© September 16, 2010 by Imelda Maurer, cdp
Corporations bag billions in profits each year with “anti-aging” solutions – creams, oils, supplements, surgery , books – successfully playing to American’s fear and denial of aging.
While we cannot avoid aging, and while there are no true “anti aging “ solutions, an article in the New York Times describes how the skill of balance CAN BE ENHANCED with appropriate exercise! Why is this so important?
“Unintentional falls among those 65 and older are responsible for more than 18,000 deaths and nearly 450,000 hospitalizations annually in the United States, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. Most of these falls are caused by a decline in that complex and multidimensional human skill known as balance.
To remain upright and sure-footed, explained Dr. David Thurman, a neurologist with the center and a spokesman for the American Academy of Neurology, “there are several components of the nervous system, as well as motor or movement functions that need to be intact.” These include the vestibular system of the inner ear, vision and proprioception, the ability to sense where one’s arms, legs or other parts of the body are without looking at them, as well as the strength and flexibility of bones and soft tissue.
“All of these,” Dr. Thurman said, “tend to degrade with age, particularly as people move into their seventh and eighth decades.”
Yet, unlike many effects of aging, balance can be improved, and the age-related declines can be delayed or minimized with proper training.
“The preponderance of evidence,” Dr. Thurman said, “shows fairly convincingly that strength and balance training can reduce the rate of falls by up to about 50 percent.”
To read about the types of exercise that can enhance the skill of balance without hiring a personal trainer, go to the NY Times article by clicking on the title of the blog entry.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Making it OK to Sleep Late
© September 14, 2010 by Imelda Maurer, cdp
My sister and her husband have, for the last few years, enjoyed socializing at a neighborhood senior center. Their custom is to go once or twice a week. Not long ago during a telephone visit, I asked my sister if they enjoyed lunch at the center. “No,” she said, “they serve lunch at 11:30. We are late sleepers and when we get up and take our time in the mornings, we don’t usually make it in time for lunch.”
Nothing unusual in that remark. After many years of hard work, this retired couple can now manage their daily schedule according to their own likes. They share long evenings, get to bed late and like to sleep late in the morning. Fair enough. They deserve it!
In too many nursing homes, for those adults who have to live in one, there is a schedule: breakfast served at particular time as is lunch and dinner. That means that staff members are required to have the residents up and dressed in order to be “on time” for the institutionally scheduled breakfast time.
Lots of problems with this kind of living for years on end. It’s institutional. It’s NOT home. For elders with even minimal cognitive impairment, being awakened and helped with dressing and grooming before they are ready to do so may result in notes in that elder’s chart claiming there was “combative behavior” or that the resident “was uncooperative with a.m. care.” That’s a topic for another entry.
However, the good news in all this is that THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGIN’! Progressive nursing homes are “making it ok to sleep late.” An article in The Chicago Tribune highlights a nursing home which is making the move from institution to home.
Note the advantages that are evident: quality of life for the residents; enhanced employee satisfaction; lower costs for the provider.
“Nursing homes that embrace the new philosophy are letting residents decide when to bathe, eat and sleep; allowing them to organize their own activities; and redesigning nursing units into small "households."
Advocates say residents in such homes are happier and healthier; the employees have more job satisfaction; and giving care this way even costs less.”
The administrator is quoted as saying that she doesn’t even like to speak of “allowing” residents to sleep late. "It's not for us to give them that freedom," she said. "They should have it."
There is an important corollary to this story: consumers -- that’s US, the nursing home residents of the future -- must demand this kind of environment and person-centered living. The movement of transformative culture change in nursing homes is a fast-growing ripple. We advocates and consumers must change the ripples into waves!
GO, MAKE WAVES!
Click on the title of this post at the top of this page to be linked to the article from The Chicago Tribune. It is a short, enjoyable and informative piece
My sister and her husband have, for the last few years, enjoyed socializing at a neighborhood senior center. Their custom is to go once or twice a week. Not long ago during a telephone visit, I asked my sister if they enjoyed lunch at the center. “No,” she said, “they serve lunch at 11:30. We are late sleepers and when we get up and take our time in the mornings, we don’t usually make it in time for lunch.”
Nothing unusual in that remark. After many years of hard work, this retired couple can now manage their daily schedule according to their own likes. They share long evenings, get to bed late and like to sleep late in the morning. Fair enough. They deserve it!
In too many nursing homes, for those adults who have to live in one, there is a schedule: breakfast served at particular time as is lunch and dinner. That means that staff members are required to have the residents up and dressed in order to be “on time” for the institutionally scheduled breakfast time.
Lots of problems with this kind of living for years on end. It’s institutional. It’s NOT home. For elders with even minimal cognitive impairment, being awakened and helped with dressing and grooming before they are ready to do so may result in notes in that elder’s chart claiming there was “combative behavior” or that the resident “was uncooperative with a.m. care.” That’s a topic for another entry.
However, the good news in all this is that THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGIN’! Progressive nursing homes are “making it ok to sleep late.” An article in The Chicago Tribune highlights a nursing home which is making the move from institution to home.
Note the advantages that are evident: quality of life for the residents; enhanced employee satisfaction; lower costs for the provider.
“Nursing homes that embrace the new philosophy are letting residents decide when to bathe, eat and sleep; allowing them to organize their own activities; and redesigning nursing units into small "households."
Advocates say residents in such homes are happier and healthier; the employees have more job satisfaction; and giving care this way even costs less.”
The administrator is quoted as saying that she doesn’t even like to speak of “allowing” residents to sleep late. "It's not for us to give them that freedom," she said. "They should have it."
There is an important corollary to this story: consumers -- that’s US, the nursing home residents of the future -- must demand this kind of environment and person-centered living. The movement of transformative culture change in nursing homes is a fast-growing ripple. We advocates and consumers must change the ripples into waves!
GO, MAKE WAVES!
Click on the title of this post at the top of this page to be linked to the article from The Chicago Tribune. It is a short, enjoyable and informative piece
Monday, July 26, 2010
I Never Saw Your Wrinkles
Another one of my favorites -- posted some time ago!
Friday, March 2, 2007
I Never Saw Your Wrinkles
© March 2 2007 by Imelda Maurer, cdp
Several years ago I fell in love with gardening. It was a kind of surprising transformation following a farm-life childhood, where the work seemed only drudgery. So averse was I to having to go on Saturday mornings to hoe the weeds out of the long rows in the grape vineyard or from around the young corn plants, or to pick the field peas, that I cultivated the habit of praying for rain every weekend.
When I was in my mid-30s, I found myself living in rural southern Louisiana with an ample yard of beautiful, dark, delta soil beneath the lawn. I decided to attempt a small organic vegetable garden and cultivated a patch that was probably 20 feet by 12 feet. I was astounded at the delight I took in seeing the small seedlings take hold and flourish, at the beauty of the different shades of green against the dark, black soil. I looked forward to the time I would be able to spend in my garden, a time that became richly reflective and meditative, as well as emotionally fulfilling.
As that first spring progressed, the tomato plants grew almost shoulder height, producing tomatoes for me and many of my neighbors. After the growing season, I removed the dead plants and added them to the compost pile where, during the still winter season, they turned into rich dirt. That compost, added to the garden, nourished the next season's young plants. I had an experiential awareness of the universal cycle of life, death and subsequent new life, as I had observed my garden plants mature, provide fruit and later yield to death.
There is a distinct beauty in a young, maturing plant. A pepper plant, for example grows so straight with wondrous, dark, shiny, green leaves. Its stems strengthen and become almost woody, enabling it to support the proliferation of beautiful, glossy, waxy peppers. In doing so, the plant loses its youthful appearance and gains the beauty of maturity.
I began to understand not only that the appearance of the pepper plants in each stage of growth and development held its own beauty, but that there was a certain rightness and appropriateness in the beauty of each stage of that pepper plant's life. The reflective time in the garden provided the recognition of a connection between the stages of life in the plants I loved and nurtured and the stages in my own life. I recognized in a new and profound way that there is a beauty, a rightness, an appropriateness in who we are and how we appear at whatever age.
I've believed for many years that as we age our beauty deepens. The face and eyes of older persons reflect the richness of their life experiences and the wisdom that comes from their life's journey of intermingled pain and joy. It is this inner self, wonderfully manifested in some way in our physical being, that is who we really are. Robert Redford alluded to this perspective in an interview in which he spoke of a personal rejection of having plastic surgery because he believes that in that process, "something of your soul in your face goes away."
We all know at some level that, when we look at someone, or when we call a person's image to mind, that we are seeing the person as he or she really is -- something of the inner self. This was exquisitely voiced by a woman in a news story that ran recently on "Good Morning America.” The story cited growing numbers of adults older than 65 who are choosing plastic surgery. Featured was an 80-year-old woman who had recently had a face lift, tummy tuck and breast augmentation. She was shown sitting around a table with women of her own age group, obviously friends and acquaintances. One in the group asked why she underwent plastic surgery. The subject of the interview answered, touching her smooth, wrinkle-free face: "Look how smooth my face is. Don't you remember how wrinkled it was?" To which her friend replied in a soft-spoken voice, "I never saw your wrinkles."
Posted by Imelda Maurer, cdp at 8:14 AM
Friday, March 2, 2007
I Never Saw Your Wrinkles
© March 2 2007 by Imelda Maurer, cdp
Several years ago I fell in love with gardening. It was a kind of surprising transformation following a farm-life childhood, where the work seemed only drudgery. So averse was I to having to go on Saturday mornings to hoe the weeds out of the long rows in the grape vineyard or from around the young corn plants, or to pick the field peas, that I cultivated the habit of praying for rain every weekend.
When I was in my mid-30s, I found myself living in rural southern Louisiana with an ample yard of beautiful, dark, delta soil beneath the lawn. I decided to attempt a small organic vegetable garden and cultivated a patch that was probably 20 feet by 12 feet. I was astounded at the delight I took in seeing the small seedlings take hold and flourish, at the beauty of the different shades of green against the dark, black soil. I looked forward to the time I would be able to spend in my garden, a time that became richly reflective and meditative, as well as emotionally fulfilling.
As that first spring progressed, the tomato plants grew almost shoulder height, producing tomatoes for me and many of my neighbors. After the growing season, I removed the dead plants and added them to the compost pile where, during the still winter season, they turned into rich dirt. That compost, added to the garden, nourished the next season's young plants. I had an experiential awareness of the universal cycle of life, death and subsequent new life, as I had observed my garden plants mature, provide fruit and later yield to death.
There is a distinct beauty in a young, maturing plant. A pepper plant, for example grows so straight with wondrous, dark, shiny, green leaves. Its stems strengthen and become almost woody, enabling it to support the proliferation of beautiful, glossy, waxy peppers. In doing so, the plant loses its youthful appearance and gains the beauty of maturity.
I began to understand not only that the appearance of the pepper plants in each stage of growth and development held its own beauty, but that there was a certain rightness and appropriateness in the beauty of each stage of that pepper plant's life. The reflective time in the garden provided the recognition of a connection between the stages of life in the plants I loved and nurtured and the stages in my own life. I recognized in a new and profound way that there is a beauty, a rightness, an appropriateness in who we are and how we appear at whatever age.
I've believed for many years that as we age our beauty deepens. The face and eyes of older persons reflect the richness of their life experiences and the wisdom that comes from their life's journey of intermingled pain and joy. It is this inner self, wonderfully manifested in some way in our physical being, that is who we really are. Robert Redford alluded to this perspective in an interview in which he spoke of a personal rejection of having plastic surgery because he believes that in that process, "something of your soul in your face goes away."
We all know at some level that, when we look at someone, or when we call a person's image to mind, that we are seeing the person as he or she really is -- something of the inner self. This was exquisitely voiced by a woman in a news story that ran recently on "Good Morning America.” The story cited growing numbers of adults older than 65 who are choosing plastic surgery. Featured was an 80-year-old woman who had recently had a face lift, tummy tuck and breast augmentation. She was shown sitting around a table with women of her own age group, obviously friends and acquaintances. One in the group asked why she underwent plastic surgery. The subject of the interview answered, touching her smooth, wrinkle-free face: "Look how smooth my face is. Don't you remember how wrinkled it was?" To which her friend replied in a soft-spoken voice, "I never saw your wrinkles."
Posted by Imelda Maurer, cdp at 8:14 AM
I'm Not A Young Woman
© March 26, 2007 by Imelda Maurer, cdp
This is one of my first entries on my blog, which you can tell from the date. However, it's one of my favorites. I want to share it again.
Lowe’s had a large selection of vacuum cleaners, and I needed one. I had just moved to begin a new ministry and was shopping that Saturday afternoon for some basics for the small house I was renting. The salesman was helping another woman when I walked up. I was there only a moment or two before he looked at me and said, “I’ll be with you in a minute, young woman.” To which I responded politely, “I’m not a young woman.” The woman he was helping was probably embarrassed at my apparent lack of social sensitivity to this well-meaning salesman. She turned to me and said, “He’s trying to make you feel good.” “I know,” I said, “but I’ve lived 63 years to look like this, and I don’t want any of those years or experiences disregarded.”
How many of us have not had that experience at least once since we passed 55 or 60 years of age? How did we really feel about such a remark? A good feeling because maybe we really don’t look as old as we really are? Maybe ‘they’ really think I am still young. And am I happy that I am seen as still young?
Our western society is so terribly ageist. The state of youthfulness is worshipped and sought after to the tune of billions of dollars raked in by the cosmetic and anti-aging industry here in the United States alone. On the other hand, birthday cards for anyone 30 or older make degrading joke after degrading joke about one’s age. What a shame.
Dr. Andrew Weil, in his recent book, HEALTHY AGING addresses this concept of our society’s abhorrence of aging. He concludes by saying that no matter how much we spend on hormonal supplements, plastic surgery or anti-aging cosmetics, we cannot stop the aging process, and we should “accept” our aging. No, Dr. Weil, we should not “accept” our aging, we should CHERISH and HONOR our aging. It is a sacred part of our life journey.
For me as a Sister of Divine Providence, it is another wonderful and good aspect of God’s Providential love and care. For me, aging is an adventure. I’ve never been this old before! Who will I be as an old(er) person? How will the experiences of my life, both inner and outer experiences, show themselves in my face, in my body?
Aging can hold much pain for some of us. I don’t deny that. Many older adults suffer complex health problems. But that is not a universal experience. Each of us has some control over how our older years will be lived based on our inherited genes and by the way we live each day now: healthy diet, at least a 30-minute walk, positive attitudes, and informed, regular care of body, mind and spirit.
If we each fought ageism every time we encountered it, whether it is public policy or a well-meaning sales clerk, wouldn’t we individually be a lot more psychologically healthier? Wouldn’t our entire society be a lot healthier?
Can you look at yourself in the mirror and smile with gratitude for the life’s journey that has been yours so far, and that reveals itself in that face you see in the mirror?
This is one of my first entries on my blog, which you can tell from the date. However, it's one of my favorites. I want to share it again.
Lowe’s had a large selection of vacuum cleaners, and I needed one. I had just moved to begin a new ministry and was shopping that Saturday afternoon for some basics for the small house I was renting. The salesman was helping another woman when I walked up. I was there only a moment or two before he looked at me and said, “I’ll be with you in a minute, young woman.” To which I responded politely, “I’m not a young woman.” The woman he was helping was probably embarrassed at my apparent lack of social sensitivity to this well-meaning salesman. She turned to me and said, “He’s trying to make you feel good.” “I know,” I said, “but I’ve lived 63 years to look like this, and I don’t want any of those years or experiences disregarded.”
How many of us have not had that experience at least once since we passed 55 or 60 years of age? How did we really feel about such a remark? A good feeling because maybe we really don’t look as old as we really are? Maybe ‘they’ really think I am still young. And am I happy that I am seen as still young?
Our western society is so terribly ageist. The state of youthfulness is worshipped and sought after to the tune of billions of dollars raked in by the cosmetic and anti-aging industry here in the United States alone. On the other hand, birthday cards for anyone 30 or older make degrading joke after degrading joke about one’s age. What a shame.
Dr. Andrew Weil, in his recent book, HEALTHY AGING addresses this concept of our society’s abhorrence of aging. He concludes by saying that no matter how much we spend on hormonal supplements, plastic surgery or anti-aging cosmetics, we cannot stop the aging process, and we should “accept” our aging. No, Dr. Weil, we should not “accept” our aging, we should CHERISH and HONOR our aging. It is a sacred part of our life journey.
For me as a Sister of Divine Providence, it is another wonderful and good aspect of God’s Providential love and care. For me, aging is an adventure. I’ve never been this old before! Who will I be as an old(er) person? How will the experiences of my life, both inner and outer experiences, show themselves in my face, in my body?
Aging can hold much pain for some of us. I don’t deny that. Many older adults suffer complex health problems. But that is not a universal experience. Each of us has some control over how our older years will be lived based on our inherited genes and by the way we live each day now: healthy diet, at least a 30-minute walk, positive attitudes, and informed, regular care of body, mind and spirit.
If we each fought ageism every time we encountered it, whether it is public policy or a well-meaning sales clerk, wouldn’t we individually be a lot more psychologically healthier? Wouldn’t our entire society be a lot healthier?
Can you look at yourself in the mirror and smile with gratitude for the life’s journey that has been yours so far, and that reveals itself in that face you see in the mirror?
"When I Grow Up . . . "
© by Imelda Maurer, cdp July 26, 2010
AARP has an ad that I believe is absolutely wonderful and absolutely on target. The message seeks ultimately to recruit members to their organization. But the line used over and over again by the middle aged actors in the ad is this: "When I grow up . . . " It ends with a voiceover saying, "At AARP we believe you're never done growing." What an attitude toward aging! And it's true! We have the potential for growth and development until we draw our dying breath.
The ad is on the web and you can access it by clicking on the title of this post. It's only 30 seconds long. Enjoy it!
http://homadge.blogspot.com/2010/04/aarp-when-i-grow-up.html
AARP has an ad that I believe is absolutely wonderful and absolutely on target. The message seeks ultimately to recruit members to their organization. But the line used over and over again by the middle aged actors in the ad is this: "When I grow up . . . " It ends with a voiceover saying, "At AARP we believe you're never done growing." What an attitude toward aging! And it's true! We have the potential for growth and development until we draw our dying breath.
The ad is on the web and you can access it by clicking on the title of this post. It's only 30 seconds long. Enjoy it!
http://homadge.blogspot.com/2010/04/aarp-when-i-grow-up.html
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Real Story of Aging: As Experienced and as Ministry To the Other
The following letter was sent earlier this week to all members of the American Association of Homes and Services for the Aging (AAHSA) by Larry Minnix, our AAHSA President, who is also a Methodist minister. Larry can talk the statistical, bottom line, give a surpass-the-competition kind of talk with a valid and assured competence. Larry also “gets it” about the real mission of serving our elders, and always communicates that mission in messages such as these to the membership.
In this letter, Larry writes about a woman who, incidentally, lived and died at a Continuing Care Retirement Center here in San Francisco: The Sequoias, a Presbyterian-sponsored ministry.
The letter is worthy of broad distribution for these reasons:
Larry dismisses the myths of aging often portrayed in the public media; he also rejects the botox-using, aging-denying efforts all too prevalent in our American society.
He shows how Jean Wright and those of her ilk, lived her life to the fullest. She embraced her aging as part of the “fulfilling process of the life cycle.”
Larry observed that Jean “lived fully until she died. She trusted in the grace of it all. She reminded us that our mission together is about the people we serve.”
I share this letter with the hope that it will stir reflections among each of us about honoring our own aging and those among us, that it will draw us to a deeper consciousness of the sacredness of this “Third Act” -- our own and those we love -- and the profound implications therein.
Jean Wright: The Real Story of Aging
By Larry Minnix
May is dedicated to older Americans. Maybe it's because I'm becoming one. Maybe it's because a great one, Jean Wright of The Sequoias, recently passed. But lately I have been giving a lot of thought to the real story of aging in our society.
Older Americans Month is a great opportunity to reflect on aging and role models of successful aging. Throughout May (Yes, I'm starting early), I plan to present role models I have known.
The media often portrays aging as either comedic characters who can get away with edgy comments because of age or, more recently, the once beautiful or handsome movie star who has been retreaded with botox and cosmetic surgical work to become the “70 year old who’s the new 40” kind of image.
Don’t get me wrong, I like edgy "senior" comedy. There is an outrageous quality about some of it that I find fun, and I think Raquel Welch was gorgeous at 29 and looks good at 69. No value judgment about either.
It’s just that, well, those role models are not the real story of aging. But Jean Wright is. And I do not believe our society and culture will ever fully embrace aging as a part of the fulfilling process of the life cycle until we understand and appreciate people like Jean.
On Feb. 7, 2010, at the age of 86, Jean died at The Sequoias, a storied AAHSA member, where she lived with her husband for 28 years. Jean’s daughter, Deborah, said Jean was “…surrounded in death by her husband and children.” Reminds me of Abraham and Sarah’s passing in the Old Testament. They died “a good old age.”
Jean was a “powerful lady,” says Ramona Davies, a friend of Jean and a Northern California Presbyterian Homes and Services leader. Jean was elected to the Aging Services of California board, the AAHSA House of Delegates, and was the first resident to serve on AAHSA’s Board of Directors.
Ramona stated it well: In every session Jean attended, she would remind providers and residents alike who we are supposed to be serving. She could make us uncomfortable in doing so, but you always knew that Jean was one of our biggest fans.
I admired her tenacity as her body steadily betrayed her. She rarely missed our AAHSA board meeting, traveling across country to attend. On two occasions, we had to call 911 because she had fallen at a hotel event. She didn’t like the fuss and didn’t miss the meetings.
There were special intangibles about Jean. She exuded integrity, hope, disciplined thought, and principles. She inspired confidence and trust. One time, my wife and I hosted an informal dinner for the AAHSA board at our home. We had a skittish border collie mix named Bear. Bear really only loved his family and barked at other people. Jean came into our home, sat on our couch, and Bear immediately bonded with her. Jean faithfully asked about Bear when we’d correspond.
Deborah, Jean's daughter, referred to Jean’s Sequoias/ASC/AAHSA years as “Act Three” of Jean’s life. What a concept! In the latter days of Act Three, Jean taught us one of the most valuable lessons that can be taught: How to recognize the near end of life and how to accept the inevitability of it.
After steady deterioration of body, Jean asked to be part of “Comfort Care” status. She had “…long been an advocate of compassionate choices related to end-of-life care,” wrote Deborah. Jean “graciously accepts the path she has chosen.”
O, death, where is thy sting?
Deborah asked Jean what message she wanted us to receive from her. Teacher and purveyor of wisdom to the very end, Jean replied, “Tell them that I’ve had a good, good life and that I am grateful for the role each of them has played in that life. No regrets!”
Jean Wright‘s life, dying, and death are the real story of aging in a healthy way. She lived fully until she died. She trusted in the grace of it all.
She reminded us that our mission together is about the people we serve, and that, like the Sequoias obviously knows, you and I are in the “No regrets” business during the “Act Three” of people’s lives.
People like Jean give all of us confidence about the life cycle. We trusted her. We can trust beyond ourselves. Even Bear, my mistrusting dog, sensed it. Jean, we already miss you!
Let’s celebrate people like Jean in May.
In this letter, Larry writes about a woman who, incidentally, lived and died at a Continuing Care Retirement Center here in San Francisco: The Sequoias, a Presbyterian-sponsored ministry.
The letter is worthy of broad distribution for these reasons:
Larry dismisses the myths of aging often portrayed in the public media; he also rejects the botox-using, aging-denying efforts all too prevalent in our American society.
He shows how Jean Wright and those of her ilk, lived her life to the fullest. She embraced her aging as part of the “fulfilling process of the life cycle.”
Larry observed that Jean “lived fully until she died. She trusted in the grace of it all. She reminded us that our mission together is about the people we serve.”
I share this letter with the hope that it will stir reflections among each of us about honoring our own aging and those among us, that it will draw us to a deeper consciousness of the sacredness of this “Third Act” -- our own and those we love -- and the profound implications therein.
Jean Wright: The Real Story of Aging
By Larry Minnix
May is dedicated to older Americans. Maybe it's because I'm becoming one. Maybe it's because a great one, Jean Wright of The Sequoias, recently passed. But lately I have been giving a lot of thought to the real story of aging in our society.
Older Americans Month is a great opportunity to reflect on aging and role models of successful aging. Throughout May (Yes, I'm starting early), I plan to present role models I have known.
The media often portrays aging as either comedic characters who can get away with edgy comments because of age or, more recently, the once beautiful or handsome movie star who has been retreaded with botox and cosmetic surgical work to become the “70 year old who’s the new 40” kind of image.
Don’t get me wrong, I like edgy "senior" comedy. There is an outrageous quality about some of it that I find fun, and I think Raquel Welch was gorgeous at 29 and looks good at 69. No value judgment about either.
It’s just that, well, those role models are not the real story of aging. But Jean Wright is. And I do not believe our society and culture will ever fully embrace aging as a part of the fulfilling process of the life cycle until we understand and appreciate people like Jean.
On Feb. 7, 2010, at the age of 86, Jean died at The Sequoias, a storied AAHSA member, where she lived with her husband for 28 years. Jean’s daughter, Deborah, said Jean was “…surrounded in death by her husband and children.” Reminds me of Abraham and Sarah’s passing in the Old Testament. They died “a good old age.”
Jean was a “powerful lady,” says Ramona Davies, a friend of Jean and a Northern California Presbyterian Homes and Services leader. Jean was elected to the Aging Services of California board, the AAHSA House of Delegates, and was the first resident to serve on AAHSA’s Board of Directors.
Ramona stated it well: In every session Jean attended, she would remind providers and residents alike who we are supposed to be serving. She could make us uncomfortable in doing so, but you always knew that Jean was one of our biggest fans.
I admired her tenacity as her body steadily betrayed her. She rarely missed our AAHSA board meeting, traveling across country to attend. On two occasions, we had to call 911 because she had fallen at a hotel event. She didn’t like the fuss and didn’t miss the meetings.
There were special intangibles about Jean. She exuded integrity, hope, disciplined thought, and principles. She inspired confidence and trust. One time, my wife and I hosted an informal dinner for the AAHSA board at our home. We had a skittish border collie mix named Bear. Bear really only loved his family and barked at other people. Jean came into our home, sat on our couch, and Bear immediately bonded with her. Jean faithfully asked about Bear when we’d correspond.
Deborah, Jean's daughter, referred to Jean’s Sequoias/ASC/AAHSA years as “Act Three” of Jean’s life. What a concept! In the latter days of Act Three, Jean taught us one of the most valuable lessons that can be taught: How to recognize the near end of life and how to accept the inevitability of it.
After steady deterioration of body, Jean asked to be part of “Comfort Care” status. She had “…long been an advocate of compassionate choices related to end-of-life care,” wrote Deborah. Jean “graciously accepts the path she has chosen.”
O, death, where is thy sting?
Deborah asked Jean what message she wanted us to receive from her. Teacher and purveyor of wisdom to the very end, Jean replied, “Tell them that I’ve had a good, good life and that I am grateful for the role each of them has played in that life. No regrets!”
Jean Wright‘s life, dying, and death are the real story of aging in a healthy way. She lived fully until she died. She trusted in the grace of it all.
She reminded us that our mission together is about the people we serve, and that, like the Sequoias obviously knows, you and I are in the “No regrets” business during the “Act Three” of people’s lives.
People like Jean give all of us confidence about the life cycle. We trusted her. We can trust beyond ourselves. Even Bear, my mistrusting dog, sensed it. Jean, we already miss you!
Let’s celebrate people like Jean in May.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Catholic Sisters: Strong, courageous, nurturing compassion
© Imelda Maurer, cdp March 23, 2010
On September 10, 1950 our family was on our way to 7:30 a.m. Sunday Mass. Within blocks of church a woman ran a red light and hit us broadside. My younger sister and oldest sister sustained serious injuries which resulted in a week’s stay in the hospital for each of them. My oldest sister was knocked unconscious and was also bleeding profusely from the neck. My mother feared an artery had been severed and applied pressure at the laceration – not taking time to remove her Sunday gloves.
After the ambulance arrived and the paramedics had provided emergency First Aid, my mother, of course, accompanied my sisters in the ambulance to the hospital. Mother told the ambulance driver to take her to St. Paul’s Hospital. This request came from my mother’s deep love for the Church and her trust that the Sisters in a Catholic hospital would provide the best physical and spiritual care possible. The ambulance driver told her that St. Paul's Emergency Room was not open on Sunday; he was going to the county hospital. My mother’s response to this was to beat on his shoulder – bloodied gloves ---- and tell him: "You take me to St. Paul’s. The Sisters will let me in.”
The driver pulled up to the front entrance of St. Paul’s hospital. This was well before 8:00 on a Sunday morning. My mother dashed to the staired front entrance leading to the administrative offices. She had gone no more than two or three steps when she saw a Daughter of Charity of St. Vincent DePaul rushing toward her down the steps. arms open and embracing her when they met. Sister’s response to my mother’s reporting that she was told the Emergency Room was not open on Sunday was, “Of course we’re here for you.”
No matter how many times I remember that story, it is still a very emotional experience for me: recalling my mother’s unquestioning trust in and love for everything connected with the Church, and the human, immediate, effective compassion that wonderful Daughter of Charity showed my mother. (How many hospital administrators are in their office at 8:00 on a Sunday morning?) The story is true in fact and deeply symbolic of the commitment and compassion Sisters have shown those in need throughout our more than 200 years in this country. Sisters nurtured the orphans, taught poor immigrant children, nursed soldiers from the North and the South during the Civil War. All this was often done without pay and at times under oppressive conditions within the hierarchical Catholic Church Institution. Sisters marched in Selma. Sisters have worked for women’s rights. Today Sisters are found beyond the hospital and classroom, though there too. Sisters are answering unmet needs – in metropolitan areas, in hamlets and in inner cities – needs that would continue to go unmet without the involvement of Sisters.
Most recently Sisters acted with strong, courageous, nurturing compassion, this time publicly and corporately. Prominent women religious leaders concluded after a careful study of the pending health care bill that “the reform law does not allow federal funding of abortion and that it keeps in place important conscience protections for caregivers and institutions alike. We are also pleased that the bill includes $250 million to fund counseling, education, job training and housing for vulnerable women who are pregnant or parenting.” (Sister Carol Keehan, CEO of CHA)
On March 15, Sister Carol Keehan, A Daughter of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul and CEO of the Catholic Health Association issued a statement of support for the pending health care bill. The statement reflected that the bill goes beyond the requirements of the Hyde amendment and said “the time is now for health reform.”
Two days later, Network, (www.networklobby.org) a national Catholic Social Justice Lobby, sent a letter to every member of the House of Representatives saying: “We write to urge you to cast a life-affirming yes vote when the Senate health care bill (H.R. 3590) comes to the floor of the House for a vote.” The letter was signed by Sister Marlene Weisenbeck, FSPA, President of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious. That organization represents 95% of Catholic Sisters in our country. Sister Marlene signed a second time as President of her Congregation, along with more than 50 other Sisters in various capacities of elected leadership within their congregations. I have every certainty that many more congregations would have been represented in that letter had it not been for the necessity of a very close deadline.
In these public actions, I believe, Catholic Sisters were caring in ways we have cared since our beginnings in this country. In the words of Senator Bob Casey of Pennsylvania, “They care for the least, the last and the lost.”
This public, corporate stance for those most marginalized in our society is a source of great pride for me. This is “us” at our best! Strong, nurturing, courageous, passionate! What a gift to be within this circle of women!
On September 10, 1950 our family was on our way to 7:30 a.m. Sunday Mass. Within blocks of church a woman ran a red light and hit us broadside. My younger sister and oldest sister sustained serious injuries which resulted in a week’s stay in the hospital for each of them. My oldest sister was knocked unconscious and was also bleeding profusely from the neck. My mother feared an artery had been severed and applied pressure at the laceration – not taking time to remove her Sunday gloves.
After the ambulance arrived and the paramedics had provided emergency First Aid, my mother, of course, accompanied my sisters in the ambulance to the hospital. Mother told the ambulance driver to take her to St. Paul’s Hospital. This request came from my mother’s deep love for the Church and her trust that the Sisters in a Catholic hospital would provide the best physical and spiritual care possible. The ambulance driver told her that St. Paul's Emergency Room was not open on Sunday; he was going to the county hospital. My mother’s response to this was to beat on his shoulder – bloodied gloves ---- and tell him: "You take me to St. Paul’s. The Sisters will let me in.”
The driver pulled up to the front entrance of St. Paul’s hospital. This was well before 8:00 on a Sunday morning. My mother dashed to the staired front entrance leading to the administrative offices. She had gone no more than two or three steps when she saw a Daughter of Charity of St. Vincent DePaul rushing toward her down the steps. arms open and embracing her when they met. Sister’s response to my mother’s reporting that she was told the Emergency Room was not open on Sunday was, “Of course we’re here for you.”
No matter how many times I remember that story, it is still a very emotional experience for me: recalling my mother’s unquestioning trust in and love for everything connected with the Church, and the human, immediate, effective compassion that wonderful Daughter of Charity showed my mother. (How many hospital administrators are in their office at 8:00 on a Sunday morning?) The story is true in fact and deeply symbolic of the commitment and compassion Sisters have shown those in need throughout our more than 200 years in this country. Sisters nurtured the orphans, taught poor immigrant children, nursed soldiers from the North and the South during the Civil War. All this was often done without pay and at times under oppressive conditions within the hierarchical Catholic Church Institution. Sisters marched in Selma. Sisters have worked for women’s rights. Today Sisters are found beyond the hospital and classroom, though there too. Sisters are answering unmet needs – in metropolitan areas, in hamlets and in inner cities – needs that would continue to go unmet without the involvement of Sisters.
Most recently Sisters acted with strong, courageous, nurturing compassion, this time publicly and corporately. Prominent women religious leaders concluded after a careful study of the pending health care bill that “the reform law does not allow federal funding of abortion and that it keeps in place important conscience protections for caregivers and institutions alike. We are also pleased that the bill includes $250 million to fund counseling, education, job training and housing for vulnerable women who are pregnant or parenting.” (Sister Carol Keehan, CEO of CHA)
On March 15, Sister Carol Keehan, A Daughter of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul and CEO of the Catholic Health Association issued a statement of support for the pending health care bill. The statement reflected that the bill goes beyond the requirements of the Hyde amendment and said “the time is now for health reform.”
Two days later, Network, (www.networklobby.org) a national Catholic Social Justice Lobby, sent a letter to every member of the House of Representatives saying: “We write to urge you to cast a life-affirming yes vote when the Senate health care bill (H.R. 3590) comes to the floor of the House for a vote.” The letter was signed by Sister Marlene Weisenbeck, FSPA, President of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious. That organization represents 95% of Catholic Sisters in our country. Sister Marlene signed a second time as President of her Congregation, along with more than 50 other Sisters in various capacities of elected leadership within their congregations. I have every certainty that many more congregations would have been represented in that letter had it not been for the necessity of a very close deadline.
In these public actions, I believe, Catholic Sisters were caring in ways we have cared since our beginnings in this country. In the words of Senator Bob Casey of Pennsylvania, “They care for the least, the last and the lost.”
This public, corporate stance for those most marginalized in our society is a source of great pride for me. This is “us” at our best! Strong, nurturing, courageous, passionate! What a gift to be within this circle of women!
Monday, January 25, 2010
"A story is difficult, if not impossible to read in an electronic medical record."
© Imelda Maurer, cdp January 25, 2010
Today's mail included the current issue of the publication, "Caring for the Ages." It is a journal of the American Medical Directors Association. Medical directors are physicians who, in addition to possibly attending some of the residents in a nursing home, are responsible for developing and implementing medical care policies and procedures that are based on current standards of practice. The Medical Director is also responsible, if requested by the nursing home, for supervising the care other physicians in the nursing home provide their residents to see that all medical care policies are implemented.
I was excited to see the debut of a column by Dr. Jerald Winakur and skipped quickly to that page. Dr. Winakur is a practicing geriatrician and a faculty member of the University of Texas Health Sciences Center in San Antonio,TX. About this time last year he published a remarkable, moving memoir, "Memory Lessons", in which he tells his life story through the narrative of his father's stages of dementia and finally death. Each chapter is a well-told story wrapped in his professional and humanitarian understanding of the aging process and his manner of honoring that process in each of his patients and in his dad.
In this column, Dr. Winakur relates his experiences as a practitioner in the context of stories. Each person, he relates, brings a story. The doctor's task is to listen to that story. Winakur has learned to ask a few questions, he says. He believes that the "forged ability to listen" is the 'art' of medicine. "By listening to our patients' stories, good doctors glean most of the information they need not only to treat ailing bodies but also to care for our fellow humans as unique beings. He continues, "It is not necessarily what patients tell me but what they don't tell me -- what I observe from years of being alert to nonverbal cues -- that is often even more important than words."
The intent of his initial column is to highlight the relational aspect of 'doctoring.' He chides those physicians who become "mere technicians" in our procedure-oriented world." Referring to the current health care 'debate,' Winakur pleads that people making public policy set in place policies that will provide reimbursement for both narrative and statistics. Otherwise, he says, "if the oft-tortured thread of a story is absent in the debate of policy makers . . . . our health care system will be sterile, unresponsive, bureaucratic, inflexible and undignified for patient and practitioner alike."
While reading this column, I was again reminded of how fortunate Dr. Winakur's patients are to have him as their primary care provider. I have a few friends in San Antonio who fit that description, and not one of them expresses less than a huge, grateful smile when this relationship is mentioned.
I was also reminded of a recent telephone conversation with my sister who lives in another city. In response to a question about her health, she told me that she and my brother-in-law are just fine. "We've changed doctors." Their previous, doctor, in their estimation, had gotten to the point that "he thought he knew more about us then we did." In other words, this 'other doctor' didn't listen to their stories. He didn't honor their narratives. My response was totally supportive. "You go, girl!"
If your primary care provider isn't listening to your verbal and nonverbal messages, is too rushed to listen or to question, writes a prescription at the first mention of a symptom --- maybe a change should be in store in your future!
Today's mail included the current issue of the publication, "Caring for the Ages." It is a journal of the American Medical Directors Association. Medical directors are physicians who, in addition to possibly attending some of the residents in a nursing home, are responsible for developing and implementing medical care policies and procedures that are based on current standards of practice. The Medical Director is also responsible, if requested by the nursing home, for supervising the care other physicians in the nursing home provide their residents to see that all medical care policies are implemented.
I was excited to see the debut of a column by Dr. Jerald Winakur and skipped quickly to that page. Dr. Winakur is a practicing geriatrician and a faculty member of the University of Texas Health Sciences Center in San Antonio,TX. About this time last year he published a remarkable, moving memoir, "Memory Lessons", in which he tells his life story through the narrative of his father's stages of dementia and finally death. Each chapter is a well-told story wrapped in his professional and humanitarian understanding of the aging process and his manner of honoring that process in each of his patients and in his dad.
In this column, Dr. Winakur relates his experiences as a practitioner in the context of stories. Each person, he relates, brings a story. The doctor's task is to listen to that story. Winakur has learned to ask a few questions, he says. He believes that the "forged ability to listen" is the 'art' of medicine. "By listening to our patients' stories, good doctors glean most of the information they need not only to treat ailing bodies but also to care for our fellow humans as unique beings. He continues, "It is not necessarily what patients tell me but what they don't tell me -- what I observe from years of being alert to nonverbal cues -- that is often even more important than words."
The intent of his initial column is to highlight the relational aspect of 'doctoring.' He chides those physicians who become "mere technicians" in our procedure-oriented world." Referring to the current health care 'debate,' Winakur pleads that people making public policy set in place policies that will provide reimbursement for both narrative and statistics. Otherwise, he says, "if the oft-tortured thread of a story is absent in the debate of policy makers . . . . our health care system will be sterile, unresponsive, bureaucratic, inflexible and undignified for patient and practitioner alike."
While reading this column, I was again reminded of how fortunate Dr. Winakur's patients are to have him as their primary care provider. I have a few friends in San Antonio who fit that description, and not one of them expresses less than a huge, grateful smile when this relationship is mentioned.
I was also reminded of a recent telephone conversation with my sister who lives in another city. In response to a question about her health, she told me that she and my brother-in-law are just fine. "We've changed doctors." Their previous, doctor, in their estimation, had gotten to the point that "he thought he knew more about us then we did." In other words, this 'other doctor' didn't listen to their stories. He didn't honor their narratives. My response was totally supportive. "You go, girl!"
If your primary care provider isn't listening to your verbal and nonverbal messages, is too rushed to listen or to question, writes a prescription at the first mention of a symptom --- maybe a change should be in store in your future!
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