Nobody to call

We all dread that call we get in the middle of the night, because it usually means bad news. But there’s a world of people who don’t have anyone to call. People who have to leave that “call in case of emergency” spot blank. People who sit in the back rooms of the emergency room and sometimes share names like John Doe.

We all know that lady who only buys cat food and half and half at Aldi. Or the guy with the scraggly beard who slips out of the back pew just before the end of services, or the boy who talks a little funny, walks a little crooked and smiles at you at McDonald’s. Where do those folks go when they can no longer care for themselves? They go to the nursing home, their last stop before they become an entry in a ledger in courthouse file room. They go whether they’re age 26, 62 or 87. Because there is nowhere else to go. Because there is no one else to call.

Nursing homes aren’t just for the old and infirm. Some residents have mental health issues, some have early dementia, some are just out of options. Many are there because a friendly neighbor was unable to stand as their legal guardian. Maybe their family lives out of state or they’re disconnected. We just assume someone will take care of them. I mean, it’s America, right? There are programs for that. Except there’s really not, and it happens all the time. Most of us don’t even notice.

The more I teach clinical care of our seniors, particularly those with dementia, I realize the basis of what we need to be teaching in our nursing schools and our elementary schools is one simple concept. It’s called “humanism.” Somewhere over the past 200 years we’ve evolved from a village taking care of its own to leaving them to fend for themselves. We’re so busy that a huge chunk of humanity has become somebody else’s problem.

Humanism is exactly what the word implies. Treating people as human beings first and defining them by their medical condition, age or abilities should be second. Often simply making that human connection is more helpful than a handful of pills. Humanism is a concept we have to relearn. It’s taking the time to go beyond the hello at the checkout line. It’s connecting our kids with people outside their norm. It’s hugs, tears and laughter. It’s looking into someone’s eyes and saying, “I care about you. I have time for you. You’re important to me.”

Oftentimes the coroner is the last call for these quiet unknowns, but then it’s too late. What will it take for you to stand up and answer?

I welcome your comments at wborenrn@gmail.com.