Being away from home – a conservative society where women in their late 20’s are expected to have married and produced at least one child – I think I’m past the question: when will I get married?
But it does intensify another worry: when will I have to start taking care of my parents?
I’m at that age where my parents are walking towards another phase in their life. I don’t want to say ‘their last stage’ because that just sounds cruel and morbid, but you get the picture. My dad has been taking some blood thinning medication for the last couple of years and my mum seems to always bump into something, or in the latest incident, tripped and fell in the middle of the street while crossing (gasp!), and fractured her wrist. Other friends report of similar worries about their parents too.
My mum has said that she doesn’t mind living in a nursing home one day. She imagines a socially colourful life there surrounded by friends. My dad, on the other hand, has never said anything like that; I suspect that he prefers to live in his own home, maybe somewhere near a scenic ocean. With my mum, a loyal dog and a handful of golfing friends, while his kids visit him a few times per year.
I don’t blame him. First of all, I have never had a positive image of nursing homes. For some reason, I seem to associate them with mental health facilities. You know, both employ similar living arrangements: everyone has their own room, but they eat together and play together. There is constant presence of medical professionals who diligently dispense medications to the residents: tranquilizing in the one case, life-prolonging in the other.
A new book by psychologist Ira Rosofsky, Nasty, Brutish and Long: Adventures in Old Age and the World of Eldercare only serves to enforce my distasteful opinion of nursing homes. According to Rosofsky, the average number of pills for a nursing home resident is nine and Alzheimer’s drugs given to the elderly will only prolong their agony. He likens the latter to putting cut flowers in water. The flowers have been cut off their source of life, yet we humans want to hang on as long as possible to the traces of their former life. I’ve never been a proponent of having cut flowers decorating my house (though the reason has been more financial than anything else – those things are expensive for God’s sake), and I’m not going to start anytime soon.
The sadder thing is, even if nursing homes seem inhumane, what’s a better alternative?
In Asian countries, the most common scenario is one where the elderly parents live with their grown-up children and their families. Or the elderly parents live in their own home still, but close to their childrens’. The children normally hire a nursing attendant to do such tasks as feeding and bathing the parents. This was how my grandparents lived in the last five years of their life. Despite their proximity to us, however, I always sensed their loneliness and isolation from the rest of the world. For starters, they hardly had any friends their own age. Secondly, they had been ‘uprooted’ from their home town to live near us, their children and grandchildren. Was this a better arrangement than life in a nursing home? I’m not so sure anymore.
Isn’t it funny that technological and healthcare advances succeed in prolonging life expectancy, but fails miserably in addressing the question: and now, what?