Will I Be Safer in a Retirement Community?

The hurricane that devastated Florida has made me think. There are too many things to be afraid of. It is easier to be afraid when we are old, with declining strength. And it is harder to act on our fears.

For example, living in an area of drought, subject to wildfires, is stressful for everyone, but especially for the elderly. When a whole town burned in California, a few years ago, the elderly were a high percentage of the fatalities, because they simply couldn’t move fast enough. Some didn’t even hear the warning; it was early morning and they had not yet put their hearing aids in their ears. One woman got as far as her porch in her wheelchair but perished, unable to get down to the ground.

In war zones the elderly elect to stay when younger people flee, because the old people know they can’t walk to safety. Or, maybe walking away from the one place they know is their idea of death.

 Whether the danger is fire, flood or an enemy army, the elderly may be less responsive to warnings. Evacuation means packing bags under stress, putting them in the car, buying gas, bullying their way into the stream of traffic, surviving hours in the car without even potty breaks, finding no place to sleep. The effort may seem impossible; in fact it may be impossible. Instead, they will take their chances.

And the chances of their survival are not good. I thought of this when I saw on television people in Florida walking away from their flooded homes in waist-high water. Only the young and strong can do that.

Indeed it makes us stop and think of the perils of the elderly living alone. This is a major reason for the existence of retirement homes, assisted living, even independent living communities. They provide a safer environment. They take responsibility for their residents.

Once, in that big house where I lived alone, I woke surprised to find snow on the ground. It was beautiful, and I was happy until I discovered that I had left the awning out, having used it to shelter my western windows from the glare of late afternoon sun. Now it sagged with the weight of four inches of snow. Concerned for the very existence of that very important fixture, I put on boots and gloves and went out with a broom, a totally ineffective tool. I then stood on a stool (forbidden for old ladies) and, reaching over my head, raked snow off the edges of the awning with my gloved hands. Gravity helped, I discovered. The higher snow slipped down so I could reach it, and I raked again. I will spare you some of the grim details, but I rescued my awning, in the process exerting myself in a way not advised for anyone my age in the cold. When I went back into the house exhausted and finally had my morning coffee, I knew I should not have done that.

Here in the home where I live now, we do not worry about the weather. In fact, it happened soon after I came that there was a thunderstorm, a rowdy, noisy storm, and lightning struck somewhere nearby. Everybody heard it; on this side of the building some people saw it. And immediately the lights went out, but in a few seconds certain parts of the system blinked on again. A back-up system gave us light enough to function.

People went out to the halls, talked, shared information, encouraged one another, reported to the administrative desk. Immediately the right, responsible people knew that someone was in an elevator stuck between floors. Though it was Sunday afternoon, a rescuer was on the way. In other words, the community functioned.

No one was alone; no one was frightened, not even the small elderly woman in the elevator.

Even without a crisis, an elderly person alone may have a lot of fears. I was not afraid there in my big house alone, at least most of the time. I admit, though, that sometimes I would get into bed and then wonder, Did I lock the front door? In fact, I had several doors, multiple ways to get into my house. When I wondered and got up, I had to check them all. I also had motion lights that frequently warned me about the approach of some intruder. Sometimes it was a deer, more often the neighbor’s cat.

Even the average house is full of hazards. The stairs, the kitchen stove, the bathroom. It is good to be a little bit afraid, because this creates caution.

I loved my bathtub, and I had to give it up to move into this “life plan” community. But for a year or more before moving away, I was aware of the dangerous possibilities the tub presented: slipping, falling while getting out, even being unable to get out at all. And my friend who worked in a hospital burn unit cautioned me to be certain of the temperature of the water. Elderly people often lose some sensitivity in their feet, causing them to sit down in water that is much too hot. (There are dangers we haven’t even thought of.)

Because old age makes us so vulnerable, our children worry and sometimes their worry causes them to use their power of attorney and move a parent into a community setting against their will. This is not good, of course, though their concern may be justified.

We, the elderly, must take seriously our vulnerability and not let pride keep us from making good decisions. If we are afraid, we must admit it.  If we are not afraid, we might need to listen to those who are afraid in our behalf.

The long-term care facility is often an answer to the dangers of growing feeble alone. Some are like complete neighborhoods. Social activities, meals, movies, worship, live music, games, libraries, lectures, even long walks can happen without leaving home or crossing the street.  Accidents still happen, but the chances have been minimized and help can be immediate. In fact I proved this last week. I accidentally tipped a cup of boiling water onto my right hand. The first thing I did was put my burning fingers under the running cold water faucet. Standing there I realized that I must have left my aloe vera in the kitchen of the house I sold.  I called the nurse who told me what to do next, then came up to see if I needed help.  

See what I mean? We may get sick or grow feeble or hurt ourselves, but we will do it in a place where our needs are understood and help is never far away.

At the same time a good community will provide the understanding companionship of people who share our experiences.

All these things are relevant to the hard decisions we face. Think about them before the next fire or flood or fall.