Camp Hill Veteran's Memorial
Located in Halifax off Robie Street, the Veteran's Memorial / Camp Hill building is a pretty special place. My father-in-law was recently placed there as he could no longer walk on his own and there was nobody who could provide 24-hour-care anymore. Caring for someone around the clock is more than just meals and washing. If you can't lift a 180 pound person on your own, you can't do it. It's literally impossible to lift someone that heavy by yourself without injuring the person you're trying to lift. It's too easy to pull out their shoulder joints or injure ribs. All war veteran's benefit from this fine place, where their final years are cared for in a very respectful and dignified manner.
I never met more cheerful people than the veterans. Everytime I go into the place I'm greeted enthusiastically by the residents. These are 80 and 90 year old people still full of zest for living. I helped a few of them down stairs to the main lobby and a couple who were sadly stuck trying to get into a room where a TV was located. It was a pitiful sight for the eyes.
It is more of a home than a hospital. The nurses and aides there are very nice. There's no rushed feeling at this place. In a normal hospital environment, nurses are usually hard to find and are extremely busy. Not so here. You can always find a nurse or aide around. In fact I am always greeted by one when I visit. I think it is more to check on the residents safety.
The pace of life in the building is much slower. I am used to the daily grind at work where you have to contact as many clients as possible during your work day -- often covering for co-workers who have taken the day off. It's not unusual for me to work for hours with a single customer on the phone. Spending time with the veteran's is a whole new experience. There is no rushing, no asshole drivers on the road trying to cut you off. There is a large white rabbit in the main room who I am pretty sure is one of the most spoiled creatures I have ever seen. All of the residents give him treats.
And yet, sadly, when I visit, George still asks when he is coming home. Even if we told him he would soon forget. His memory is not day to day but years. I was shocked to see a copy of the latest FIGHT! MMA magazine on his desk. (He loves boxing and MMA). I hope that if and when I get that old I can find a place at least half as decent as this.
So when do you know you can't take care of your parents anymore?
* They require 24 hour, around-the-clock care
* They cannot walk anymore, are incontinent, and you cannot lift them
It is a tough decision and I hope I never need to do this for my own mom. While people complain about the cost of coffee or the shitty lunch they had, I remember the veteran lying in his bed, unable to move, alive yet not quite dead.
I never met more cheerful people than the veterans. Everytime I go into the place I'm greeted enthusiastically by the residents. These are 80 and 90 year old people still full of zest for living. I helped a few of them down stairs to the main lobby and a couple who were sadly stuck trying to get into a room where a TV was located. It was a pitiful sight for the eyes.
It is more of a home than a hospital. The nurses and aides there are very nice. There's no rushed feeling at this place. In a normal hospital environment, nurses are usually hard to find and are extremely busy. Not so here. You can always find a nurse or aide around. In fact I am always greeted by one when I visit. I think it is more to check on the residents safety.
The pace of life in the building is much slower. I am used to the daily grind at work where you have to contact as many clients as possible during your work day -- often covering for co-workers who have taken the day off. It's not unusual for me to work for hours with a single customer on the phone. Spending time with the veteran's is a whole new experience. There is no rushing, no asshole drivers on the road trying to cut you off. There is a large white rabbit in the main room who I am pretty sure is one of the most spoiled creatures I have ever seen. All of the residents give him treats.
And yet, sadly, when I visit, George still asks when he is coming home. Even if we told him he would soon forget. His memory is not day to day but years. I was shocked to see a copy of the latest FIGHT! MMA magazine on his desk. (He loves boxing and MMA). I hope that if and when I get that old I can find a place at least half as decent as this.
So when do you know you can't take care of your parents anymore?
* They require 24 hour, around-the-clock care
* They cannot walk anymore, are incontinent, and you cannot lift them
It is a tough decision and I hope I never need to do this for my own mom. While people complain about the cost of coffee or the shitty lunch they had, I remember the veteran lying in his bed, unable to move, alive yet not quite dead.
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