My mother recently spent three weeks in a rehabilitation facility in Florida following an injury. The building resembled a concrete-block barracks, and her roommate, afflicted with Alzheimer’s, moaned incessantly. My mother often struggled to get the attention of the staff for something as simple as a glass of water or help to the restroom. At times, she resorted to using her cellphone to call the front desk, or she would simply wait until my father or I arrived to assist her.
During my visits, I witnessed the nurse administering pain medication in half the prescribed dosage, which raised my suspicions about the staff’s integrity regarding prescription painkillers. The entire experience was disheartening, leading my mother to express a desire for drastic measures rather than face another stay in such a facility.
As the only child, I find myself in the position of having to consider my parents’ future care. Currently, they are managing, but their health is a continuous source of concern. I live eight hours away, lack a vehicle, and am the primary caregiver for two young children. Every day, I ponder the inevitable: what will happen when my parents require more assistance?
This dilemma echoes the themes of Ai-jen Poo’s impactful book, The Age of Dignity: Preparing for the Elder Boom in a Changing America. Poo, the director of the Domestic Workers Alliance, advocates for a national conversation on the impending eldercare crisis. As Baby Boomers age, the number of Americans over 65 is projected to swell from 40 million to 70 million in the next two decades. The question remains: who will help these individuals with daily tasks, from cooking to bathing, and ultimately, skilled nursing care?
Traditionally, women have filled this caregiving role. However, with more women now in the workforce, providing the necessary daily attention to frail elders has become increasingly challenging. A friend of mine, also a mother of small children, spends her weekends driving two hours to assist her elderly mother with chores and personal care. She recently took measures to remove the knobs from her mother’s stove after a dishtowel caught fire. “She’s not ready for a nursing home, for sure,” my friend admitted, “but she shouldn’t be living alone, either.” With her finances tight and her marriage strained, my friend is stretched thin and can’t afford a paid aide.
I initially expected The Age of Dignity to highlight the issue without providing concrete solutions. However, Poo surprises readers with various actionable ideas, including innovative “time banks” that allow caregivers to log hours spent assisting local elders, which can then be redeemed for care for their own parents. The most compelling solution Poo proposes is a public-works initiative akin to the federal investments in infrastructure projects like the interstate highway system and the internet. She argues that such initiatives can not only transform lives but also stimulate the economy by generating jobs and circulating funds through fair compensation for care workers.
The reality is that many people fear for their parents’ care—and their own as they age. Unless you are wealthy, securing compassionate, community-oriented assistance is a daunting challenge that many in countries like Germany or Japan take for granted. For the rest of us, the hope is that we never need help, or perhaps a more drastic option might seem appealing.
The crux of the issue lies in the political will to support care work, which has often gone unrecognized and is predominantly performed by women, immigrants, and women of color. Poo suggests that initiating change is akin to getting people to dance; someone must take the first step, encouraging others to join in. Aging should be celebrated as a blessing rather than feared.