In an effort to raise the voice of caregivers, Carers Canada and the Canadian Home Care Association are seeking friends and family members who care for a person with Alzheimer’s disease and other dementias to share their experience by completing a private and secure on-line survey. The survey should take about 15 minutes to complete.
Feedback received from this survey will be used to inform the federal government in advancing Bill C-233, an Act respecting a national strategy for Alzheimer’s disease and other dementias. This Act directs the federal Minister of Health to develop and implement a comprehensive national strategy for the care of people living with Alzheimer’s disease or other forms of dementias, as well as their families and caregivers.
Please note that the survey closes on February 5, 2018.
The following was written and submitted by the Appropriate Use of Antipsychotics (AUA) project team.
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Long-term care (LTC) sites often wait months for expert consultation on very challenging responsive behaviours (or send the person to hospital). Last November we experimented by throwing out an open invitation to our LTC contacts to help out with a case study from North zone. There were many insightful suggestions from more than 30 callers (and no one said, “Have you thought of adding more drugs?”) We wrote the case study and ideas into a report and shared with the sites. Curbside consultations have grown in popularity with 30 – 50 callers (some representing groups of up to 10 staff members) at noon and 2 pm on the 3rd Wednesday of each month. This is helping residents and staff get more timely help, is educating and empowering staff to try new ideas, and has the potential to take some pressure off the very stretched mental health consultants.
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Click here to learn about the AUA team and their initiatives.
In a recent blog post, Anon456, a former ICU nurse, describes her typical day in the palliative unit. In the midst of paperwork, administration of medicine and providing patient care, Anon456 recognizes what an honor it is to be part of the end-of-life journey.
It’s 0653. I pull up to the hospice unit, clock in, fill my coffee mug, and get my nursing brain printed out. At 0700, I count narcotics and take report on six patients. It’s going to be a busy day, one of those days where I must control the chaos, take the time to support patients, complete as many of the thousand tasks set before me as I can, and be prepared to deal with the unexpected.
I work in a palliative/hospice inpatient unit, a place where patients come when they are in crisis,can’t be cared for at home, or simply have no place else to go. One of my patients today is in indigent man who has no one in the world.We cannot locate his family. We don’t even know his real name. He slipped into a coma yesterday and is non-responsive. We take care of him, call him by the name we think he has, and witness his last hours or days.