The anguish of worrying about my grandma’s well-being keeps me up at night.
“I want you to know that even though we’re limiting physical contact with residents, your grandmother really wanted a hug, so I gave her one,” the nurse told my sister during a recent call. “I was fully protected in PPE and a face shield, but I think she just needed that moment of connection.”
My grandmother, Alice, has lived in a long-term care facility since January 2018 following a severe stroke that left her partially paralyzed and mostly unable to communicate due to apraxia. She requires care that our family cannot provide, so she resides in a small room with another resident named Lisa.
“Lisa is quite the social butterfly, so we hope she can help your grandma feel more comfortable here,” the activities director said when Alice was settling in. Lisa was indeed sociable, always moving around with her walker and chatting with everyone, dressed impeccably and always coming up with fun activities for us to join, which made her quite endearing.
In contrast, my grandma, who had never been as outgoing as Lisa, occasionally attended group movie nights but now faces the risk of aspiration due to her paralysis. This means she can only eat soft foods and drinks must be thickened due to dysphagia. Alice, an avid cook, loathes the cafeteria’s Sloppy Joes and stuffed peppers but still has a sweet tooth. The staff often sneak extra ice cream onto her tray, and when I bring her favorite chocolates during my visits, I cherish the joy it brings her.
Those fleeting moments are what I cling to, as nothing feels normal about visiting a loved one in a nursing home, especially during these uncertain times. When I’ll next be able to bring her a treat or share stories about her great-granddaughters is unknown.
The facility where my grandma resides implemented a lockdown before any state orders in Pennsylvania due to the pandemic. No visitors were allowed as of March 12. I felt relieved that they were taking precautions for the vulnerable residents, but it also meant I lost control over when I would see her again after my last visit in mid-February.
In late March, we received the distressing news of a confirmed COVID-19 case in the facility. Although it was a harbinger of what could come, it was impossible not to feel the weight of that news settle in our hearts.
We took turns calling the home to check on Alice, asking nurses for updates. Then came the devastating news: “Lisa passed away,” the nurse told my sister quietly. “She was one of the first residents to get sick. Although we didn’t have adequate testing then, it’s believed to have been COVID.”
The nurse, understanding our need for information, explained that Lisa died in the shared room with my grandma, leaving Alice traumatized by the loss.
All I could think about was my sweet grandma, who was far from her cozy home, unable to express the terror of witnessing Lisa’s suffering. And I thought of Lisa, in her nineties and seemingly healthy, who deserved a better end to her life than this heartbreaking fate. Overwhelmed with grief, I couldn’t shake my worry.
Isolating residents who test positive isn’t an option, and even staff members have contracted the virus. Several obituaries for residents have been published in recent weeks. My grandma, already vulnerable, now faces the threat of this relentless illness. So far, she hasn’t shown symptoms, but that could change at any moment. I know the facility won’t allow visitors any time soon, perhaps not even this year, which means she won’t meet my newborn or see my oldest daughter, with whom she shared a special bond.
What haunts me the most is the uncertainty. When will I see my grandma again? Will she ever meet my child? I know this uncertainty torments her as well. We’re sending an iPad so she can see our faces, but it’s no substitute for the hugs we both crave. At night, I lie awake, worrying if she’s staring at the empty bed beside her, wondering if she’ll be next. I have vivid dreams filled with anxiety about not getting to say goodbye if she becomes too ill to stay. I write her letters, hoping that a frontline worker might find a moment to read my words and share the pictures of my girls that I include.
It’s agonizing to be on the outside of a nursing home while someone so dear is trapped inside during a pandemic. Each day is filled with “what ifs” that I can’t seem to silence. I just wish she knew how much I long to hold her for even a moment.
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Summary
Navigating the challenges of having a loved one in a nursing home during the pandemic is a heart-wrenching experience filled with uncertainty and fear. The author reflects on their grandmother’s struggles, the loss of a fellow resident, and the emotional toll of being physically separated while longing for connection.