Advocacy, Antipsychotic drugs, Life & Living

against my wishes and against her will

 

It’s one thing to see someone when they are sedated. It’s quite another to see the sedation taking effect, and the person who doesn’t wish to be sedated trying to fight it off.

Against my wishes and against her will, my mom was sedated with quetiapine at breakfast every day for almost four years. The dose she was given knocked her out cold for several hours. She got another debilitating dose in the evening. They also gave her risperidone twice each day. This drug regimen was an abuse of her human rights.

I had incontrovertible proof that non-pharmacological strategies improved the quality of Mom’s life, and, should they have been fully implemented would have eliminated the “need” to inappropriately sedate her with quetiapine and risperidone. I repeatedly voiced my concerns and shared my evidence. I was ignored, and branded a troublemaker.

It took 45 minutes to an hour for the quetiapine to take full effect. Sometimes, during that window, I would pick Mom up at her Dementia Jail and take her to my house so that when she woke up three or four hours later, we could spend some quality time together.

This is what Mom’s experience looked like during the last five minutes or so before she fell “asleep:”

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2017/12/03/four-years-later-is-too-late-for-my-mom-but-its-not-for-others/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2016/07/26/40-side-effects-of-seroquel/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2017/04/15/40-risperdal-side-effects-2/

Take my short survey on behaviour here.

Care Partnering, Inspiration, Love, Music

happy birdday mummy

Mom was born on September 27, 1928. If she were still alive, she would have been 94 today, September 27, 2022.

On her birthday in 2015, her last one here on this earth, I visited her in jail, just as I did almost every day for several hours for four years. Here’s how I greeted her and how she responded:

Mummy is what she called her own mother. The full and wonderful story of what happened on her last birthday may be read at the three posts below (or here, here and here). Not surprisingly, reading them again just now made me cry ❤

it’s better to be queer on your deer than funny on your bunny on your birthday

put a candle on a cupcake and see if you feel as lucky as my mom

love comes in all shapes, sizes and colours including small, furry, and black and white

Advocacy, Real life, Toward better care

dire state of ltc in ontario and across canada is not news

Dementia care and elder care advocates in Canada and around the world will tell you their input with respect to improving care for seniors is largely ignored. This is one of the main reasons neglect and abuse continue in many long-term care facilities. It’s also one of the reasons thousands of older adults died during the pandemic of 2020/21. This real life example illustrates how our voices are not heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During the week of April 26, 2021, two separate reports, both of them “scathing,” described the long-time sorry state of affairs in long-term care (LTC) in Ontario.

The content of the reports was widely covered by the media, which is kind of surprising. Because it’s not news. The media is meant to report news. And the appalling state of long-term care in Canada is not news. It’s just the way it is, and the way it has been for decades.

The fact that LTC in Canada sucks is not news. At least not to Canadian elder care and dementia care advocates such as myself, or to many family members and care partners of LTC residents in Ontario, or across our country. Nor is it news to advocates, family members and care partners in Australia, the United Kingdom, or the United States.

We’ve all known about the shortcomings, the abuse, the neglect, and the atrocities “revealed” in these reports for a long time. In fact, we’ve been screaming about them at the top of our lungs for years, in some cases for decades. We are not shocked by the findings. Not at all. It’s just more of the same ole same ole.

When I came back to Canada from overseas in 2011 to care for my mother who lived with dementia, I knew less than nothing about providing such care. It was a steep learning curve. When she was relocated to a LTC facility in Quebec in the fall of 2012, I thought she was going to a place where people would care for her. That professionals who knew what they were doing would oversee her care. That she would be respected, not neglected.

I was wrong. Within a week, I threw all those misconceptions out the window and began advocating like crazy for my mom. I was unsuccessful.

In 2013, I initiated legal action to try to get control of her care from the sibling to whom she had entrusted it. In 2014, the facility’s Director of Nursing and its on-contract physician both lied in the court proceeding. The judge ruled against me. I visited my mother every day for the next two and half years. I witnessed her continued neglect and abuse. I started a blog. My visits were restricted as punishment. I documented everything.

Anyone with any common sense who spends time with a family member in most LTC facilities in Canada will quickly realize the system is broken. You would have to be deaf and blind not to. The proof is legion.

In October 2016, two months after my mother died, and almost four years before the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, I wrote a post describing the reasons why neglect and abuse of elders with dementia may be the norm rather than the exception in long-term care facilities.

In January 2017, I spoke before a senate committee about the abuse my mother had experienced. The committee members listened, but it seems not to have made a difference. In November 2017, Quebec’s Minister of Health announced an initiative to reduce the use of antipsychotics in LTC. Too late for my mom; she had already been dead a year.

In September 2019, I submitted a twenty-page complaint to the Order of Nurses of Quebec regarding the conduct of the Director of Nursing of the facility in which my mother resided. It included an in-depth analysis of what had transpired as well as audio, video and photographic evidence that clearly showed the abuse and neglect. A year later I received a one-page whitewash in reply. I made a follow-up complaint to the Order’s Review Committee in December 2020. I haven’t received an answer to the follow-up. I have also complained to the College of Physicians and Surgeons about the physician’s conduct. No response.

In 2020, I tweaked my 2016 post slightly and re-blogged it under the title “it’s taken a pandemic and tens of thousands of deaths for people to get what long-term care advocates have known for decades: the system sucks.”

 Both of these posts outlined the same basic issues it has taken an auditor general and reams of experts months to conclude. They are:

1 ) Ageism & stigma
2 ) Lack of awareness
3 ) Poor leadership
4 ) Lack of training/understanding
5 ) Low staff-to-resident ratios
6 ) Warehouse-like environments
7 ) Dis-incentivized workers
8 ) Uncaring cultures
9 ) Ineffective “policing”
10 ) The bottom line

I mean really. C’mon.

We’re not talking rocket science here. We don’t need reports. We need ACTION.

it’s taken a pandemic and tens of thousands of deaths for people to get what long-term care advocates have known for decades: the system sucks

hidden restraints: hidden abuse

20 questions to ask yourself about “wandering”

Advocacy, Real life, Toward better care

quebec order of nurses accepts ridiculous excuses for physically restraining mom living with dementia

Dementia care and elder care advocates in Canada and around the world will tell you their input with respect to improving care for seniors is largely ignored. This is one of the main reasons neglect and abuse continue in many long-term care facilities. It’s also one of the reasons thousands of older adults have died during the pandemic of 2020/21. This real life example illustrates how our voices are not heard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Article 118.1 of the (Quebec) Law on Health Services and Social Services is clear with respect to physical and chemical restraints; it reads:

“Force, isolation, mechanical means or chemicals may not be used to place a person under control in an installation maintained by an institution except to prevent the person from inflicting harm upon himself or others. The use of such means must be minimal and resorted to only exceptionally, and must be appropriate having regard to the person’s physical and mental state.”

Nevertheless, my mother, who lived with dementia, was chemically and physically restrained in a long-term care facility for almost four years from November 2012 until she died in August 2016.

In September 2019, I lodged a complaint with the Quebec Order of Nurses regarding the facility’s Director of Nursing [XXX] who was responsible for my mother’s “care.” My eighteen-page complaint is comprehensive, evidence-based, and well-documented with photographs, videos and audio recordings. It includes sixty-three hyperlinks to evidence on this blog and other third-party sites. It is based on government policies and law, as well as the Quebec Order of Nurses’ Code of Ethics.

On the subject of physical restraints, my complaint says:

[XXX] allowed staff to physically restrain my mother using reclining chairs, wheelchairs, tables, alarms, and other means, all of which flew in the face of measures undertaken by the Quebec Department of Social Services to reduce the use of such restraints since 2002. See these links:

It took about eight months for my complaint to get to the top of the investigator’s pile at the Quebec Order of Nurses, and another six months for the investigation to be completed. On November 20, 2020, I received a letter from the complaint investigator. On the subject of my mother being physically restrained every day for almost four years he wrote:

“We questioned the reason a chair was placed under the footrest of your mother’s recliner. [XXX] explained that this measure was necessary to elevate your mother’s lower limbs and that the chair was broken. She also claimed that this was done with your brother’s consent as he was responsible for giving consent on your mother’s behalf. Finally, she said that the call bell was always available to your mother so that she could call the personnel if she wanted to get

We took care to explain to [XXX] that it was indeed a form of restraint that should not be used even to compensate for a broken equipment. She clearly understood that it was not appropriate to do so and asserted that this would not occur again.”

As I read what he had written, I became more and more incensed. I was flabbergasted that he accepted such patently ridiculous excuses in the face of the mountains of evidence I had provided including dozens of images and several videos of my mother being restrained.

On December 17, 2020, I followed up with the Quebec Order of Nurses’ Review Committee about the shortcomings of the investigation. With respect to the ridiculous excuses and lies [XXX] supplied on the subject of physical restraints, I said:

“I will address these ludicrous assertions one by one.

“…this measure was necessary to elevate your mother’s lower limbs…”

Not true. No doubt [XXX] used the excuse of the thrombosis my mother experienced in late 2012/early 2013 as the reason for elevating her lower limbs. Did she mention the reason why my mother got the thrombosis in the first place? It was because they weren’t providing her enough opportunities to exercise. Regardless, the first pictures of the chair under the recliner were taken on September 10, 2014, eighteen months after the thrombosis occurred, and when swelling in my mom’s legs was not problematic. Strangely, when it was problematic, [XXX] and her staff did little to alleviate the swelling in my mom’s lower limbs. They didn’t even provide her with proper socks to help her heal.

“…and that the chair was broken.”

This is an outright lie. The chair was not broken. I was in my mother’s room virtually every day. The recliner worked perfectly well. I know because I rescued my mother from it every time I found her there. How could [XXX] possibly know if the recliner was broken or not? She didn’t go around the place testing the integrity of the furniture. As I said above, the first pictures of a chair under the footrest were taken on September 10, 2014. The second pictures (of a different chair under the footrest of the same recliner) were taken in February 2016. That means if the chair was indeed broken (which it was not), then it would have been broken for at least 17 months. If the chair was broken (which I repeat once more it was not), wouldn’t it have made sense to have it fixed or replaced?

“She also claimed that this was done with your brother’s consent…”

Come on! Is it reasonable to believe the [personal support workers] went to the nurses and asked them to phone my brother to see if it was okay for them to put a chair under the footrest of my mother’s recliner when they wanted to? At least [the investigator] had the grace to use the word “claimed,” because this is clearly also a lie. Furthermore, even it were true, is it okay to abuse someone by physically restraining them because someone gave you permission to do so? Would it be acceptable, for example, for a teacher to tie a student to a chair if the student’s parents had given her permission to do so? Of course not! Because it’s not okay to tie children to chairs, period.

“Finally, she said that the call bell was always available to your mother so that she could call the personnel if she wanted to get up.”

My jaw literally dropped when I read this. I had to read it over several times to believe what I was reading. My mother had dementia. She didn’t know what a “call bell” was, let alone that pulling one would summon help. This is just so far out of the realm of possibility that it is incomprehensible to me that anyone who has ever dealt with people living with dementia at the stage my mother was would say something as inane as “she could have used the call bell.” This is utter nonsense. Plus, look at the pictures I provided. Do you see a call bell? No. You may be able to see a cord that is attached to my mother’s shirt with a safety pin that is attached to an alarm in the wall so an alarm rings in the unlikely event that my mother would be able to make her way to her feet (which she would not because she was trapped in the recliner). And even if she did know what a call bell was and what its purpose was and even if she were able to assess when she needed help, my mother would have had to reach behind her, over her head, behind her shoulder and way to the back in a very awkward way to pull said call bell. Or, she would have had to understand that she needed to reel in the extra “ribbon” to ring the bell. She wasn’t capable of doing any of those things at that stage of the disease, which you can hear for yourself if you listen to the audio at the link I provided in my complaint.

The fact that [XXX] said my mother could have used the call bell is incredible. Either [XXX] has very little understanding of dementia or she was desperate to use any excuse, no matter how implausible, to exonerate herself and avoid taking responsibility for the abuse my mother was subjected to. The fact that [the investigator] actually accepted what [XXX] said as the truth is equally unbelievable. It is unconscionable that people like my mother are being neglected and abused by nurses like [XXX] while your organization turns a blind eye to the ill treatment.

Furthermore, my complaint was about the ways in my mother was physically restrained every day for almost four years. The chairs being placed under the footrest comprised one example among many. Despite the evidence I provided, [the investigator] seems to have completely missed the fact that my complaint was that [XXX] “allowed staff to physically restrain my mother using reclining chairs, wheelchairs, tables, alarms, and other means.” She was trapped/restrained in other recliners (without chairs under the footrests) every day as I showed in the pictures I provided.

Such physical restraints are prohibited by Article 118.1 of the Law on Health Services and Social Services in Québec which says that such measures are not common practice, but only used exceptionally, after having assessed all other restrictive solutions. The resident’s situation must be carefully studied with due consideration for his physical and psychological state to determine the most appropriate intervention.

As of March 1, 2021, I have not received an answer to my letter to the Quebec Order of Nurses’ Review Committee. Based on my experience of elder care in Quebec and Canada, I’m not hopeful.

Still, one must #FightTheGoodFight

hidden restraints: hidden abuse

20 questions to ask yourself about “wandering”

Care Partnering, Hope, Inspiration, Love

10 important facts i learned about people living with dementia from being my mother’s care partner

My mom (right) and her brother Eddy (left) during one of their last visits together (April 2013). They both lived and died with Alzheimer disease and dementia in their mid eighties.

My mom, who lived with Alzheimer disease, and I were care partners for more than a decade. My care partnering role changed and evolved during that time. When it began, I lived overseas. In 2011, when it became clear she could no longer live on her own, I returned to Canada to live with her in her own home. She was relocated to a nursing home, which I came to call a “dementia jail,” on November 16, 2012. For the next forty-five months I visited Mom for several hours virtually every day.

I didn’t see her on August 11, 2016; I didn’t have the strength that day. But I was by her side for the next six, and I held her hand when she died on August 17, 2016.

Being my mother’s care partner was the hardest thing I have ever done. It was also the most rewarding. I learned so much. I loved so much. I cried countless tears. I wouldn’t trade the journey for anything because I also experienced the deeply spiritual privilege of loving another person unconditionally.

Below are ten important facts I learned during and after the time I spent being my mother’s care partner (I’m still learning!)

People who are living with dementia, no matter what “stage” of the condition they are living with:

  1. are human beings with wants and needs just like the rest of us
  2. have feelings just like the rest of us
  3. have rights just like the rest of us
  4. deserve to be treated with dignity, just as we all should be
  5. are aware of the world around them, even when it seems they might not be
  6. are capable of loving others
  7. deserve to be loved and cared for
  8. can teach us lessons if we are open to learning
  9. are different than us, not less than us
  10. are not “empty shells”

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Email Address

take off the blindfolds and #BanBPSD: an open letter to the worldwide dementia community

13+ needs we share with people who live with dementia

Advocacy, Antipsychotic drugs, Music, Videos

she couldn’t sing because she was sedated

My mother, who lived with dementia, was chemically and physically restrained every day for the forty-five months she lived in a dementia jail (aka a long-term care facility or nursing home).

These restraints could have been avoided if the medical personnel in charge of her care had addressed the root causes of the behaviours they found challenging in her. All they needed to do was to take a closer look at what was going on around Mom. If I could do it, surely they should have been able to.

When Mom was sedated, she was unable to do things she loved to do such as walking and singing. Here she is not singing (because she had been sedated an hour or so before), at some of the weekly sing-alongs conducted by volunteers at the place she resided:

Besides cruelly sedating her with antipsychotic drugs, no one who was involved with my mother’s care listened to my request to provide her with music therapy. So I hired a music therapist myself and the three of us enjoyed many happy afternoons together after the worst sedative effects of the chemical restraints had worn off. Here’s an example of one of those wonderful sessions:

a magical musical alzheimer gift

And this one was just four days before Mom died on August 17, 2016:

one last sing-along: august 13, 2016

I miss you Mom.

50 more pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

four years later is too late for my mom. but it’s not for others.

alzheimer disease didn’t do this. drugs and dementia jail did

10 reasons why neglect and abuse of elders with dementia may be the norm rather than the exception in long-term care facilities

25 practices long-term care workers know are elder neglect and abuse; it’s time to put a stop to it

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Advocacy, Care Partnering, Toward better care

50 more pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

If you don’t have proof, you won’t be believed. Sometimes, even if you DO have proof, you are not believed.

I learned that when I went to court to try to get control of my mother’s care in early 2014. I had lots of proof, but I still lost. I was devastated. But the loss didn’t stop me from documenting the neglect and abuse my mother continued to suffer until her death in August 2016.

The neglect included not having her incontinence pads changed as frequently as they should have been, having the pads put on backwards, not having wounds properly dressed and not having the level of one-on-one care she required.

The abuse consisted primarily of being chemically restrained with antipsychotic drugs (which caused her to stumble, bump into things, fall and sustain a continual stream of injuries), and being physically restrained with recliners, wheelchairs, and various types of alarms.

These fifty photographs (all taken in 2014), show what this neglect and abuse looked like.

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If you have a family member in long-term care:

  • learn what constitutes neglect and abuse
  • visit often at different times of the day
  • watch how staff treat other residents
  • document what you see and hear
  • advocate for proper care

25 pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

four years later is too late for my mom. but it’s not for others.

alzheimer disease didn’t do this. drugs and dementia jail did

10 reasons why neglect and abuse of elders with dementia may be the norm rather than the exception in long-term care facilities

25 practices long-term care workers know are elder neglect and abuse; it’s time to put a stop to it

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2013, Advocacy, Antipsychotic drugs, Toward better care

25 pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

My mom was a go-getter, she loved to be on the move. Even when she had been living with advancing Alzheimer disease for several years, she told me clearly and directly that she wanted to “keep going.” That was her way. She didn’t want to be sitting and sleeping and missing out on living.

Sadly, Mom didn’t get to live the life she wanted in the end.

When she was moved into a Dementia Jail (aka “nursing home” or “long-term care facility”) in November 2012, her “get up and go” behaviour and her feistiness were challenging for the staff. Instead of finding ways to make the most of her energy, the medical personnel in charge of her care inappropriately prescribed increasing amounts of antipsychotic drugs to chemically restrain her. The drugs caused her to become unsteady on her feet and she started to fall. Instead of reducing the drugs to prevent the falls, they physically restrained her.

If that wasn’t bad enough, her basic care and hygiene needs were often not met. When I went to visit her, which was virtually ever day for four years, the first thing I did was to take her to the bathroom, where, more frequently than not, I would find that her incontinence brief needed to be changed, so I would change it myself.

Here are twenty-five pictures I took during 2013 as I gathered evidence to prove the neglect and abuse I witnessed every day:

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50 more pics that prove my mom was neglected and abused in long-term care

7 forms of elder abuse and how to spot the signs to stop it

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Advocacy, Death & Dying, Life & Living

a young hospice nurse makes a promise to her dying patients

Emily Gagnon is a hospice nurse. She lives in Waterdown, Ontario. Her Facebook post to mark the end of National Nurses’ Week 2020 brought me to tears:

“As we wrap up National Nurses Week 2020, I’d like to share a little bit about what I do as a hospice nurse. For those of you who are not familiar, hospice is a facility where people come to live out the remainder of their days. Many of the residents that I care for have a terminal and/or life limiting illness with limited time left to live.

What I love most about hospice is watching the residents and their families surrender all of the burden they carry and make the best of the time that they have left. In my three years of practice, I’ve witnessed miracles, tragedies, beauty, pain and everything in between. Residents and their families put all of their trust in us to ensure their wishes are fulfilled and their dignity is maintained.

I am honoured to care for, help and serve the residents that come to our hospice. End of life care is my biggest passion, one that I hold so close to my heart.

I will sit with you and hold your hand.

I will brush the hair from your brow.

I will do my best to explain why this is happening.

I will tell you that it’s going to be alright.

I will comfort your family as you transition.

I will tell you when there are weeks and not months, days and not weeks, hours and not days.

I will be there for you till the very end and beyond, this is my promise.

Thank you Emily and your fellow hospice nurses. Thank you nurses everywhere.

3 wise thoughts on being with someone you love as they die, which also apply to being with someone with dementia as they live

3 things to know when you can’t be with someone you love as they are dying

understanding the suffering associated with dying

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Advocacy, Care Partnering, Toward better care

who is responsible when people living with dementia are robbed of their dignity in long-term care?

Of the roughly seven hundred entries on seventy-five pages of nurses notes I was sent leading up to the court case I had initiated to try to get legal control of my mother’s care, the only one that made me cry was logged at 9 a.m. on June 26, 2013:

The second-floor “dining room” was small, more like a kitchenette really. It had a table in the middle at which six residents could be squeezed at mealtimes, a recliner (of course!) in one corner, and a rocking chair in the other. It had sliding glass doors that opened onto a little balcony where no one was allowed to go, and, at the opposite end, a sideboard with a sink and cupboards above.

I imagined Mom in there, needing to use the bathroom, but not knowing where one was. Maybe she had cramps in her tummy, as she often did in the morning. She suffered with diverticulitis. It flared up when she ate nuts or seeds or corn.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Mom would have asked other residents sitting at the table. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

The others, if there were any there, wouldn’t have answered because they wouldn’t have known. They would have forgotten, just as she had. If there were no other residents, Mom might have asked one of the care workers. If there had been any there, they might have noticed the telltale signs that Mom needed to got to the toilet. The signs were obvious, as I had explained to the Director of Nursing (DoN) four months earlier when she had asked me in a phone call whether Mom was in the habit of squatting and peeing on the floor. “No,” I said, surprised by her question. I wrote her an email the following day (February 5, 2013); it read in part:

“After I hung up the phone with you yesterday, I knew immediately why mom did this “squatting” behaviour in the living room at [the Dementia Jail]…she was desperate to “go to the peeps,” she didn’t know where to find a toilet, there was no caregiver…to help her, so she decided the best solution was to go on the spot rather than ‘in her pants.’

Even in her own room, she needs to be guided to where the bathroom is. For example, she may be sitting on her bed, facing the bathroom door, she will say: ‘ need to go to the peeps’, stand up, turn right, and head towards the closet. 

It’s easy to see the signs when [Mom] needs to go to “the peeps;” she starts to look distracted, she fiddles with the front of her pants, she may stand up, she may put her hand on her lower belly or between her legs, just like little kids do.”

The DoN replied saying she would share the information with the staff. It seemed strange to me that she hadn’t figured out for herself what lay behind the “squatting,” given that she was meant to be an expert in caring for people living with Alzheimer disease. Mom’s behaviour was basically Dementia Care 101, or at least it seemed so to me.

Had the DoN conveyed the information to the staff (who also should have known without having to be told), and had there been one of them in the dining room that morning, they might have wondered what my mother was doing when she went over to sideboard and took a piece of paper towel from the roll that was sitting there.

They may have kept watching when she laid the paper towel on the floor in whatever space she could find. But when she stepped in front of the paper on the floor, unbuttoned and unzipped her trousers and started to pull them down, surely they would have intervened and taken her to the toilet. Or one would hope they would have intervened…

But no one took my mom to the toilet, so it seems there weren’t any care staff there to help her preserve her dignity. Where were they? Around the corner at the nursing station, which was no more than twenty feet away, having a chin wag as I had observed them do on many occasions? Or maybe they were busy with other residents? Who knows?

What can be understood from the notes, which were written from the perspective of the charge nurse and not my mother of course, is that Mom had a bowel movement on the dining room floor and then tried to clean herself. How must she have felt throughout this episode? Confused? Scared? Embarrassed? Ashamed? Agitated? Upset? Surely she was robbed of her dignity, and that’s what made me cry when I read the entry. When I flipped the page to find the same thing happened the following week, I saw red.

I remembered the incident of the dirty pull-up. The week after, Mom was without a pull-up under her trousers, which were wet, two nights running. The next Saturday morning, I found her walking naked in the hallway; her bed was soaked and the room reeked of urine. Then there were the times her incontinence pad was so full it had leaked, and created crescent-shaped wet spots on her pants.

None of these had been mentioned in the eight months’ worth of nurses’ notes I was sent in advance of the court hearing. But fourteen other incontinence incidents had been recorded. They all implied the fault lay with my mother, when in reality it was the DoN’s responsibility to ensure her staff met my mother’s basic hygiene needs. Had the Director of Nursing done her job, my mother wouldn’t have suffered the indignities she did.

Likewise, my mother wouldn’t have been chemically restrained with antipsychotic drugs, physically restrained using recliners and other means, hospitalized with thrombosis in her leg, forced into incontinence, forced into a wheelchair, denied the right of seeing me, her daughter, during the last eighteen months of her life, and left in the bathroom alone to fall, break her arm and as a result of the trauma, die three weeks later.

Robbing someone of her or his dignity is tragic. Neglect and abuse are criminal. Those who are responsible should be held accountable.

Note: To add insult to injury, there were no “public toilets” on the second floor where Mom did not have a room of her own (her room was on the third floor). So when she was “toiletted,” she was taken into one of the second floor residents’ rooms too use their bathroom. But if she “wandered” into one of the second floor residents’ rooms on her own, she was admonished for doing so, dragged out into the hallway and made to sit in a chair in the corner by the elevator. Naturally she protested by striking out, and was then written up in the nurses’ notes as being aggressive and uncooperative.

which way to the bathroom?

hail mary i need to pee

5 ways we rob people with dementia of their dignity

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