Maybe it’s rare these days, but I grew up with “respect your elders.” I called everyone “Mrs. Smyth” and “Mrs. Ruse,” and even when I grew up and these ladies invited me to use their first names, I couldn’t. My mother, who passed away in my mid- twenties, seemed to sit on my shoulder and give me disapproving looks if I used given names. Even now, I find it hard.
I’ve been thinking about respect. There’s a “hush-hush” rumour that someone important to our organization might be coming to live in my neighbourhood. Nothing’s settled yet, but the possibility started my thoughts down this pathway. On the one hand, it would be my privilege to serve this person who has given so much. On the other hand, I’m aware that this situation would put us under the microscope. We’d better get it right.
Given that each resident is a valued, special member of our community, how do we show it? In the busy day-to-day of caring for them, how do we hold onto respect in the little ways that matter?
Most importantly, how do I see beneath the surface to the person they are?
Here are some ideas:
If someone isn’t able to speak or respond, include them.
I cringe when family members talk about a person when they are in the room. I make a point, when I am assisting someone with their meal, of carrying on a conversation. It took me a while to learn how to do this when there is no verbal response, but I’ve learned to read eyes and faces, and often I can sense the person’s mood. Here’s an example: “Try some quiche, Barbara. Did you know, this is my son’s favourite meal? He’s all grown up now, but when he was a little boy, he wanted quiche at his birthday party when all the other kids had hot dogs. Would you like some apple juice?” You have no idea how much of the conversation they are absorbing, and including them shows respect.
Remember that the person is separate from their wheelchair.
Our new lounge is still under construction. A few minutes before lunch, our dining room is often a wild hodge-podge of tables shoved back and people sitting everywhere in chairs and wheelchairs. A music event or exercise class has ended, and we have just a few minutes to bring people to their proper tables. Add to this, those who are mobile have arrived and are looking disapprovingly at residents sitting in their spot. In order to get lunch started and prevent conflict, we have to move quickly. It’s tempting to grab wheelchairs and fly around the room restoring order. However, each wheelchair contains a person, and it’s important to talk to that person before you move or tip their wheelchair. Imagine if you were lying on the couch, and someone came along and shoved it without speaking to you? Respect.
Give up your need to understand.
I have conversations several times a day where I have no idea what we’re talking about. Eileen, who had a responsible job where she often solved problems, comes to me to talk about something that’s concerning her. She’s living back in the world when she was working, and she perceives me as the boss, so she comes to tell me about a “dreadful” problem or issue. Because of her aphasia, I can only understand enough to know she’s upset. So I will say something like, “Well, how about if I look into it, and we can get together later and see if we can find a solution?” She’s validated and goes away happy. The issue dissipates until she comes to me with the next problem. I don’t need to know what she was talking about. I heard her heart, and she felt heard and respected.
Take time to listen.
We’re all busy. I’m late for a meeting, I have a report to finish, a family member needs me to contact them and the staff wants me to order supplies. At that exact moment, two residents arrive at my desk wanting to talk about a problem. Every fibre of my being wants to run to be on time for the meeting, finish the report, send the email and order the supplies. However, these are people, real people, with problems or anxieties. Even if I heard all of it five minutes ago, I need to stop and listen. Respect says, “I am listening because you matter.”
Enjoy the person inside.
Sometimes, you need to laugh. My fellow advocate came to get Denise for a music program she loved. He invited her to the program, and she said she’d like to go. He began to take her down the hall, and she asked him where they were going. “To the Courtyard for the music program.” “Why?” Trying to lighten the mood, he begins to dance with her wheelchair. “Because, it’s a long way to Tipperary…” They disappear down the hall, and then I hear a booming, “Shuttup!” I burst into gales of laughter. I guess my friend’s musical efforts weren’t appreciated.
Take a big heap of patience with your morning porridge.
Not everyone you meet is sweet, gentle and kind. Is that a revelation to you? Here’s another one–not every elder is, either. Some are demanding, entitled and downright mean. They are hard to serve and require more patience than you may possess. There are times when I need to leave a room, take a breath or talk to a fellow advocate before I face that elder again. However, offering the gift of patience is another form of respect.
Not every elder is worthy of respect. However, the vast majority have lived through experiences we can’t imagine, made mistakes and learned from them and have wisdom they’d love to share. Even, no, especially those with dementia. Take the time, care partner, to give and receive the gift of respect.