David was allowed to leave the building, so I drove over there every morning and evening and used the intercom to let him know I’d arrived.  He came down and sat with me in the car.  I put a big round tray in his lap in case of spillage, poured water from a water bottle into a glass and handed that to him, and then set the saucer of pills in the tray.  We exchanged news while he took his meds, and then he’d decide whether to go with me back to my house or go back in. 

The lockdown shattered everything that had promised to make the move worth the upheaval.  Residents were required to stay in their apartments.  The café and restaurant closed; activities were suspended.  The nearby gym closed.  David was in his apartment, all alone, all hours of the night and day except for the time he spent at my house – or in my car.  Because everyone had to wear masks, he couldn’t recognize those friendly staff members.

We all know the consequences of pandemic lockdowns for people in long-term care.  David was desperate; so was I; so were millions of caregivers and long-term care residents.  I wrote to the administrators and pleaded to be allowed to enter the building.  They suggested that I install a camera so that I could check on him using a phone app.  I couldn’t make it work, but glimpses of David wouldn’t help much anyway.  In March, I wrote to the director:

Dear —

I’m sure this has been a week of difficult decisions requiring thoughtful responses.  I appreciate your leadership as this crisis continues.

I’m writing with an update.

Camera: I was unable to set up the camera in David’s apartment because the app failed to load.  At least that delay allowed us to proceed as we should: David will turn in the signed permission form before a camera is installed.

Adjustment: David is not doing well.  He’s confused, frightened, and lonely.  He’s struggling with every task of daily living.  I’m doing all I can: coaching by phone, bringing his medications to the entrance so that he can get in the car and take them under my supervision, and bringing him to my house for part of every day.  All of those measures help, but I’m very worried.  He’s increasingly confused and increasingly agitated – and he doesn’t want to return to ———- when it’s time to go back.  He was thrilled with the apartment at the beginning, but now it has become a place of fearfulness, loneliness, and frustration.  It’s heartbreaking.

Caregiving: I’ve seen paid caregivers entering the building.  I’m providing the same services for David (administering medications, making sure he has appropriate nutrition, making sure he’s hydrated, taking care of household tasks, etc.), but I can’t enter.  This is especially troubling because I’ve elected to isolate myself as far as humanly possible so that I don’t spread illness.  Paid caregivers visit multiple residences and are far more likely to be exposed to illnesses.

If I had access to David’s apartment, I could continue helping him adjust, alleviate loneliness and confusion, and provide practical help. 

I’m asking that you grant me the level of access already granted to paid caregivers. 

If that’s not possible, I’m likely to move David to my house for a time.  (He would, of course, continue renting the apartment.)  Moving him here would mean another upheaval that would probably increase his confusion and agitation.  It would also mean requiring him to navigate stairs, one of the dangers that led to the decision to move to ————- in the first place.  Even with those drawbacks, it would be better than the current situation.

I’m sure your days are full of urgent and immediate concerns.  David’s situation hasn’t yet become critical, and I’m making this request because I’ve spent the past two years doing everything I can to prevent emergencies and episodes of critical illness.  Providing care for him at the apartment is the best way for me to continue doing that effectively.

Thanks for considering this request.