Dying Poor In America

  • Dying Poor In America

Dying Poor In America

Signing the divorce papers was probably Charlie’s lowest point.  His wife sitting by his side, occasionally she would swat at the air at some invisible fly buzzing around the room.  There was no fly.  Just the acrid smell of the nursing home, a horrifying mix of sweat, shit, and desperation.  He tried to focus his aged eyes on the legal papers as the tears swirled past his nose and losing traction, fell onto his crusty sweater.  He had no intention of leaving his beloved’s side.  No interest in abandoning his life.  But if he was going to give the level of care necessary for the Alzheimer’s riddled brain of his spouse, he had to sign the divorce papers and declare her bankrupt.  Only then would Medicaid pay.  This is what dying poor in America looks like.

He regretted not being able to take her home.  Not really home, the four bedroom in the tony suburbs in which their children had grown up, but the small condo he now inhabited by himself at night when not camped at the nursing home.

They had moved there a decade ago when the foreclosure papers had been finalized.  Charlie winced, but then his face softened.  He was too old for such regrets.  Home, he thought to himself, wasn’t even a place anyway.  This comforted him as he grasped his beloveds hand tighter inducing an unexpected moan.

Home was sitting in this hell-bent institution, ignoring the demented squalls that emanated loosely from confused lips,  holding each other.

When Death Comes

Charlie’s health deteriorated rapidly after his wife’s death.  He used his sparing energy to clean out the tiny room the ghost of his best friend inhabited for the last few years.  There were no memories here.  His time spent in the rocking chair by the bed, reliving pleasant memories and whispering stories into the ear of one who could no longer hear, was easily forgotten.

Any last bit of money the divorce had spared his own personal finances was gone.  His body weak.  His joints stiffened by nine decades of trauma.  He got into bed one evening after drinking a little too much, and awoke too weak to lift himself up.

Instead, he gently rolled down to the floor and crawled into the bathroom.  There would be no 911 calls.  He would not spend his last days in some god forsaken institution like his wife.

There would be no one there to whisper in his ears and transport him from this hapless existence.

His days were numbered, he was dying poor in America.

dying poor in America

When The End Comes

The doctor let himself in with the key under the doormat.  Charlie had managed to wedge himself next to the couch and turn the TV on.  The doctor, a former college football player, was easily able to hoist him onto the couch and start the evaluation.

Charlie’s heart failure required immediate hospitalization.  Which Charlie refused.

Then the doctor pleaded with him to hire around-the-clock caregivers.  Charlie laughed.  He barely could keep his lights on and the water running with his measly social security checks.

Eventually the option of hospice was agreed upon.  The doctor left the apartment with great apprehension.  The nurse would arrive the next morning for evaluation.  He glanced back one last time at Charlie as he left through the front door.

He was sitting with his eyes staring blankly at the TV screen.  The volume was turned off.  A small urinal was stationed on the floor next to the couch, and a tray with a few scraps of food was being ignored at his side.

Charlie Joined His Wife Sometime That Night

He died alone on the couch. Quietly, one assumes.  The hospice nurse discovered him the next morning when she let herself into the condo.  Stiff as a board.  His hands clutching at something vacantly by his side.

Empty

We don’t talk about it often.  We avert our eyes to the reality of aging in America.

Maybe it’s Charlie’s fault.  He could have saved more.

Or is it the government?  We could have better social safety nets.

Maybe our communities should rise up to support those in need.

The answer is yes.  Yes, yes, yes.

But for now, this is what we get.  Dying poor in America.  Alone.

Forgotten.

 

 

Doc G

A doctor who discovered the FI community but still struggling with RE.

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25 Responses

  1. Wow. I don’t even know what to say. That is haunting. And sad. And moribund. (As well written).

    Such a sad story of reality that no one likes to talk about. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

    Man, I am going to think about this one for a while. Thanks for opening my eyes.

  2. Wow. I’m trying to pass my watery eyes and runny nose off to coworkers with the excuse I ate spicy food. Indeed, a very sad and haunting situation. Yes to all of the above.

    • Doc G says:

      Sorry about the water works. I write a lot about medicine in other places. Much of it induces my own tears. So many sad and uplifting stories out there.

  3. Dr. McFrugal says:

    Very sad story. It is sad that our mainstream culture does not love and respect the elderly as much as they should. It’s a shame that Charlie’s children and his children’s children were not there for him at his lowest point, a time when he needed it most. I am impressed that Charlie lived to his 90s though.

  4. My Grandmom died in an acrid smelling nursing home of Alzheimer’s, and we also had to declare her bankrupt to get help from Medicaid. Although our situation wasn’t nearly as dire, I can relate somewhat.

    You have a unique skill. That was intense. Dark, but intense.

  5. Such a powerful piece DocG. It’s a shame people leave the world in this fashion. Sad. Medical bills are skyrocketing faster than people are able to save. There must be a better solution to end of life care.

  6. Allyson says:

    Beautifully written and incredibly heartfelt. Aging is not something those around me want to admit. Another 29th birthday? This is such a powerful reminder to not only realize the reality of aging, but to prepare for it. Yes- prepare myself financially. Yes- prepare myself mentally (and potentially financially) to be able to support those in my community. Yes- attempt to influence the government in the ways I deem appropriate.

    Thanks for another thought provoking post!

    • Doc G says:

      Thanks Allyson for your comments. Planning is key. Change our own lives, change the government. Create a community. All of those are within our reach.

  7. Hatton1 says:

    My father died at 92 in assisted living. He had hospice at the end. He had a defined benefit inflation indexed pension. It covered all his bills. He was also a careful saver. My father was a high school dropout who joined the army and stayed in. Life does not have to end like that example.

    • Doc G says:

      Hey Hatton1. You are right. It doesn’t have to. Your father had the skills, planning, and maybe a touch of luck? Unfortunately, this is not the majority. You shouldn’t have to be the exception to be OK in America. At least when it comes to dying, that is.

  8. My 88 year old Mother-in-law has luckily just recovered from a year long battle with infections, C Diff, COPD, and most recently gallstones. Unbelievably, she has recovered. We moved her and my Father-in-law to Assisted Living, and they have about 300K in savings from their home sale. That’s not poor. Yet, we realized that if she ends up needing a Nursing Home where they live in San Jose, it will drain those funds down very quickly. Realistically, we could all lose our wealth due to these expensive end-of-life care costs. It is a sad, sad story. The idea of having to divorce is even sadder.

  9. Wow. That sums up basically all the thoughts that rise to the surface the (relatively) few times that I have been in nursing homes. My maternal grandmother had Alzheimer’s and passed at 88. I remember it breaking my mom’s heart to see things progress in such a manner. I just remember being shocked walking through those places to visit her, and just the distraught looks on all of the patients faces. I to this day can’t even begin to think about how it would be live or work in a place like that.

    My grandfather recently broke his hip. He will likely make as good of a recovery as can be expected (walking with the aid of a walker). But he had been living independently up to that point. Now he has to go to one of those places, and my parents found a decent one but it still had to fathom going from living in the house he had been in for the last 66 years to being confined to sharing a room.

    Unfortunately, I don’t think we will have the same issue with my mother (70) – she was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer last year and though she remains in good spirits, the prognosis is terminal and any further chemo (she has been grueling through it for the last year) can just buy time. A silver lining (if there is one) is that she will never have to deal with the nursing home experience for herself. A small silver lining I guess.

    All of this has led me think that there have to be better options out there. How can we frame our lives in the future, such that we can care for my father (and my MIL and FIL) in a dignified respectful manner. Live-in options with medical care scheduled on a regular basis? Having our parents live with us and us caring for them post-FI as best we can? All thoughts worth having. Things worth researching.

    • Doc G says:

      Hey Nick. Welcome! I think the questions you ask are tough. For those who have money, you can hire the best of home care and help. For everyone else, it seems that luck and planning play equal roles. I hope, really hope, that our government gets things together soon and takes care of some of this.

  10. Mark Dias says:

    That is very sad. I felt I was right there. And I can totally see it happening every day. A poignant story.

  11. Vitalio says:

    Nah, fighting Russian spies and Chine is far more important 🙂

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