The anxiety of worrying about my grandmother’s well-being keeps me awake at night. “I know we’re minimizing contact with residents right now, but your grandma really needed a hug, so I gave her one,” the nurse informed my sister during a recent call. “I was fully protected with PPE and a face shield, but I felt she just needed that moment of comfort.”
My grandmother, Alice, has been residing in a long-term care facility since January 2018, after suffering a severe stroke that left her partially paralyzed and largely unable to speak due to apraxia. The level of care she requires is beyond what our family can provide, and she now shares a small room with another resident named Carla.
“Carla is quite the social butterfly, and we hope she will help your grandma feel more at home here,” the activities director mentioned when Alice was moving in. True to form, Carla flitted from room to room, always engaging in delightful conversations, dressed impeccably, and often suggesting amusing activities. While Alice has never been the type to engage in such extroverted behavior, she did occasionally join others for group activities, like watching a movie.
Due to her partial paralysis, Alice is at high risk for aspiration, which restricts her diet to soft foods and thickened liquids. She loathes the cafeteria’s Sloppy Joes and stuffed peppers, but her sweet tooth remains intact. The nurses often sneak extra ice cream onto her tray, and I cherish the moments when I bring her favorite chocolate and see her face light up with joy.
These small moments make the harsh reality of visiting a loved one in a nursing home bearable, yet nothing feels normal about it. As the pandemic loomed, I found myself grappling with uncertainty about when I would next be able to bring her treats, share stories, or simply see her warm smile.
The facility implemented a lockdown before the state mandated it, prohibiting visitors and limiting movement to staff. While I appreciated their precautions given the vulnerability of residents, the lack of control over when I could see her left me unsettled. The last time I had seen Alice was in mid-February, just before the world turned upside down.
In late March, we were informed of the first confirmed case of COVID-19 in the facility. The chilling implications of that news weighed heavily on my heart. We made regular calls to check on Alice’s status. Then came the devastating news: “Carla passed away. She was one of the first to contract the virus.” The nurse, who shared this heartbreaking information, explained that Alice had witnessed Carla’s struggle, leaving her traumatized.
My thoughts raced as I considered Alice, far from her cozy home that always smelled of lavender and Clorox, unable to articulate her feelings about the loss of her roommate. It was unbearable to think of Carla, who had been in good health, dying in such a cruel manner.
With the virus spreading, isolating infected residents became impossible, and there were reports of staff members contracting the illness as well. My grandmother, who faced a life-altering health crisis just two years ago, is now at heightened risk. Thankfully, she has shown no symptoms of COVID-19 so far, but I know that could change at any moment. The facility likely won’t allow visitors for the foreseeable future, and our planned spring visit for her to meet my newborn will not happen.
What haunts me is the uncertainty. When will I see Alice again? Will she ever get to meet my child? I know how much it pains her too. We plan to send her an iPad, hoping technology will bridge the gap, allowing her to see the faces of her beloved family. But that’s no substitute for the hugs we both need.
I lie awake at night, worrying about her isolation and fearing what might happen if she contracts the virus. I write her letters, hoping that a frontline worker might take a moment to read them to her. It is agonizing to feel so helpless while a pandemic rages around someone I love dearly.
The experience of having a family member in a nursing home during such tumultuous times is excruciating. The endless “what ifs” plague my thoughts daily. All I want is to hold her, even if just for a moment.
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Summary: The emotional toll of having a loved one in a nursing home during a crisis is profound. With the added challenges of the COVID-19 pandemic, the uncertainty of visits and the health of residents creates an agonizing situation for families. The experience highlights the need for connection and the longing for simple moments of comfort.
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