never again see age as a disability. Instead, I hope I will be able to see past all the infirmities to the unique and interesting person who offers to share his greatest asset with me, if I have patience: himself. ~*~ Special thanks to my clients for sharing themselves with me, to my fellow staff members for inspiration and support, and to trainer Tom Pomerantz for some provocative ideas. ~*~ Note: This review is a part of an Aging Write-Off hosted by ed_grover. Originally planned to celebrate Older Americans Month during May, it was opened up to everyone, anywhere, because of America’s reputation as a melting pot. We are celebrating the member diversity found on the Epinions.com site. Please join the following participants from Canada, the UK and the USA who are celebrating Aging with everything from humor to more serious subjects. Read on! AdaDavis, Angelabar, argonut, Aruzenchin, BeeCharmer, bleuchance, Bluehawq, Dave_Corbit, ed_grover, egab01, eplovejoy, fjbpab, frazzledspice, hadassahchana, jankp, jo.com, julliette, KateTPZ, kurt_messick, Lisa_J, LordBalfor, Macondo, MrsNormanMain, Nfp, Nobody_knows, Prepoia, REDDAVENYC, pambo, phineaskc, prettyinpink, psychovant, scmrak, Stephen_Murray, Straight-up, tekki, wanbi_gleska, wovengold. Angelabar has designed a special Web page for this write-off that will make accessing the participants much easier. It is located at: http://www.pronetisp.net/~anjuliz/older_american.html  |
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