Nursing students lend ear, lifeline to seniors
Calls lift isolated rural residents of West Marin
West Marin County is a definition of rustic charm: Lush ranch pastures and oakstudded hills sparsely dotted with picturesque little towns offering gourmet food, art galleries and enough solitude to make Thoreau’s ghost smile.
But sometimes all that solitude can be too much. Like now. With the coronavirus crisis chasing everyone into their houses for quarantining, older people who already were isolated there in tiny hamlets and down winding dirt roads are suddenly more alone than ever — and in need of help.
That’s where a littleknown, 6yearold project with nursing students at Marin County’s Dominican University has come in handi
“It’s quite comforting to know that healthy young people are getting on the phone to talk to me.”
Patsy Bannerman, 86, who lives near Point Reyes Station
er than ever. The college pairs students with older people in West Marin for home visits each semester, and because they can’t now come in person for fear of spreading the virus, they are doing their visits by phone.
Video wouldn’t work with this crowd. The clients are all in their 80s or above, and with some living so far back in the woods, they’re lucky to get a phone connection, let alone internet. But it turns out jawboning on the phone several times a week with enthusiastic student nurses, who are all in their early 20s, is more than just fine.
It’s a lifeline of caring. As said in the song by the late John Prine — who just died at 73 of COVID19 — sometimes the most important thing when you’re old and living alone is having someone say “Hello in There.”
“So, how’s your mood these days?” Melissa Barroso, 22, asked Ruth Fleshman last week during one of her regular calls, which they allowed a Chronicle reporter to listen in on. Fleshman is 90, legally blind and lives alone in the tiny town of Point Reyes Station.
“Well, I’m a bit of a Helios lover — the sun, you know — and I get really down when the weather’s gray, gray, gray like this,” Fleshman said, matteroffactly. “I’m bored to death. But I’ll get through. I always do.”
“Have you noticed friends dropping by?” Barroso asked.
“Not much,” Fleshman said. “I have a friend who takes me for a walk every day, but she won’t come in the house. Too afraid of the virus.” She paused to think about that for a moment.
“I’m not sure anyone out here has the bug, though,” she said, chuckling. “We’re too far away from everything. And anyway, we’re too mean to get the bug.”
Barroso laughed, and the two went on to talk about Fleshman’s medications, exercise regimen and whether she had any coronavirus symptoms. All good. They then got into the benefits of having a dog. Fleshman has a terrier mix named Zac, and as a former UCSF nursing instructor, she knows how comforting a pet can be to elderly people living alone.
“A dog is a great companion,” she told Barroso. “And not just for me. Remember that, it’s good to know.” “I sure will,” Barroso said. “Ruth has definitely taught me a few things,” Barroso told the reporter. “She must have been a great teacher. Like when you have to ask someone about incontinence, it can be awkward. And Ruth told me to just ask, ‘When you cough or sneeze, do you have a hard time holding in your pee?’ Like that — instead of just coming out with it.
“I love talking with Ruth,” she said. “Her mind is totally there. She’s super sweet, funny, easy to talk to.”
Fleshman’s been in the program for two years, with a different nursing student each semester, and she appreciates not just the social contact but also the opportunity to help young folks in return.
“I do like schooling these students,” she said. “Being in the community is very different from learning in a hospital, and I like to help. Once a nurse, forever a nurse.”
The program was started by Ellen Christiansen, a Dominican University professor of public health, in conjunction with West Marin Senior Services. This semester she has 27 students working with 48 senior citizens, most of whom can’t drive and live on fixed retirement incomes.
The nearest hospital is an hourlong drive away on twisty, narrow roads, and that’s where you have to go for specialty services like cancer treatment, Xrays or dermatology. There’s no senior activities complex in the area. The West Marin senior outfit offers services like transportation, food and social gatherings, but the coronavirus put an end to getting anyone together.
With its 16,000 or so residents scattered across 375 square miles from the Golden Gate National Recreation Area up through parklands and hamlets up to Dillon Beach, there’s a lot of opportunity to live away from crowds. Which is what draws most folks. But when advanced age sets in, it can have drawbacks.
“It’s a fantastic place to raise kids, but once you’re older and the kids move away because they can’t afford to live there, you’re now all alone in a house in the woods,” Christiansen said. “We have patients who are living in cabins across streams, way back from anything, and they are terribly isolated. Many live below the poverty level, experience food insecurity.”
Not everyone struggles in this existence. You move to the sticks because you want it, after all, and as Fleshman said, most older folks there are pretty tough. But just about every senior can use a nursing hand now and then, Christiansen said.
“That’s why I felt the telenursing program would be a good idea,” she said. “The students give them something to look forward to, to express their feelings.”
Patsy Bannerman, 86, appreciated the rosy voice of her Dominican student Riki DesJarlais last week more than ever. She lives alone down a dirt road a few miles north of Point Reyes Station, and on Tuesday a raccoon killed her inhome companion, Uno the cat.
“I’m amazed at how much space he took up in my life,” she told DesJarlais on their regular call. “I had him eight years. It’s really noticeable now that he’s not here.”
“I’m so sorry,” DesJarlais said. “I’ve been thinking about you and how that’s so tough.” The two were silent.
“Well, you know, living alone again (without the cat), I’ve just discovered chocolatecovered ginger lumps,” Bannerman, a retired nurse like Fleshman, said brightly.
“Well, I’m glad you found something to bring you some happiness in this tough time!” DesJarlais said.
The talk then veered from checking on coronavirus symptoms — none — to advice DesJarlais dug up to help Bannerman sleep better at night, like avoiding daytime naps. Then they went over safety measures around the house. Bannerman slipped in the shower a while back, and DesJarlais was the one who figured out she needed a bath mat.
“It’s lovely to have these nurses call, and Riki is delightful,” Bannerman told The Chronicle. “I do like living out here, but it’s quite comforting to know that healthy young people are getting on the phone to talk to me.”
Susan Deixler, one of four care managers at West Marin Senior Services who help coordinate the nursing student visits, said the program has been a godsend. Her organization depends heavily on volunteers, and the free Dominican nursing program fills in gaps in service made by the coronavirus crisis.
“Everyone thinks it’s just rich homes and gourmet food in West Marin, but we actually have quite a lot of seniors in real need. And because we’re so far out, it seems we get the short end of the stick,” she said.
“I tell you, this program is fantastic. And with everyone sheltering in place, it’s more important than ever.”
“I love talking with Ruth. Her mind is totally there. She’s super sweet, funny, easy to talk to.”
Melissa Barroso, Dominican University nursing student