Synaptic Silence

It’s early Monday and I’m wrapping up another weekend as the only aging-services crisis response worker on call for all of Multnomah County, a job I share on a rotating basis with three colleagues. Since Friday evening, I’ve gone seven times to the home of an elderly demented, blind and diabetic woman whose sole caregiver is acutely ill and unable to care for himself, much less provide for her medical and other needs. I fear for her safety, but there’s nothing I can do but leave her and check back later, because she’s still legally able to make her own decisions.

I’ve placed a lonely 81-year-old man with no remaining family in a motel for the weekend because police at the airport figured the five days he’d spent there waiting for someone to notice him were enough. I’ve taken reports of elderly people who have been emotionally, physically and financially abused by their families.

I’ve called a host of older people just to make sure that they’re still alive in their apartments or homes, where they live in conditions that are sometimes worse than I’ve seen in any Third World country I’ve visited — not because they want to live that way, but because there simply isn’t anyone who cares enough to help them.

I’ve been doing this for seven years now. As funding for social programs has decreased and our community’s safety net has shrunk, my job has turned into a dark tragedy. Don’t get me wrong; I still love my work. But I’ve recently caught myself thinking that perhaps I don’t want to grow old in this country. It isn’t that I don’t want to live to a ripe old age, but I don’t want to end up alone, dependent upon someone like me to find me in a sea of similarly sinking souls.

I hear the complaints people make about civil servants, but I honestly can’t find anyone I respect more. While many Americans think of service in terms of how much to tip someone, these people think of it in terms of how they can improve the lives of those less blessed. They begin their work every day with no hope of finishing it, understanding that for every person they help, there are probably 10 or more people who need their help more.

I feel honored to work with them — people dedicated to countering the wave of public apathy and neglect, and the oddly American belief that older people lose their value as they lose their ability to work or care for themselves.

In the early morning hours when the pager goes off, that’s the thought that gets us out of our warm beds to head out alone into the darkness one more time.