For now, someone’s loved one is safe
| July 24, 2009 | 11:37 PM
More journal entries from John Moore »
It was a look I’ve seen far too many times in the past eight years.
Bewilderment. Hesitation. Fear. All mixed into one — then a fleeting moment of what almost could have been recognition.
It lasted only a few seconds, from a short distance away as I pulled into the parking lot of my Denver townhome community Friday afternoon. But when I saw that expression on the face of the elderly woman who was pushing a walker in front of me, I knew. And despite the 93-degree temperature — making it the city’s hottest day so far this year — a chill went through me.
I knew in my gut that the woman must have wandered off from the assisted-living center down the street. Past a field where I have sidestepped more than one rattlesnake, past hilly terrain with a labyrinth of steps and drop-offs, and past a maze of barricades and drying concrete from the paving work being done at my complex. From the looks of it, she wasn’t going to make it much farther. And looking back on it now, I wish I had acted on my intuition sooner.
My mind raced to my grandmother. My aunt. My father. All are gone now, and all had some form of dementia that robbed them of their minds, but not of their ability to wander. My brother and I have spent the past eight years visiting a string of assisted-living centers, then nursing homes and, finally, secured Alzheimer’s facilities as Dad’s mind disappeared piece by agonizing piece.
The day your father doesn’t recognize you anymore, you want to cry. And yell. And throw up. And that’s what I wanted to do Friday after I saw that poor woman wandering lost and alone in an area that would be hazardous even for someone with their full mind and strength. Instead, I did the only thing I could do: I parked my car and got out to help her.
Close and yet so far
By that time, the woman had come to a stop. Her dark red walker with black wheels was pushed up against a curb, and she was growing visibly upset that it wouldn’t budge. A car with thundering bass passed on the street nearby, and she looked up startled, then spotted me. I smiled as I approached, trying not to frighten her, and asked if she needed help.
The woman appeared to be in her late 70s to early 80s. She wasn’t as frail as my grandmother was in later years, but she wasn’t at all steady on her feet, even with the walker. I was stunned that she could have traveled nearly 2,000 feet from what I suspected was her home. I was thankful that at least the bright pink blouse she was wearing would have made her more visible to drivers if she had ventured to close to the street.
My assumption about her mental state was validated almost immediately. She didn’t know her own name or what house she lived in. But when she insisted that she did live “here,” I started to doubt my intuition. She spoke so softly, I struggled to understand her. I told her my name and continued to smile and nod, trying to reassure her.
Once I helped her away from the curb, she was off again at a slow, but determined, pace. I tried to get her to stop in the shade, but she wasn’t having any of it. As I struggled for my cell phone to call the police, I kept having to guide her gently with one hand on her arm, to keep her from walking into the driveway construction area and the fresh concrete. She seemed drawn to it.
The workers had gone home for the day, and no one else was around. I have a leg injury from an accident several years ago, so like the woman I was trying to help, I’m not always steady on my feet. I didn’t want to risk either one of us being hurt by physically trying to get her into my car or stop her from walking, although in hindsight, maybe I should have. I also was starting to curse the fact that, having worked the night shift for so many years, I don’t know more of my neighbors. I didn’t want to let the woman leave my sight while I went off knocking on doors to try to get help, especially since so few people are home during the day anyway.
So I just stayed by her side, thinking that while I had never seen her before, maybe my intuition was wrong and she really did live in one of the townhouses — maybe she would finally get her bearings and head for home. But as we kept going for several hundred more feet through the scorching parking lot, I grew more concerned about how bad the heat and sun must be for her. She changed directions three times. Periodically she would stop for a moment to catch her breath, but then she would be off again, even when I tried to make her rest longer by continuing to stand still — a technique that used to work sometimes with my Dad.
Then she indicated that she lived in one of the houses in front of us. This is good, I thought. But several seconds later, she pointed out a different house, and I was glad I finally had the police dispatcher on the line. I went back and forth between him and the woman, trying to get all the information I could for him. Thankfully, she at last came to a stop in the shade.
‘Because a lot of people wouldn’t’
At that point, the townhome community’s maintenance foreman and a neighbor appeared. The neighbor said she knew the woman’s family and confirmed that she lived in the assisted-living center, adding that she had wandered off before. The police call was canceled. The foreman gave the woman some ice water from his truck, and then we gave her an air-conditioned ride back to the center. (While it is in my neighborhood, none of my relatives ever lived in this particular facility.)
The time I spent with the woman in the 90-degree-plus heat was nearly 45 minutes. The center couldn’t tell me how long she could have been gone before I found her. In fact, the administrator and two staff members I spoke with didn’t even appear to know that she had left.
The administrator was very polite. But she was equally nonchalant as I recounted the woman’s ordeal to her. I know assisted-living centers aren’t nearly as secure as nursing homes, but for a patient to be gone that long, in that kind of heat, without being missed — and then for the person in charge to act like she isn’t concerned about it — is unconscionable. And the level of societal erosion that it suggests reminds me of why I helped launched the RMI.
So I went home and started making phone calls. The number that the police and everyone else will refer the public to in a case like this is the Denver Regional Council of Governments’ Long-Term Care Ombudsman at 303-455-1000. That office assured me that what happened Friday will be investigated. I lost count of the number of times someone on the other end of the phone thanked me for getting involved and making the call, often adding a variation on one exasperated official’s remark “because a lot of people wouldn’t.” Hearing that frightened me more than just about anything else I saw or heard Friday. It’s another disturbing reminder of how far our society appears to have fallen. What has happened to our compassion for others?
I’m thankful not to be writing about a death and that, for now, the woman appears to be safe. I pray I did everything I could to help make sure someone’s loved one remains that way. And from now on, I’ll be keeping a closer eye out, listening to my intuition and introducing myself to more of my neighbors.
Have you or your loved one had a similar experience with an assisted-living center or nursing home? Send me an e-mail.
Other resources:
memberofthefamily.net — Colorado nursing home ratings
memberofthefamily.net — other state’s nursing home ratings
medicare.gov’s Nursing Home Compare
DRCOG’s guide to choosing a nursing home
DRCOG’s guide to choosing an assisted-living center
Alzheimer’s Association Memory Walk
alzheimer's disease, assisted living center, colorado, dementia, denver, drcog, elderly, heat, nursing home, walker
