LIKE A JAR OF PEANUT BUTTER

My mother had just been released from the hospital; having been previously admitted as the result of one, or the other of the numerous physical insults with which she suffered. (Amazingly, over the past 4-5 years “Miss Erma” had endured almost 50, (count ‘em, 50) insignificant, significant, and calamitous maladies. It has been a recurring wonder to me that she survived as long as she did)!

At any rate, my mother “got wind” of something I said prior to her release from the hospital, and having just arrived home, she didn’t hesitate to “put in her two cents.”

“I ain’t going to no ‘damn’ nursing home!”

(But, … she did)!

There’s a commercial on television which last ran perhaps six or eight months ago which muses,

“You don’t put your loved one in a nursing home

… like a jar of peanut butter!”

I suppose the implication of this commercial is that family should always be willing to make a better choice, than a skilled nursing environment, and that such a decision represents the last possible recourse, when a father or mother are advanced in age, and incapable of living alone.

As I recall, the ad’s agenda was the availability of in-home nursing care.

Well, my friends, you can imagine I’m no great fan of the message or implication of such a commercial. It is, after all, an attempt to “lay a guilt trip” on responsible family members who make a difficult decision to admit their loved ones to a local nursing home.

There are any number of factors which cause family members to place their fathers and mothers in a nursing environment … “like a jar of peanut butter.”

1.     The unwillingness or inability to care for them in one’s own home

Some undertake this difficult mission. Others, due to their own physical infirmity or their emotional inability to sacrifice their entire lifestyle to caring for a loved one do not. Readers, it is a full-time commitment, and not one which should be entered into lightly.

I was talking to an older man, a passing acquaintance the other day, and I learned something about his situation of which I was totally unaware. His wife is a quadriplegic; having been thrown from a vehicle in a horrendous accident. The elderly man still works a 40 hour a week job, and devotes the remaining 128 hours per week to the care of his wife.  He cannot accept the thought of admitting “Helen” to a nursing facility. As a result, I actually engaged in this particular discussion with him.

2.     The costs associated with in-home care

As a rule neither health insurance, Medicare, nor Medicaid will cover the costs associated with in-home care; whereas, the presence of 24 hour a day nurses, and the hardware and medications involved in such care might amount to 50 percent, or less of the costs involved in a skilled residential environment.

I suppose if our government, in all its paternal wisdom, saw fit to approve legislation designed to pay the comparatively smaller costs designed to keep infirmed persons in their homes, my own mother would have been able to remain in her home much longer than she did.

3.     The increasingly fragile and precarious condition of the elderly patient. There comes a time in the life and care of an aged individual when a skilled nursing facility is the only logical recourse.

There are some wonderful residential facilities “out there,” and the majority of costs associated with elderly care are covered. My own mother’s room, board, and staff costs, (excluding medical charges, prescriptions, etc.) amounted to approximately $100,000 per year. Yes, my mother was first required to divest her bank account, and the majority of her monthly Social Security was channeled into the cost of her treatment, but 80 percent of the remaining costs were paid by our rich uncle. (Uncle Sam). During the two years my mother spent in a residential environment, I paid a whopping co-pay of all of $33.00.

All of the foregoing to say, I resent an advertisement designed to elicit guilt in the hearts and souls of family members doing the best they can to make good decisions for their loved ones, and themselves at such a crucial season in the circle of life.

Like a jar of peanut butter?

Hardly.

And a d_ _ _ _ nursing home?

There was nothing d_ _ _ _ _ about it.

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 38. Copyright pending

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