Helping Hand

Today

Recently a report stated that the standard of care given by home helps was poor, with many not taking time to communicate properly with their clients or understand their physical or emotional needs. Some turned up late, on the wrong day or failed entirely to turn up without notice.

http://www.cqc.org.uk/public/news/issues-affecting-delivery-good-home-care-services

When Paul's Mum had a home help a few years ago, we were invoiced for "cleaning and companionship". And, indeed, the sweet cleaning lady talked to Mum, even taking her out for a drive in the car if her other work was done.

"You know", I said to Paul "I used to be a home help".

In My Day

This was back in my Eastbourne teacher-training days in about 1970. I didn't have much money and was looking for a way to supplement it. How did I  become aware that the home help service was looking for staff? Maybe there was a notice in the college common room or, more likely, information was passed around by the college jungle telegraph.

Anyway I turned up for this work and was allocated a few houses in Polegate. There was no mention of a care plan or any suggestion that I was anything other than a cleaner provided by the council.

At one place  there was an elderly, slightly disabled, lady living with her bachelor son. I have an idea that this lady kept her house pretty immaculate and there wasn't much to do in the main house. What I was expected to do was clean the son's bedroom. He wasn't disabled in any way and I don't know why he couldn't clean his own room. It was a nasty bachelor muddle. There was a heap of undifferentiated objects clustered on his sticky and dusty bedside table. I'm sure, aside from the obvious coins and pens, that there were broken ink cartridges, unclean combs and nail-care equipment, congealing rubber bands and the like. There were probably also toenail clippings. I faced every cleaners' dilemma which is whether simply to clean underneath and put back the objects, including toenail clippings, or to take a view on stuff that should be saved. Thinking more of mum than son I took a draconian view and chucked out everything that was broken or simply disgusting. There were discarded clothes and smelly bedding to deal with and the whole room had a fusty, long-unwashed-underclothes kind of smell.

Another place was unusual in that the client no longer lived there. They had moved into smaller accommodation and couldn't handle sorting out the old place. This was not normally the council's job, my boss explained, but they'd made an exception. So I was given the keys to this old Victorian house and swabbed and cleaned and cleared away debris. 

There were some homes, however, where companionship was by far the most important part of my job. The houses were often small and I suspect that some of the old people cleaned up in readiness for my visit. What they wanted to do was to talk and talk about their lives and their history. As I often had little to do, I would make tea and sit with them for the designated couple of hours. And I somehow forgot to mention to my bosses that no cleaning really needed to be done, so that visits could continue.

Sometimes, when I read reports about slapdash nursing or neglected patients and old folk, I wonder what happened to simple humanity. Targeted care plans are all very well but can never replace, only supplement, the kindness and respect with which we should treat other humans.