This Too Will Pass – Moving to Assisted Living

A few weeks ago, I saw an embroidered dishtowel that said, “This too will pass. It may pass like a kidney stone, but it will pass.” I thought to myself, this is how I feel about this month. Normally a festive time, much of our attention was focused on getting my father transitioned from independent to assisted living on short notice and making some other associated changes.

Dad went into the hospital in November. We were already planning to come for a visit in February but decided to get ourselves to the U.S earlier. It was good that we did. Following the hospital stay and toward the end of his rehab, his continuing care retirement community delivered the news that he was welcome to come back, but not in independent living. His last Medicare covered day in rehab would be December 24.

His community had an assisted living studio that was about to become available, but there would still be a gap of some days. Besides, it was much smaller than his independent living apartment, and quite expensive. Fortunately, a sister facility nearby had a studio available that was not only cheaper but more spacious, which would allow him to bring his most treasured things. My wife was amazing in organizing the space so he could have as many of these as possible, not to mention keeping me sane.

The biggest catch was that we had only a few days to make the move happen. Sparing the details, suffice it to say it was tight enough that we delayed his move from rehab by a day to allow his bed and recliner to arrive, and were still working the morning of his arrival on December 23. Also, as you might expect, a CCRC is understaffed during the Christmas week, so everything didn’t go swimmingly, but it turned out okay (sparing the details again).

In addition to getting him settled in over the next few weeks, we also turned to helping him revise the complicated will he had said last year he wished to update, convincing him to give up his car and getting it sold, and filing a claim with his long-term care insurance. We’re usually outside the U.S., and I was keen to have these done before we left. As many readers will understand though, it can be counterproductive to push too hard on such things, especially when it’s my dad. I’m happy to report the will is updated and the car is gone. The insurance claim is well underway and my fingers are crossed.

It’s not what he wanted, but his new place has upsides. For one thing, it has a better wellness center. He rarely used the one at his previous place, but he’s going to three different classes now in addition to his therapy. The person who runs it happens to be a kettlebell instructor, so that was an instant connection. There’s also a tai chi class which is a draw for him as a kung fu black belt even if it’s chair tai chi. He’s finding his way back to intentional movement, which is awesome.

He’s also eating two meals a day in the dining room. We suspect it was closer to one meal a day when he was independent, if that. The ability to sit in his room and enjoy a cocktail sometimes took precedence over going down to a meal. The twofold benefit of less alcohol and better nutrition can only be good. His medications are managed for him too, which was a source of concern for us.

Someone is checking on him every two hours. Dad has become less responsive to calls and texts, so when he doesn’t pick up the phone, it’s no longer cause for worry. Admittedly this part is mostly better for us; he was never worried about himself when he didn’t answer our texts.

We’re grateful this has turned out as well as it has, and to have accomplished so much over the past few weeks. I’d be prouder if my own self-care had been good too, but we can’t have everything.

I’m sure that are a bunch of lessons from this experience that I should offer. It’s too much to do right now. I mostly just wanted to relate the experience and prompt some thoughts. I hope everyone else who must do this eventually, perhaps us included, is able to do so in less of a rush and with at least as good an outcome.