The routine in retirement replaces the time structure that employment once provided

Almost three months into retirement, I can begin to detect the elements of a routine, like the time structure to your life that work gives you. What is my routine looking like?

 

One factor is that I’ve taken up a new voluntary task of deputising for the organist at church. I don’t have to deputise very often, but to be adequate to the task when I do, I need to practise, and this means improving my keyboard skills - I’ve played the piano since childhood, but not practised so much in recent years. So most weekday mornings, I walk the fifteen minutes to church, picking up the paper on the way, have at least an hour’s practice, maybe do some shopping and then walk home. It also gives me exercise.

Then I still have some academic writing to do, so I settle down at the computer. As deadlines approach, I do this more vociferously.

You can’t keep going with that for hours on end, so I intersperse that with blogs. Greyamble, focused on policy, practice and experience on older people, is one of them – it is a mixture of personal experience, looking at policy and issues on older people, and just picking up interesting stuff on older people and services and policy for them. I do something similar on end-of-life care for my ‘Social work and end-of-life care’ – that’s more a professional blog, less personal and less non-serious stuff. I have two more occasional blogs on ‘big society policy and community work’ and ‘social work around the world’. I tweet about the posts and also use other media to draw attention to them. I have nearly 2000 followers on Twitter, so if a reasonable number of people pick up on a Tweet, there is a fair chance that a people who find it useful will see the post. That's more than the numbers of people who buy the average academic book or will look at the average academic article, although of course many people will use them in libraries.

I also have a blog on self-positioning; if you sign up to that, you get a gentle question that might help you with personal development, based on a picture, most days, but there’s been a gap recently. I usually do these in blocks and schedule them to appear daily, but didn’t manage to do this over the past few weeks, so they’ve run out. But I’ll start again soon.

When Margaret is at home (she’s grandparenting and socialising a lot) we have regular breaks for drinks and not too much nibbles, as I’m trying to reduce my size. And we stop for evening entertainment or activities at six o'clock.

Every so often this routine does not apply and we have what I regard as a proper retirement day, when we go out for some travel, tourism, art, theatre etc. And we hope to have some regular hols. Last week was with part of this with one of the grandchildren tribes.

Then there are the regular commitment: choir and choir practice, residents committee.

And the occasional academic jobs and preparation for them; one of these, a lecture at a local university, last week.

 

So far, I’ve not been back to the work I retired from yet, but I will need to do this to go to the library with the new book I’m starting. And I’ll need to go to the British Library and the King’s Fund library too, so I reckon, in winter, there’ll be a trip to one of those every fortnight.

And then I've got projects. The first is organising the stuff that came from my office into my study, so therefore reorganising the study. Then there will be a series of academic projects that I've been imagining I will get around to in my retirement. The reorganising will help here, because I'll set up boxes to collect the material for each project and then prioritise them.

Lots of time structure there: both in daily routine and longer-term strategy; a mixture of older commitments, one or two new things and one or two continuing things. A bit of sitting in the garden because it’s been summer. I think winter will mean more computer. It feels busy but not so pressurised, so as a time strcuture it seems OK. Lets see how it goes on in the longer term.

Communal accommodation in older people's flatlet schemes: useful, desirable?

Another pic of a flatlet scheme for older people; this is of the communal accommodation in one of the schemes I pictured yesterday. And it has an ad in the window for more residents, which marks out the block as accommodation for older people.

How useful is communal accommodation (a shared lounge): presumably it allows residents to build relationships in the scheme, and bring in others for meeting up, which in turn allows the living accommodation to be smaller. Is this what people want? Are they much used for either purpose? Do some places have organisers of activities, in which case does this move a flatlet scheme towards being more communal, like a care home

Flatlets for older people: criteria for design?

A third lot of pics of specialised accommodation for older people in Bournemouth. This time two flatlet schemes on opposite sides of the road. Modern, neat...boring? Does converting an older building produce a more interesting place to live or is a convenient modern interior the main thing and the outside doesn't matter?

Specialised accommodation for older people: what should the environment be?

Another pic of accommodation for older people in Bournemouth. This time the front views of the same two homes featured in yesterday's pic. An uninspiring outlook, compared with the view of the chine from the back. But possibly you might see a bit more human activity. Or at least passing cars, if you are stuck in your room. And you can move to the communal accommodation at the back for the pretty views of the chine.

All this is to raise the question: what should be the environment for older people's specialist accommodation?

Are views a priority in choosing a residential care home?

I've been in Bournemouth for a hol, and looking at seaside accommodation for older people. Photos over the next few days. This one, the back view of two residential and convalescent homes overlooking Boscombe Chine, obviously set up to give the views over the Chine. Chines, for the uninitiated, are steep valleys down to the seafront. But the height is likely to prove incapacitating, so all you get is the views. Are nice views a priority if you're choosing a residential care home?

Hospice and palliative care should be part of care for older people, not separate

I’m returning to Byran Driver’s comment, so I’ll mention again how this comes about.

A comment, from Byran Driver, has come in about a post a while ago on 19^th July; the comment is attached to the post, but I’ll reply in this new post:

I have recently been reading your blog and I was wondering if you could expand upon your point that you do not believe in palliative care and the hospice movement?  

The link to the original post. 

What I said was:

I don’t totally believe in palliative care and the hospice movement.

This was as part of one of my musings around the time that I retired from working in a hospice (actually, St Christopher’s, the original hospice of the ‘modern’ hospice movement). Link to St Christopher's Hospice

Yesterday, I talked about the priority I give to social work in my life: this post is about palliative and hospice care. Although until recently I’ve been working in a hospice, I have my doubts about hospices and palliative care. The reasons are that I’m doubtful about hospices because I think people should die in as natural a way as possible as part of their families and community, not in some specially designated place. And I’m doubtful about palliative care because it focuses on a small number of dying people who have a major diagnosed illness so that they can be treated as a separate group, and as a medical specialty it has displaced good community end-of-life care for everyone who is coming up to the end of their lives. And especially older people, who lose out because of palliative care’s emphasis on cancer and other major illnesses, instead of supporting good community provision for all older people that also includes the dying process.

Let’s start with hospices. Hospices started up based mainly on a model of end-of-life care provision which came to be called ‘palliative care’ and, when it became a medical specialty, ‘palliative medicine’. An important strand in the founding their founding was the work of Dame Cicely Saunders at St Christopher’s Hospice, in south London, where I worked. She looked at care of people dying of cancer in hospital and community services during the 1950s and thought it was inadequate. She founded St Christopher’s to demonstrate her ideas. Combined with many other people’s thinking and research at the time, this led to an expansion of palliative care.

In the UK, this led many local volunteers who liked her ideas to campaign and fund-raise for a local hospice. As the creation of many different local voluntary organisations, they come in various shapes and sizes but they all combine this idea of medical and nursing care to manage pain and other difficult symptoms with concern for the psychological, social and spiritual needs of the patients as they go through the dying process. Most of the provision in the UK is still in local voluntary hospices.

The first point to make about this is that it is not the same in many other countries. Many of them do palliative care mainly in hospitals or mainly in the community visiting people in their own homes. There are lots of hospices round the world, but putting up a specialised building is not easy or always the best choice in many situations.

Neither would Dame Cicely be all that keen on a universal adoption of this model. She founded an organisation and a building so that she could experiment outside the main state system of healthcare in the UK. But her aim was to influence all health and social care so that it dealt with the dying process better. Her commitment was to good care of dying people, not necessarily to create hospices.

And to some extent, setting up separate organisations and buildings cuts off care of dying people from the mainstream of services, it almost says: ‘To die well, you need some special place to die in.’ But no health service was going to fund separate places to die in for most people, so this is not the message we want to give. We need to say: ‘The dying process is important to people and their families and we need to handle it well everywhere’. Separating off places to die is unhelpful, but to get finance for an experimental service, it helped to have a building with wonderful facilities, because you have something to show people for their money. It’s an important part of fund-raising. It also came at the time (the mid-1960s) when communes and therapeutic communities were in fashion, so caring for people in special buildings seemed a good idea. Now people are less keen on institutionalised care, and we know it is difficult to keep up a good standard: just look at all the scandals about care in hospitals and care homes.

The voluntary/charity/3^rd sector organisation of hospices is also unhelpful.  They have to raise funds (the National Health Services only provides a small proportion of the costs – it varies but can be 30% or less). So they have to harp on about how special they are, when really what we should be doing is making the experience of dying special wherever it is. And they have to sell themselves by claiming how important their role is, when really they should be cooperating with the NHS to ensure that their role disappears.

Added to that, the selling process sentimentalises and separates dying. It’s not normal life: it’s medical and that means it requires professional help rather than being part of the normal life of the family. And it has to be lovely, in a nice environment, with specially caring people. Instead of which, the message should be, it’s a natural part of our lives that we should prepare for and, given the proper community nursing and medical care, any family can and should participate in the process in as natural a way as possible.

Having hospices as charitable organisations also allows the government to sentimentalise what ‘all these wonderful people’ do in this special way, and allows them to avoid responsibility for ensuring that a really good general service to help with the dying process is part of our health and social care system. So it allows the Conservatives to tell us that the voluntary principle is valuable, and part of the ‘big society’ that the Prime Minister likes to go on about. Really what they mean is they love not having to pay for most of it.

Now I turn to palliative care.

Palliative care, and palliative medicine, as the medical speciality is called, is a well-established form of healthcare practice, building on the pioneering work of hospices. The assumptions underlying it are that in advanced illness, expert management of symptoms, particularly but not only pain, allows people to have the highest possible quality of life and fulfil their life aims in the time they have left. I don’t object to that, but I’d like to point out what it implies.

First, it creates a medical specialty around the care of people with ‘advanced illness’, so that other doctors are expected to hand over their patients once they are close to dying because the important thing becomes caring for them sensitively, rather than active treatment. In this way, medicine is avoiding the issue of balancing care as you die with treatment for your illness, as though they were different things, whereas hey are actually two aspects of people's lives who are living with serious illness. Some doctors can go on saying what they do is cure, because they can leave the death bit to other doctors. It’s an example of the medical profession dividing people up into specialities for their convenience, rather than treating people in the round, so that they are not being realistic about what is happening to their patients, and not listening to what their patients are experiencing. Then there are disputes about handing over or not. But more important, it means that patients on the other side of the divide are not listened to with a curative mind in play. They are to be made comfortable, but any wish of more treatment is ignored as unrealistic. Some people are not happy that artificial nutrition and hydration (food and water) are withdrawn, but this is presented as a technical issue: in palliative care, once a patient is defined as having reached that stage, the policy is to withdraw feeding and hydration tubes. It’s not that I disagree with that policy, it’s that the division between the caring and treating is so sharply made, instead of one medical team taking the responsibility for balancing the whole of their patients and their family’s needs.

Second, palliative care as a healthcare specialty becomes divided from care at the end of people’s lives. Palliative care specialists in social and health care all tend to assume that this distinction is not important: end-of-life care is really just a branch of palliative care. But palliative care comes from the wrong direction. It’s about ‘advanced illness’ (that is, a diagnosable illness that has got so bad they can identify the characteristics of an end stage). A lot of government policy focuses on end-of-life care being provided in the last year of life. But nobody knows when you’re going to die, so how is care provided for people in this situation? Only if healthcare professionals can say to themselves that within a year you are likely to be dead. This is called the ‘surprise’ question: ‘Would you be surprised if this patient was dead in 12 months?’ If they would not be surprised, you are regarded as in the end-of-life category and might get some services.

But most people have not got a clear diagnosable illness, and this stops all kinds of other services including the end of life into their broader work. So social workers arranging for you to have some community care at home don’t think about the reality, which is that if they’re providing this help you are coming into that group of the population that ought to be thinking about and planning for their deaths. Again, it encourages the separation out of some special group as ‘end-of-life care’, instead of all the services balancing the whole of your needs, including end-of-life, but also thinking about how you want to carry on with your life tasks and whether the services they are providing are helping you with that, rather than just parking you until you come into the end-of-life category.

So for me, palliative care does not incorporate end-of-life care, it obstructs end-of-life care achieving the kind of balance that it ought to have in services for older people.

That’s why I have my doubts about hospices and palliative care: their separation and sentimentalisation obstructs good end-of-life care for everyone in the community.

Why social work is important but not a healthcare profession

A comment, from Byran Driver, has come in about a post a while ago on 19^th July; the comment is attached to the post, but I’ll reply in this new post:

I have recently been reading your blog and I was wondering if you could expand upon your point that you do not believe in palliative care and the hospice movement?

The link to the original post. 

What I said was:

I don’t totally believe in palliative care and the hospice movement.

This was as part of one of my musings around the time that I retired from working in a hospice (actually, St Christopher’s, the original hospice of the ‘modern’ hospice movement). Link to St Christopher's Hospice

There’s a personal aspect of my not totally believing in palliative and hospice care. I am by trade a social worker; my first loyalty is to social work and I have a particular interest in its role in society. But I don’t have an overwhelming commitment to its role in all sorts of other services in which social work plays a part. Unlike, for example, my boss there, Professor Dame Barbara Monroe, who is a very skilled social worker, but who once told me that she saw herself now mainly as a palliative care and healthcare person. The prof and dame are for her achievements in palliative and bereavement care, not specially in social work.

So there are points to be made here about professions and about social work.

Unthinking healthcare professionals sometimes talk about social work as a healthcare profession, forgetting that social workers also work in criminal justice, education, housing, social security, community work and all sorts of other fields. When you point out to them this limited perspective on social work generated by their primary professional location, they’re a bit flummoxed, because many can’t quite conceive of something that does not give priority to healthcare.

I once talked about what a professional is to an audience of healthcare professionals, and several of them defined ‘professional’ as someone who had a caring role. When I asked them about architects or accountants, they were unable to conceive of them as professionals. I asked if they would trust me, a social worker, to design bridges that they drove their cars over, or to check that the companies they were investing their pension funds in were using their funding appropriately.  No: and they had to concede that the training of both professions was about as long as medicine, and was highly technical and difficult to pass.

One problem was that architects and accountants did not have ethical responsibilities. I asked whether an architect who agreed to cheap building techniques in an earthquake zone that led to buildings collapsing and killing their occupants had ethical responsibilities. Or since we were going through the financial crisis at the time, what about accountants who had accepted manipulation of accounts to show that various investments were reliable when they weren’t? No: so they had to accept that non-caring professions also had ethical responsibilities.

The real issue for them was that such professions do not have responsibility for the care and well-being of human beings. So, their work did not matter so much as medicine or nursing. Their view was that social workers were professionals to the extent that they were involved in such responsibilities. But what about buildings that collapsed killing their occupants or pension funds that collapsed leaving their pensioners destitute? By these sorts of arguments, I drove them towards accepting that all sorts of difficult tasks done by a variety of professions required high-level education and involved ethical and practical responsibility for human beings.

So what about social work? I argue that the main objective of social work is to improve the capacity of social structures, social relationships and social institutions to respond to people’s difficulties: individual and collective difficulties. Social work is in lots of places in society because by increasing the resilience and capacity of families, communities and individuals to work with, support and help each other we improve the capacity of all sorts of other provision to function well in our society. Societies recognise that doing education, housing or even healthcare is not enough: people need to be helped to make the best use of it, and the social relationships and institutions around them need to be developed so that people can benefit from healthcare and other services. No good having excellent doctoring if people’s schools or employment or the social security system provide unhealthy environments or don’t support them in the things they need to do to tackle their illness or disability.

Social workers, therefore, are involved in all sorts of institutions, including healthcare, as an instrument in achieving their main goal: making society more resilient in dealing with difficulties. We do it in healthcare, because that is a location where people come up against difficulties that are hard to manage. Social workers can therefore use involvement in healthcare to get at families, communities and other social structures that are not giving people opportunities to live a good life and try and improve it, so that they can better cope with their family or community difficulties the next time.

That’s why, to me, social work is the priority, not a particular healthcare provision: it’s what I’ve always been interested in, and I think it’s an important priority for some people to focus on that in any society. That’s why most societies have a social work profession. It's one of the useful and difficult jobs that go alongside all the other professions.

But this does not answer the main point of Byran’s comment, which was less about my personal priorities and more about palliative and hospice care. More on that tomorrow.

Really professional practice requires attention to detail

One of the thoughts that occurred to me when visiting the Paralympics yesterday is the importance of attention to detail in giving people confidence. This succession of photos follows the process in the Aquatics Centre by which the swimmers’ personal belongings are dealt with. They take off their top clothes when preparing to swim and put them in a box numbered with their lane. After they’ve set off on their swim, a line of volunteers marches out in order with a new box for each lane. They stand by the full box, turn, deposit the new empty box for the next swimmer, pick up the full box, turn in synchrony and march off to the dressing room where the property is deposited for the swimmer when they’ve finished their swim. It’s not exactly military, but it is extremely carefully organised for the benefit of the people they are supporting, the swimmers.

And every main sponsor's logo is displayed once in every series of boxes, interleaved with the Paralympics logo.

 

The whole site reflects this kind of attention to detail, and gives you confidence that everything is working and will work as it should, from the transport for mobility impaired people, to the signposting and information.

I’ve felt the same when attending Disneyworld. The sheer professionalism of picking up the litter, guiding people round and everything happening like clockwork is a sign of effective management and professional practice, even with staff might in other settings be quite difficult to manage.

Seeing this sort of thing is evidence, for me, of the importance of attention to detail in all of our professional practice, including social work professional practice.

Paralympics and the wonder of retirement

Travelling at rush hour to get to the Paralympics made me realise I have no hankering after keeping on working. It’s not that they were dead-eyed commuters. It’s just that I have no nostalgia at all; I don’t need it.

And we got our Paralympic tickets from someone at church, having failed on the website. When we were both working, we just could not have taken a day off together with no notice. The wonder of retirement.

Sport is a young person’s thing, but it’s nice to see some of the ‘older’ people competing and winning – people in their forties and more. That’s a good thing to see compared with elite Olympic sport.

But there were lots of older people enjoying it, as these pictures show.