DEPARTURE LOUNGE

David Lennard on the

miseries of life in an old people's home

'A FEW more seconds'; 'I've only got one pair of hands'; 'Just a minute'; 'Hold on, I'll be back': these are the eternal cries of the nursing home. The staff all too rarely return. Sometimes they are overworked and frantic; sometimes they should never have been appointed in the first place. Or at least not without rigorous training.

A month ago, in this magazine, Ross Clark described the government's misguided agenda for care homes. As a resident of one, I am in a position to describe what life on the inside is actually like.

I am 71, about a decade younger than most of the other residents (the term 'patients' is all too regularly used). I had my first stroke in 1991 and three years later I was admitted to hospital for six months. When I got back home, my wife was unable to look after me so I ended up here, and, like many others, have a council-assisted place. There are about 40 women and four men. While most pass their days watching television and sitting in armchairs, I spend my time in my room, writing.

Meals I eat with my fellow residents, but there is little to look forward to there. The food is indifferent: generally the cheapest meat it is possible to buy; bread kept too long in the freezer; tinned tomatoes, diced frozen vegetables and baked beans. Some items, like fresh fruit, are never included in our diet. Home cooking is just a memory.

Even during mealtimes, staff seem unable to mind their language, yelling, 'bloody this' and 'bloody that'. One particular 'carer' would be unable to knock on a door before entering if you paid her £250 a time.

Rules are elastic. One minute the cook will declare: I'm not allowed to touch residents' in a high-minded tone of voice. The next, she will be escorting an old lady from the dining-room, giving her a kiss and a cuddle. Less-favoured residents become the subject of rude and derogatory comments. Carers will gather at one end of the dining-room and, sotto voce, refer to residents disparagingly, nodding in their direction, making it obvious who is the subject of their conversation.

These things may not seem dreadfully important, but when they are an inescapable part of one's everyday life, they become so. Take, for example, the staffs chatter among themselves. While this is usually about their wages, number of lovers or favourite soap operas, it is often also about residents, whose various problems are discussed without tact, in their presence.

Some staff do have a natural instinct for their work; they are concerned, committed and understanding. They will willingly undertake shopping for residents in their own time and occasionally take them out in their cars. But they are not in a majority and, in the absence of a carer's goodwill, there is no system to cater for many of a resident's needs. It would, for example, be simple to appoint one person to be responsible for all the personal shopping, rather than leaving it to residents to catch individual staff as they pass haphazardly in the corridor.

Despite a number of close friendships with several fellow residents, most of the old ladies are difficult to live alongside. Many have filthy habits at meal times. One regularly but unpredictably throws cups and cutlery across the room and wanders into the rooms of others at will during day or night, churning up everything in sight. Another counts incessantly, sometimes in sequence and other times in random numbers. Yet another, when she is not scratching her bottom, is wetting herself. Many, given the chance, spend their time interfering in one way or another — suddenly attempting to move furniture, the microwave oven or the cutlery box. My most scary moments are when some elderly person — usually an 80-year-old woman known as the 'crazy lady' — creeps up behind me, grabs the handles of my wheelchair and pushes me fast, despite my protests, in a direction of her choosing. No request or rebuke has any effect on her. Removing teeth at mealtimes and putting them on plates, in cups or food is common. Mucus and saliva frequently drop into lunch. Living with a selection of aging casestudies is no fun.

Many residents make extremely strange noises. The crazy lady tries to pull the sealed-down tiles off the floor, and often strips off in the dining-room as if she believes herself to be a young striptease artiste. She enjoys snatching forks and spoons, helping herself to the food on the plates of others. Often, the elderly widows continue to talk to long-deceased pets or husbands.

I never expected to end my life in this way. Shortly after I was admitted, my wife told me that she wanted a divorce and sought no further contact. Fortunately, my two sons visit me regularly. Sometimes their mother gives them a lift in her car. I still hold out hope that she will start to visit me again.

But on a less personal note I can think of many small ways in which all of our lives might be improved. In this age of performance-related salary increases, a carer who demonstrates the desire and ability to meet the needs of residents should be the one who gets the pay rise. Either care-staff should match up to quasi-professional standards or seek employment in local newsagents or supermarkets. Some, I regret to say, I would have great difficulty in employing if I were the proprietor of a chip shop.

Medical care is excellent, but no doubt nurses are far more carefully vetted before being offered an appointment. Even then you can find weak links, mainly in the area of common courtesies. I have diabetes and few staff seem to be aware of the latest thinking or research on the subject. There is much reliance on drawing parallels with the daughter of one of the kitchen staff who is said to have diabetes.

Residents of care homes do need a great deal more support and financial aid. The government should certainly increase the provision of domestic care and sheltered housing so that people can avoid admission in the first place. Only then can we hope for the all-round improvements that will eliminate the rough edges of the fading years of so many citizens.