The Elephant in the Room

Some subjects are more uncomfortable to broach than others. This is one of those:

The other day, something seemed different at the facility. Subdued, perhaps. I noticed that the decorations on the door of one of the residents -- let's call her Bea -- had been taken down. Not wanting to assume anything, I steered my husband in that general direction as we paced together. Sure enough, Bea's name had been removed from the little slot on the door that labeled it "her" room.

My heart skipped a beat. Oh, no. Not another one gone! I just barely managed to keep myself from crying. Bea has suffered for a long time, and so I wasn't entirely surprised to think that she had left us, but it's always still a shock anyway. Just to be sure, when a caregiver went by, I asked about Bea.

"Oh, yes," she responded, "She's left us."

The stricken look on my face betrayed my thoughts and emotions, and she quickly added, "Not like that! Her family moved her to another place. They were running out of money."

Now, it may or may not have been appropriate for her to say this to me, but there it was: The elephant in the room. The thing everyone dreads. These facilities are not what you would call "affordable" for a sustainable period of time. One year might be okay. Two years might be just about manageable. Three years? Four years? Five years? The thing is, you don't know how many years it's going to be. If you have insurance, it could run out (or not even cover this type of care at all). If you have savings, they are probably not bottomless. If you have neither, your monthly income probably won't cover it (certainly not if you're also running a household). And when the money runs out? Well, when the money runs out, you can't stay.

It's the kind of thing that you hope against hope doesn't happen. The thought of it happening is the stuff nightmares and panic attacks are made of. It's always there, right in the back of your head, waiting to pounce on you in the middle of the night. And you can't help but wonder how much longer it's going to be and whether there will be enough funds to cover the cost and whether there will be anything left for your subsequent life, if any. It shouldn't be that way, but it is. As my husband used to say, "It is what it is." Yep. It is.

On a more positive note, today is my husband's move-in anniversary at this excellent facility. It's been a year. It's gone by very quickly, in retrospect. Time is like that. Maybe that should be a whole other post! 

And he said my name again this week. I burst into tears, of course. It's been four months since that happened last; and, once again, he was somewhat irritated with me. Perhaps I should try to irritate him more often so I can hear, "ChrI-i-I-ssss" more regularly? Okay, perhaps not!