From both sides of the coin. (Voices from the Field).

As a nursing home worker, I had an incredible learning experience when I actually became a resident after a devastating car accident. For six years I had done housekeeping, written for the monthly newsletter, and tried to befriend the residents on my floor to the best of my God-given ability, for love is a sparse element in nearly all the facilities I am aware of. Not that staff is uncaring, but time is critical when working short-handed, which is most of the time.

I had always wondered what could be done to change the failing system. Residents are our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and soon. They live in a world I have now experienced firsthand. By the grace of God, I am alive and doing well, but now the lack in nursing homes, not only on Cape Cod, but everywhere, is haunting my soul more than ever.

Hospitalized for a week (the hospital was also short-staffed), I was transferred to a nursing home my family had selected because of its good physical therapy unit. (My own facility was perfectly capable of providing the care, but I was uncomfortable with the idea of my colleagues providing such personal attention.) Indeed, the care I received was extremely helpful to my recovery, but the staffing level there, too, was short most days. Being well acquainted with staff shortages, I did all I could for myself, to make it easier for those assigned to care for me. My daughter, a former CNA, bathed me every evening, washed and set my hair, got my outfit ready for the next day, arranged my toiletries, and was everything a caregiver should be.

Being only 54 years old made a big difference in my stay. I could state my concerns, did not have Alzheimer's disease, and was of sound mind. When my daughter was not present, I still received the attention I needed, discussed the food I was served with dietary, and was able to get any demands met because I could communicate my needs. Unfortunately, this is not usually the case. Residents are often elderly and some have dementia, which leaves them in a state of limbo. They get what they get, when they can. It is a cruel and demoralizing way to spend the last years of one's life. The sadness in their eyes and the blank looks on their faces say it all. Who really cares, I wonder.

I now know what it's like to feel helpless and alone. It is heartbreaking to be unable to do anything for yourself; it is demeaning. I know--I lived it.

How long will it take our government to step up to the plate? We are inwardly killing these people. They have little representation and no voice. Oh, ombudsmen and the like come and go, but the fact of the matter is never addressed. Shame on Medicare and Medicaid for their lack of concern in providing the funds to care for the nursing-home population.

It was also obvious to me, from a resident's standpoint, that the entire facility staff--the nurses, CNAs, physical therapists, kitchen help, laundry, housekeeping, etc.--work very hard and put their hearts and souls into doing a good job. This is another reason government should be ashamed for not providing the necessary support.

I thank God I pulled through my affair as renewed as I was, but without the sole attention of my daughter and my family as a whole, my experience could have left me bitter and resentful, with negative emotions that kill a hopeless spirit. I pray for those living in such humiliation, and I demand that a closer look be taken and something real be done. It is a sin to treat people this way, and someday before God Almighty, we are bound to answer why!

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