thedrifter
11-23-08, 08:21 AM
A gift of quality time
By CHRISTOPHER TUFFLEY
christopher.tuffley@neewssun.com
AVON PARK -- If life wends its course the way it is meant to, people reaching their end years may look forward to quietly sitting at ease in the sun, enjoying its warmth and the touch of a breeze; the most fortunate surrounded by family, pets and treasured friends.
Time seems to slow again and stretch forever, as it did in childhood. The mind drifts in and out of wakefulness and sleep, the stories of a lifetime weaving in and out of memory.
End days were meant to be peaceful, full of the small things that make life so deliciously sweet, the sound of a child's laugh in the distance or the sight of a flock of egrets wheeling in the sky. The way out was meant to be gentle.
In that sense, nature is kind.
Life, however, has a way of becoming complicated, difficult and even painful -- especially for the elderly whose bodies, breaking down naturally, are held together by science against all odds.
In this technological era a person's end years may be filled with sharp needles, tubing and the smell of disinfectant. Worse, a person's last days may be spent away from home and loved ones, surrounded by tiled walls and strangers.
The hospice movement is an effort to push back against this institutional warehousing and return to an individual-centered, family-included approach to care giving.
But, it is an equal fact of life that care-giving at home may be exhausting, demanding and depressing, which is why hospice workers come into the picture.
Edward Cimowicz is 81 years old. He joined the Merchant Marines at 16, was in the army during World War II, and spent a career with the Internal Revenue Service collecting taxes from businesses and keeping people honest.
In a 26-year-plus retirement he played golf, managing at least one hole in one, went ocean fishing whenever he could, worked in his garden and cooked and entertained often, even after his wife died in 1985. He was known for his sense of humor, his flirtatious ways with the ladies, and being the life of a party.
One of the fortunate, his eyesight and health held out so he was mobile and independent late into his life, able to drive, shop and cook for himself. He spent extended time with first his son and then his daughter.
Then in the spring of 2008, Cimowicz went into the hospital for a routine, relatively minor procedure. Something went horribly wrong and a defibrillator had to be used. That shut down his kidneys. He almost died on the spot, spent weeks in the intensive care unit and then in the hospital, and finally landed in a nursing home.
Suddenly he was unable to do all the things he had been able to do. Largely confined to a wheelchair, a greatly weakened shell of his former self, he could no longer cook, let alone drive. The loss of his independence made him miserable. So did living in a nursing home, even though it was a well-run, caring place.
Which is when his daughter, Laurie Harrington, discovered Good Shepherd Hospice and the situation changed for the better.
Hospice care, primarily, meant Cimowizc could leave the nursing home and rejoin his daughter in her home.
The difference was enormous, and the benefit immediate.
A nurse stops by regularly, changing bandages, keeping track of vital signs and medications, and the medications are delivered to the door.
The high points of Cimowicz's week, however, are the three days Yvonne Collins stops by.
Collins is a certified nursing assistant who joined hospice in 2005, after working for a home health agency. What sets hospice apart as a service and employer, she said, is the compassionate spirit of the providers. It is more of a movement than a business.
Collins, who was raised in Lee County and moved to Highlands when she fell in love and married a Lake Placid native, treasures the quality time she spends with her patients -- she visits about six people a day, carrying out instructions left by the nurse.
On one particular day, with visitors in the sun room, Collins and Cimowicz could be heard laughing in a back room as she eased his muscles with a sponge bath and a rubdown.
His daughter smiled, "I knew my dad was feeling better when he began to flirt with her," she said. "Dad looks forward to her visits."
Another hospice worker, this one a volunteer, also visits during the week, so he has someone different to talk to.
Harrington made it clear she would not be able to keep her father close without hospice help.
With it, however, Cimowicz is able to do what people his age are meant to do -- he sits in the sun room at home, looking out over a lake whose waves dance in the wind, with his daughter and grandson nearby and Bear, a white lab, and Gabby, a chocolate lab, keeping him company.
Hospice, in other words, has given him the precious gift of quality time.
Ellie
By CHRISTOPHER TUFFLEY
christopher.tuffley@neewssun.com
AVON PARK -- If life wends its course the way it is meant to, people reaching their end years may look forward to quietly sitting at ease in the sun, enjoying its warmth and the touch of a breeze; the most fortunate surrounded by family, pets and treasured friends.
Time seems to slow again and stretch forever, as it did in childhood. The mind drifts in and out of wakefulness and sleep, the stories of a lifetime weaving in and out of memory.
End days were meant to be peaceful, full of the small things that make life so deliciously sweet, the sound of a child's laugh in the distance or the sight of a flock of egrets wheeling in the sky. The way out was meant to be gentle.
In that sense, nature is kind.
Life, however, has a way of becoming complicated, difficult and even painful -- especially for the elderly whose bodies, breaking down naturally, are held together by science against all odds.
In this technological era a person's end years may be filled with sharp needles, tubing and the smell of disinfectant. Worse, a person's last days may be spent away from home and loved ones, surrounded by tiled walls and strangers.
The hospice movement is an effort to push back against this institutional warehousing and return to an individual-centered, family-included approach to care giving.
But, it is an equal fact of life that care-giving at home may be exhausting, demanding and depressing, which is why hospice workers come into the picture.
Edward Cimowicz is 81 years old. He joined the Merchant Marines at 16, was in the army during World War II, and spent a career with the Internal Revenue Service collecting taxes from businesses and keeping people honest.
In a 26-year-plus retirement he played golf, managing at least one hole in one, went ocean fishing whenever he could, worked in his garden and cooked and entertained often, even after his wife died in 1985. He was known for his sense of humor, his flirtatious ways with the ladies, and being the life of a party.
One of the fortunate, his eyesight and health held out so he was mobile and independent late into his life, able to drive, shop and cook for himself. He spent extended time with first his son and then his daughter.
Then in the spring of 2008, Cimowicz went into the hospital for a routine, relatively minor procedure. Something went horribly wrong and a defibrillator had to be used. That shut down his kidneys. He almost died on the spot, spent weeks in the intensive care unit and then in the hospital, and finally landed in a nursing home.
Suddenly he was unable to do all the things he had been able to do. Largely confined to a wheelchair, a greatly weakened shell of his former self, he could no longer cook, let alone drive. The loss of his independence made him miserable. So did living in a nursing home, even though it was a well-run, caring place.
Which is when his daughter, Laurie Harrington, discovered Good Shepherd Hospice and the situation changed for the better.
Hospice care, primarily, meant Cimowizc could leave the nursing home and rejoin his daughter in her home.
The difference was enormous, and the benefit immediate.
A nurse stops by regularly, changing bandages, keeping track of vital signs and medications, and the medications are delivered to the door.
The high points of Cimowicz's week, however, are the three days Yvonne Collins stops by.
Collins is a certified nursing assistant who joined hospice in 2005, after working for a home health agency. What sets hospice apart as a service and employer, she said, is the compassionate spirit of the providers. It is more of a movement than a business.
Collins, who was raised in Lee County and moved to Highlands when she fell in love and married a Lake Placid native, treasures the quality time she spends with her patients -- she visits about six people a day, carrying out instructions left by the nurse.
On one particular day, with visitors in the sun room, Collins and Cimowicz could be heard laughing in a back room as she eased his muscles with a sponge bath and a rubdown.
His daughter smiled, "I knew my dad was feeling better when he began to flirt with her," she said. "Dad looks forward to her visits."
Another hospice worker, this one a volunteer, also visits during the week, so he has someone different to talk to.
Harrington made it clear she would not be able to keep her father close without hospice help.
With it, however, Cimowicz is able to do what people his age are meant to do -- he sits in the sun room at home, looking out over a lake whose waves dance in the wind, with his daughter and grandson nearby and Bear, a white lab, and Gabby, a chocolate lab, keeping him company.
Hospice, in other words, has given him the precious gift of quality time.
Ellie