How to Support the Elderly and Sick During Social Distancing

When the phone rang at 9:30, I grabbed the phone thinking it late for a call but didn’t panic until the name appeared, my dad’s caretaker/girlfriend. My stomach gurgled, creating a shallow craving, not from hunger but for information of what had occurred.

“Brenda, your dad’s not doing good. He was on the toilet and passed out. I don’t know what to do.”

“Call 911”

“Well, he’s conscious now and tells me not to. I don’t want to make him mad, but I think he had another stroke.

“Kathy, call 911.”

“I wish you’d come over.”

Covering the speaker, I sighed heavily announcing to my husband, “It’s Dad. She wants us there.” Then, back into the phone, again the numbers tumbled from my mouth this time as a directive, “911.”

My thoughts were jumbled by emotions and past experiences, thinking if I did begin the hour drive to the small farm town, by the time I arrived, Dad would either be better, dead or already in the hospital.

None of which I had any control over, especially since the coronavirus outbreak restricted anyone entering the hospital. It sounds cold but truly the only three options. I’ve discovered life events become more tolerable when approached realistically.

Then as I tied the laces on my shoes, I said, “We’re on our way.”

“Thank you, Brenda. I just don’t know what to do.”

Muttering, “She should call for an ambulance,” I remembered how obstinate my father gets and thought about the last time he was transported to the hospital — flushing slightly at the colorful words he invoked to express his feelings.

Doctors deserve sainthood if many patients share Dad’s temperament. “That SOB is an idiot! Get me out of here; there’s nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep won’t remedy.” My memory fails me often, but those words remained pressed into my brain.

We weren’t ten miles down the road, when the phone rang again. “Dad says to tell you to stay home. I just took his blood pressure. He’s doing good, and he’s back in his chair.”

I asked a series of diagnostic questions before acknowledging little could be accomplished at such a late hour. He would never agree to a medical examination when coherent. At 85, Dad had a right to make his own decisions even if they gave me heartburn.

Randy turned the car around so we could continue our evening bedtime routine, knowing tomorrow we would visit.

Social Distancing Visit

With the sunrise, clouds emerged in the sky. Venturing into a grocery store at the peak of the coronavirus pandemic (especially with last night’s episode) seemed unwise. And after three weeks of social distancing, I should probably check in on them. But how?

We devised a plan to address both concerns. Kathy texted a list of needed groceries for us to purchase. After a quick shopping stop, we drove to Dad’s. When we entered, I thought, “If he didn’t have a stroke last night, he might upon seeing us today. With our faces covered with masks, our hands gloved, and armed with Lysol, we carried the groceries into the kitchen and wiped them down with disinfectant.

Upon our return to the living room, I tried to explain why we entered so cautiously because Dad looked stunned and confused. “Dad, we want to protect you and us from the virus, so we are following the suggested precautions.”

“What?”

After muting the blaring volume on the TV, I explained again why we wore face masks into his home. He replied with labored breathing, “Seems a little over the top to me, but whatever cooks your goose.”

Though he looked drawn and tired, Dad’s personality and choice of words caused me to smile. I wanted to hug him but remained at a distance of six feet. We talked about the days’ events and reviewed the prior night’s episode.

Knowing my words fell on deaf ears (no, I am not referring to his poor hearing and the absence of his hearing aids but instead his stubbornness), I attempted to enforce the importance of following the doctor’s order and seeking medical advice when needed. Just as expected, he said something about living to see another day and brushed my concerns aside.

Then he changed the subject to ask about his great-grandchildren.

“Is the little one crawling? How’s the oldest one’s softball? Are they in school?”

He quit trying to remember names some time ago. Each question took time and effort to ask as he talked slowly while inserting long pauses between words and phrases.

Each response shared a story of recent events and we laughed. My desire was to limit his need to talk as it demanded so much energy but concentrating on my words proved almost as difficult. Usually, in the past, I would have shown him pictures to illustrate the narratives, but with his poor eyesight, our separation made it impossible to make out the faces in the images on my phone so his imagination had to suffice.

Kathy offered drinks, but we knew not to touch anything that might transfer germs. After a short visit, I exited the house without an embrace or kissing Daddy on the cheek, my traditional parting gestures.

During our visit, I saw Dad smile and heard his voice. In conversation we shared stories while our presence reaffirmed our love. Coronavirus has altered our actions and limited our options, but the fact remains, we must support the elderly in a manner that respects their wishes.

It may be difficult, but I realized when what I believe to be the correct action doesn’t match the desires and needs of Dad, providing love and support may be the most I can do.