It Was My Moral Duty to Act

This past weekend I discovered the nursing home transported an old friend who means the world to me to the hospital. I remember my husband asking, “Do you think you can drive all the way there and back the next day?” My response was simple: “It’s my moral duty to do so.”

Let me back up a bit. I only recently discovered my friend had fallen and sustained a spinal injury. First came a hospitalization and then a transfer to a nursing home.

So, I listened as my friend’s child outlined the reasons why a trip to visit wouldn’t work. I didn’t question the logic. I knew my words wouldn’t change anything. One thing I did know from the depths of my heart is that the hospital and nursing home cut my dear friend off from everything that mattered in life. There was no question in my mind, I had to go.

I talked to my friend a week earlier after the first trip to the nursing home. I promised I would call again. When I called a week later, she wasn’t there. I then called her child again for an update. This time, I was told she was hospitalized because she was having difficulty breathing. The news was heartbreaking and terrifying. I learned she’d never go back to her home because she was unable to care for herself. Based on her age, I couldn’t argue the point effectively.

The Foundation of My Morality and Sense of Duty

I grew up in a small town. It was a community where people showed up whenever someone was in trouble or needed help.

My friend was generally the first one at the door whenever there was a need or a catastrophe. It is who she was.

Much to her credit, she is also the first person I ever trusted enough to tell of my horrible abuse as a child.

This woman is my friend, my second mother, and my comfort in all things as an adult.

The community I was raised in evidently was more caring than other places in this country.

Some Communities Aren’t As Caring

I recently took some food to a friend here in Menomonie who lost her husband a few months ago. Her eyes glistened as she whispered, “People don’t do this. You must be a  saint.”

I laughed as I explained how things were where I grew up. Everyone pitched in whenever life’s tragedies hit.

This friend grew up in a highly populated area of Virginia, where neighbors didn’t know each other. As she talked about how very different our childhoods had been, I couldn’t help but think. Sadly, people don’t freely try to help each other out anymore.

Now, I realized that a woman I loved dearly was in trouble and alone. No one was going to go to comfort her.

Duty Called, Regardless of the Hurdles

You don’t have to drive far in the Midwest in the summer before you hit road repairs.

The worst portion of the road was directly south of Menomonie, but I made it to the river and the bridge into Minnesota. I intended to hit Interstate 90. When I reached my next exit, I discovered the highway was closed. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a map in the car, so I followed the detour signs and found myself on 90 headed right back to where I’d started. I lost about thirty minutes trying to find my way across the country again.

I stopped at a convenience store in a small town, filled the car with gas, and grabbed a ham and cheese sandwich. After a few bites of a bun that turned to glue and adhered with a vengeance to my teeth, I put it back in the wrapper and tossed it on the passenger seat. I munched on a small bag of vanilla wafers I’d dropped in the car before I left home.

It took six hours to reach the Hospital. I grabbed my purse and small bag and headed for the visitor desk.

“She’s not a patient here.”

Terror of the Unknown

The words hit me like a brick. Had my friend died before I got there? She was a patient there last night when I last checked. Her own child told me there was no plan to send her back to the nursing home anytime soon.

I understand ‘patient confidentiality.’ I used to work for a doctor who owned a nursing home. But this was painful. Those few minutes before I could put my bag down and get to my phone were brutal. I kept kicking myself that I’d waited overnight to leave and that she’d died alone.

Thank goodness for smartphones! I quickly googled the nursing home, called, and discovered she had just returned by ambulance. I found my car on the ramp and headed out for another long drive. By then, I was thoroughly exhausted.

The Reality

The nursing home was very nicely appointed. When I reached her room, however, my breath caught in my throat. Every inch of available space was covered in stuff. The plastic bag they sent back with her from the hospital was sitting on a chair with a bunch of bedding, and the plastic bag from the previous hospitalization was on the floor. No one had bothered to open either of them and put the ‘stuff’ away. There was no room to put anything and no chair to sit on.

Let me be clear. The room was immaculately clean, but it was a mess, with personal items stacked on every surface.

I saw her wheelchair pushed into the bathroom, so I pulled it over by her bed so I could sit and visit with her.

“You’re the only one who came.” She clutched my hand in hers.

Loneliness

The words broke my heart. I looked down at frail hands; the fingers bent from arthritis.

Now, keep in mind, she had spent the afternoon being transferred by ambulance from the hospital. When you’re in your nineties, that is a grueling trip.

By seven o’clock, I was exhausted and starving. What bothered me most was that no one had come to bring her dinner.

I remembered the times Mom had been sent back to the nursing home after a hospitalization. Someone was in the room every thirty minutes, checking her vitals and making sure she was comfortable.

No one came this time. I finally went down to the desk to ask where her dinner was. My hunger could wait until tomorrow.

An employee said she’d find out about it. Someone came in and asked her what kind of soup she wanted. Dinner was obviously over, and nothing remained, so they were going to heat some soup for her. When it arrived, it was barely warm, and she indeed complained about it to me.

Duty is an Ethical Obligation

I see commitment as an ethical duty which we are not legally bound to perform, but which separates our ability to remain charitable and our choice to put self above all others.

My upbringing taught me to show up committed whenever someone needed help. That’s how we shared hope in our small community. It’s what molded the fabric of our humanity.

“You’re the only one who came.”

How many times did she say that? We were up to at least a dozen times. Where were all the people she helped through the years?

I’d had to move things off the tray to make enough room to put her dinner.

They brought in a tray with a small bowl of soup. My dear friend bowed her head and pressed her hands together to say a prayer. Even at this stage of life, she has never forgotten her passionate love of God.

The soup was in a bowl, and because she could no longer hold her spoon, she tried to pick up the container to drink it. With the cervical collar, it was impossible. I hurried across the hall and grabbed a Styrofoam cup to pour the soup in so she could handle it.

A Decision and A Denial

When the nurse finally came in at about nine o’clock to give her the evening pills, she first refused them. I gently prodded her into taking them.

There wasn’t much sleep that night. She coughed frequently, and my mind and heart spoke to me of heart failure. Her body has survived for nearly a century, and based on the current mortality rates, that body is slowly shutting down.

When she called out to me during the night, I talked her back to sleep. It was nearly impossible to get any sleep sitting upright, but I did nod off for a couple of hours. The thing is, I couldn’t leave her to find a motel. She’d just left the hospital, and she deserved to have someone pay attention to her every need.

Our Aging Population

I know I can’t solve the callousness, inhumanity, and extraordinary mental suffering our senior citizens experience. It’s only going to get worse in the weeks and months to come.

One of the tragedies of life is that we begin the aging process from the moment of birth. Some lives end early, while others gently leave this world in later years. Our current medical system provides maintenance measures that prolong life beyond a time when living has value for us. More than anything, I wanted to wrap her up and bring her back home where I could care for her until she took her final breath.

She woke at six o’clock. Someone came in with her pills about eight, but she refused them.

I suddenly realized this brilliant woman I loved so much had made a decision. It was not my place to second-guess her. This time, I said nothing. By nine o’clock, no one had arrived with breakfast, and she’d been awake for three hours. Again, I went to the desk and asked politely for a breakfast tray.

Much Needed Help

She was too weak to lift the fork to feed herself, so I fed her. She didn’t eat much, but she did eat.

As I cleaned up the room a bit the night before, I found a brown paper bag containing two very ripe peaches. I know how much she loved her fresh fruit, so I used the knife on her tray to peel one of the peaches. I cut it up in a small bowl of cream of wheat they brought her. There was no milk and no sugar to add to it, but I knew she’d cherish the sweet taste of the peach in her cereal. She smiled broadly after the first bite.

To whoever brought her those fresh peaches, I am forever grateful!

Our Morality Overpowers Us

Aging, frailty, and death are not clinical problems that doctors can solve.

Our moral duty to our seniors is to make their final days simple and to confirm the love and compassion they have shown us over the years.

As the sun rises on each new day, we must help guide them to their final breath with dignity, loyalty, love, and honor.

They have sacrificed over the years to enrich our lives, and now it is our turn to repay their kindness.

One day, we will each face the finality of our lives. I pray that loved ones will comfort us. Compassion has everything to do with undying love, which manifests itself as a moral duty to those we love.

Faith Comforts Her

I know my friend will soon join her Father in Heaven. Her life is not ending here on earth — quite the contrary. Her unwavering faith confirms her dreams of everlasting life.

Each of us is on a journey toward the end of life. Some are closer to the end than others, but the message is clear: We have a moral duty to provide whatever comfort we can to make the final journey just a bit easier.

I have talked about the American Spirit in previous posts, and the character traits we identify with that Spirit. Without a sense of duty, we are forever lost to a moral obligation to adhere to those character traits.

“When it is all said and done, we must ask ourselves if we can go to bed at night with the confidence that we have done all that we can, whether it be as individuals, families, neighbors, religious groups, a community, the Government, private or charitable sectors.” The Atlantic Philanthropes