I was working for a large medical center in upstate New York, assisting patients and families negotiate the maze of the nursing home placement process. It was the early ’90s and the placement process was long and arduous. Beds were scarce, and patients often were placed farther from home than they would have preferred. This is how I first met Gus.
I received the referral to assist with placement for a 93-year-old woman, Emma, who had suffered a massive stroke. She was totally dependent, could not speak or move, and it appeared that she was not aware of her surroundings. I was to meet with her husband of 75 years, Gus.
Now I will start by saying that I have always had a soft spot for old men. I don’t know why, but when I was a bedside nurse I would always prefer the old men to all the other patients. I found them to be charming, understanding and easy to please. That being said, when I walked into the room to meet Gus, he was holding his wife’s hand and softly singing to her in German. I know this sounds corny, but I had to catch my breath and step out of the room. When I got myself together, I introduced myself and told him how I would be helping him. He listened politely, and took all the information I offered. When I had finished he looked at me and said, “You know, we were childhood sweethearts.” My head nearly exploded with the emotions I fought to control. I cannot imagine the loss he must have felt. He spoke long and eloquently of how they met, how they emigrated from Germany shortly after their marriage, how they made a life here in America and their pain of having been childless.
It was then that I decided that I would do whatever I needed to do to place Emma close to home and to Gus. It was a long shot. Gus lived in a remote a rural area with few nursing homes. There was one nursing home within one mile of his home. I set my sights on it.
As I mentioned earlier, nursing home beds were scarce then. Normally, we would refer to multiple homes and keep expanding the search until one was found. But for Gus I broke the rules. I made a single referral, pleaded, cajoled and manipulated until the facility finally gave in and offered the bed. I don’t know if Gus ever knew, but he knew I cared. I visited him daily; let him reminisce, cried openly with him, (I lost the battle of trying to control my emotions!). Months after her transfer he wrote a letter in broken English telling me how well she was doing. She still couldn’t speak but she recognized him and smiled whenever he walked in the room. I knew at that moment that even though I had broken the rules, I had done my job perfectly.
