COVID-19 at 86

I’ve been writing these postcards to give those who have little experience of senior living an idea of what it is like to actually live in a place like Plush Mills. We have our rhythms and our rituals. Little did we know that — suddenly last spring — our lives would be turned upside down.  

In March, I was focused on caring for my wife, Joan, who had dementia. Three kinds of dementia: Alzheimer’s, vascular dementia, and Lewy Body dementia. Requiring specialized nursing, she had her own apartment in Plush Mills’ assisted living section. I lived four floors away in independent living, but I visited her every day. I’d start each day calling Joan to wake her up, then I’d head down to her apartment and see if she was ready to go for breakfast. Sometimes an aide would come in to give her a shower or get her dressed. 

We would have breakfast with friends in the large first-floor dining room. I would help Joan order breakfast, since she couldn’t remember what they had each day. Lunch and dinner followed the same routine. In the evenings, we would watch TV for an hour or two — we both liked “Jeopardy” and tennis — then kiss goodnight. It was nice. She wasn’t sure I was her husband, but she knew she knew me, and that was enough.

Living at Plush Mills allowed Joan to have the nursing care she needed, while I could watch over her and supplement her care. Sometimes, if I thought she was a bit confused, I would ask the pill lady not to give her the usual morning pills until after breakfast. For a long time, both of us benefited from this arrangement. But lately, caring for her had been getting harder. She had started not wanting to get up in the morning. Sometimes, after we ate, she wouldn’t want to leave the dining room. 

Then the pandemic hit.

Two of my kids wanted me to come stay with them until the pandemic was over. They read about all the deaths in nursing homes, and they worried about me. 

But let’s clear something up: Plush Mills is not a nursing home. People in nursing homes are sicker and require a higher level of care than those in a long-term-care community like ours. Still, I understood their concern. Several of my closest friends were leaving Plush Mills to stay with their families. And Joan was particularly vulnerable to the virus. She’d had a heart attack, and her heart was weak. I was worried that, if she caught the virus, it would be really bad. Should we leave? 

What should I do? 

It seemed to me that, if I left, both of us would suffer. She would be alone, with no one to explain what was happening, and I would be constantly worried about her. I saw that residents with no one to check on them were much worse off than those who had visits from a family member. 

As I was considering all this, Joan’s condition worsened. She stopped getting up. She’d stopped talking. The nurses thought she was moving into the last stage of her dementia. They recommended hospice care. That was better than going to a hospital in the middle of a pandemic, they said. I realized that I had to stay and do what I could for her. 

Two weeks later, Joan died. 

The doctors don’t think she had the virus, but rather suffered a small stroke. What I believe is that the threat of the virus was too much for her. And then, when the hospice people came, she gave up fighting to live. 

Now, I was alone. Really alone. Because of the pandemic, Plush Mills was excluding visitors, including family. They weren’t allowed to enter the building. Once again, I found myself struggling with the question of whether I should leave —  and, once again, I decided to stay. Plush Mills has been my home for 13 years. I’m comfortable here. Besides, my kids are working. I would have been more at risk of catching the virus living with them than I am here. 

Here at Plush Mills, everyone is tested. At first, it was a battle to get the administration to agree to this, but now residents are tested every week. The staff are tested too, and if one of them tests positive, they quarantine at home. Whenever all patients and staff have tested negative for two weeks straight, the rules are slightly relaxed. For example, we’re allowed to sit more than one person per table in the dining room.

Testing itself is no big deal. On Mondays, two nurses come to your apartment, stick a small swab up your nose, and twirl it around.

If I went to one of my kids’ homes, I wouldn’t be tested or have on-site medical care if I needed it. Here, I get all my meals brought to me. Mail and packages are sent to my apartment. There’s even an occasional singer outside my balcony. 

So far, this is working out fine. The staff reports that there is currently no COVID-19 in the building. I wish they would let us know when someone is sick or has died — and who the person is. As it is, we rely on gossip. 

Sure, it can get boring as the devil. I have read dozens of books, and I’ve worked on losing weight. I got 25 pounds off, but find I can’t focus like I used to. Things that I used to do in an hour now take all day. Or I put them off until tomorrow. 

During these strange, pandemic times, do you do that, too? 

Ken Wright is a longtime resident of Swarthmore. He has lived in four different houses in the borough, and now he resides just over the town line at Plush Mills.