 
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
              
|
Growing old gracefully (cont.) All in the family A housing crisis of sorts rocked Myrtle Batz at the end of the summer, even though it wasn’t her living arrangement that was in jeopardy. She is caretaker for an older sister who suffers from depression and who had lived comfortably for several years in a personal care home in Library. Almost overnight, the facility told residents that effective the next month, it was raising rates more than $600 a month, a change that would bring Batz’s sister’s costs to about $2,000 a month, a fee she couldn’t afford. "It was so sudden. It really threw her for a loop," says Batz, 80, who dealt with a housing change herself 12 years ago when she left her family home in Mount Oliver for an apartment for low-income seniors in Beechview. Widowed 30 years ago when her husband was killed in an automobile accident, she said the house had become too much for her to handle. Her sister, who never married and held a job with the county for most of her working life, is too "rich" to qualify for subsidized housing as Batz does, but too "poor" to afford many personal care and assisted living facilities, where costs average about $1,700 a month, according to a new study by the state welfare department. "I wish there was some way that older people could be protected," Batz said in the early days of her sister’s plight, when she took it upon herself to go shopping for a new facility. "My sister worked all her life. She was very frugal. But now she needs help and can’t afford the places that can give it to her best." Batz found a place she thought her sister would like, a small facility in Castle Shannon where it would be easier for her to visit. It had taken Batz, who doesn’t drive, a considerable investment of 22 tickets for each subsidized Access ride to get to the old facility. "She didn’t want to move. It frightened her. But she had no other options." It has now been three months since her sister moved into her new residence, but the adjustment has been tough. "She’s just so withdrawn," said Batz, a few days before Thanksgiving. "I can’t get her to do anything. She’s lost weight. She isn’t taking care of herself. She always took such pride in her appearance. I wanted to take her to get a permanent today, but she hung up the phone on me. Sometimes I get so discouraged." Batz’s role as caretaker to an elderly sibling is a common one for older women. Besides regular involvement with her sister here, she also calls a brother, who’s in a nursing home in Greensburg, every night, and talks weekly with her oldest sister, who’s in a nursing home in the Seattle area. All of her siblings have serious health problems that she so far has escaped, although she does have diabetes. She carries her involvement with her family easily and without complaint, and doesn’t let it keep her from other activities with her church, neighbors and community. In that, she is typical, too. "The caretaker, caregiver, nurturer role is one we expect of women until the day they die," says sociologist Burgess. "If you live near your children, you’ll be helping with baby-sitting. If you live near Aunt Susie, you’ll be helping her when she’s 99 and you’re 77. The expectation for women of all ages is that you’re expected to meet the needs of those around you. And you do that a lot of the time without even noticing that you’re doing it." Burlazzi agrees, saying simply: "Women just buck up and do."
Finding a purpose But what about those with no close family members nearby, with energy to spare but an uncertainty of where to direct it in a fulfilling way? Lillian Farnol first came to the Post-Gazette’s attention when she submitted an essay that was published two years ago that began: "I am a very old widow." It went on to capture in a wry way her adjustment to a quieter life than she’d hoped to be living and it brought a number of sympathetic calls and letters from readers. Sitting in her stylish Shadyside townhouse, Farnol looks like anything but the "very old" and isolated woman she portrayed in the essay, although she declines to reveal her age. She’s just returned from a morning forum on alternative medicine at a nearby synagogue; she begins each day with a walk to buy the newspaper; she belongs to an art group at a neighborhood church; she is fit and trim; and she is articulate as she explains why she feels older than she may appear. "I think society gives lip service to older people, but it really doesn’t like us very much. It really doesn’t value us," she says. She holds out her hand, which shows signs of arthritis, and says, "I don’t think society thinks this is attractive. I don’t think it thinks old is attractive." Farnol’s only child, a married daughter in her 40s, is an emergency room physician in New York state. She talks to her several times a week and visits her a couple of times a year. And, nine years after his death, she still misses her husband every day. His photo and the artifacts they collected over many years and travels decorate the room. "He was a really remarkable guy. We were married a long time," Farnol says. "Even when we were doing nothing together, the day felt full. I never felt old until my husband died." Learning to be alone has been the hardest adjustment for Farnol. "I used to avoid going out because I hated coming back to an empty house. Now, I try to create a purpose each day. I keep busy because I’m afraid not to. Walking to the Food Gallery to shop or buy the paper is my purpose. Going to events like the one today [the medical forum] is my purpose." But she still has more solitude than she wants, and a feeling that the ways she’d like to lose it — working part time, writing for publication, participating in activities involving all ages — aren’t part of the plan for most older people. "I’m so aware of time passing and of wanting to use it well," she says. "I want to feel engaged and useful. I want to have a real purpose."
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
