When I started working in eldercare, my work experience included my father’s pharmacy, employment in a library, and 15 years of running a daycare in my home. I loved the elders, was a good listener and had creative ideas, but I didn’t know what I was doing. The timing of my hiring came at the advent of a new openness to change. Leadership questioned many of the processes and philosophies. We didn’t think outside the box, we questioned whether there even needed to be a box. It was exciting and a little scary.
Several elders during this time taught me about the unconventional.
The first place we took residents on a “camping experience” wasn’t totally accessible, and the only 
access to fishing was on a dock at the bottom of a steep hill. A hill consisting of mud, tree roots, stones and a few tufts of grass. My co-worker and I eyed it. The two residents who wanted to fish were Brian and Margaret. They weren’t a couple, but friends, and had both loved fishing. We looked at that hill, looked at the wheelchairs and decided to try. One at a time, with one person in front and one behind, we shimmied those wheelchairs down the hill to the dock. Our muscles screamed, but we managed. A friendly competition followed, with Brian fishing on one side of the dock and Margaret the other. They didn’t catch big fish, but they caught lots, and each had their picture taken with one of their catch. We laughed and made memories that day. (The trip back up the hill was even worse than the trip down, but so worth it.)
The next year, we found an accessible place without hills. It had a barn with animals to feed, paved trails in the woods for wheelchairs and a pond with ducks. Before we went, Mary told us she had a wish.
She wanted to swim one more time.
She put on her bathing suit and posed by the split rail fence, giving it her sexiest look. With a staff member on each arm, we walked to the water. Her steps were shaky and tentative, and I wondered how this would go. We reached the shore and took her in. As soon as she hit waist-deep, she took off, and joy burst forth from her face. We let go. She didn’t need us.
Sometimes the unconventional didn’t come from us at all. Ivy and Lois told me about adventures they had every night. A cart came around in the evening with drinks and snacks. They would each get a cup of tea and a few cookies and meet in Lois’ room. Totally blind and less mobile, Ivy happily came to her. As they drank their tea, they “travelled.” They talked about places they’d been, and places they’d heard about. They listened to travel shows on TV, and imagined themselves in exotic locations. Each night for about an hour, they were transported to other worlds together. They bubbled when they told me about their journeys.
Each of these elders had multiple physical problems. Some had dementia. They taught me to realize that all kinds of experiences are possible. They taught me not to limit or restrict, but to begin to dream and say, “What if…?”