Resolve to embrace human rights

(A note before I begin this blog post: You should not consider anything written in this blog as legal advice for you or anyone you care for).

During my dementia training for social care professionals, I ask participants:

“Do you think people with dementia have human rights?”

Most participants, keen to say the right thing, murmur, “Of course.”

Which naturally leads me onto the next question:

“So what are these human rights then? Name me some...”

And the silence that follows is usually defending.

When the silence is broken, it’s been broken by some really ‘interesting’ contributions. The right to "a cup of tea" and a "clean bum" are two notable examples.

I talk about human rights during my training on living well, or living better, with dementia. Although human rights fit into every aspect of living with dementia, I think presenting them in the context of 'living well' sends an important message that human rights are vital to the person’s quality of life.

Human rights and people with dementia

There has been a very powerful movement towards thinking about the support of people with dementia in a human rights context, led by many important voices including Dementia Alliance International. The disability sector really pioneered human rights work in relation to people with various disabilities, and leading advocates for people living with dementia do, quite correctly, feel that the same rights should be afforded to people with dementia. Legally that is certainly true, but in practice it happens sporadically at best.

Human Rights law encompasses many different aspects of life. To pick out some of the Rights that are particularly relevant in the context of health, social care and dementia, I often think about:

•    The Right to life

•    The Right to freedom from torture and inhuman or degrading treatment

•    The Right to liberty and security

•    The Right to respect for your private and family life, home and correspondence

•    The Right to freedom of thought, belief and religion

•    The Right to freedom of expression

•    The Right to protection from discrimination in respect of these rights and freedoms

•    The Right to peaceful enjoyment of your property

Historically, the most common barrier to the application of a person’s human rights has been the assumption that all people with dementia are incapable of self-determination (autonomy) simply because they have dementia. Of course, with the introduction in the UK of the Mental Capacity Act (My blog post on MCA is here), that assumption could no longer, legally, be made.

Yet, such is the lack of understanding about MCA, and the often poor practical application of its 5 main principles, the MCA is frequently as misunderstood as human rights legislation. Even more alarmingly, whilst most social care staff when questioned will say they’ve had some basic training in the Mental Capacity Act and Deprivation of Liberty Safeguards (DoLS), the majority of staff I see have never even been asked to consider their care and support practices in the context of the person’s human rights.

Simplifying legal complexities

Human rights is a huge topic that I do not profess to be an expert in. But even for a lay person such as myself, there are important aspects that I feel anyone can and should grasp to augment their understanding.

Firstly, the framework for making decisions is an approach based on asking yourself:

•    Is it lawful?

•    Is it a legitimate aim?

•    Is it necessary in a democratic society?

Three fairly simple questions. And of course the ‘it’ could be anything, from a daily care and support issue around personal care or medication right through to locking doors.

Secondly, the principles of a human rights based approach are:

•    Proportionality

•    Least restrictive option

•    Balancing rights and risks

•    Proactive strategies

All of those 4 principles draw me in, much like the principle in the Mental Capacity Act that allows for a person to make an ‘unwise’ decision. The concepts of balancing rights and risks, being proportional, and taking the least restrictive option always spark interesting conversations. 

Practicing a human rights based approach

In one recent example, I asked a group of care workers what they would do if the person they supported wanted to take a walk outside:

Care staff: “Our residents often go outside onto the patio in the summer.”

Me: “Ok, I was thinking a bit further than your patio area. And I’m talking about right now. Late November, 4pm.”

Care staff: “Ah well that would be dangerous so we’d keep them in.”

Me: “But what about the person’s right to liberty and security? If we say we are respecting the person’s rights, are we only doing that between May and September?”

Care staff: “But we have to keep them safe - it’s getting dark.”

Me: “It is, so if we are taking a human right’s approach, respecting the person’s right to LIBERTY and SECURITY, let’s ensure the person is wrapped up in warm clothes and non-slip shoes, dress ourselves similarly, take a torch (and we have lighting around the building) and go for a walk outside with the person. That way we are supporting the person’s right to liberty, doing our best to keep the person safe by keeping them warm and going with them, and being proportional by supporting what the person wants but keeping to areas that are well-lit and won’t involve us getting lost. We have balanced the person’s rights with the risks and found a less restrictive option (than keeping the person locked up inside). We could also add being proactive in our approach if the person wants to regularly go for a walk at this time and we anticipate and support that. And as a plus point, can anyone think of any other benefits?

(Silence)

Me: “The person will hopefully get a bit of an appetite for their supper, enjoy some exercise, and potentially stave off any sundowning symptoms by being occupied and engaged. Best of all, we will have empowered that person.”

Empowerment - the very best example of living well

That, for me, is ultimately what a human rights based approach is all about - empowerment. Losing rights and freedoms is very disempowering. Being told "no" constantly. Being locked up like a prisoner. Feeling your needs and wants don’t matter. Anyone in that position might just give up.

But when we find a way by being proactive, even if logistically we have to make some compromises, we transform the person’s experience. Being told "yes" is a positive feeling. When the doors open, the sense of freedom is exhilarating. Having our needs and wants met validates those needs and wants. You are living, not just existing, because you feel like a worthwhile and empowered human being.

My challenge to you

Many individuals and organisations would benefit from enhancing their understanding and revolutionising their approach to human rights to protect people living with dementia from, at best, misguided care and support and at worst, abuse. So, as 2017 draws to a close (this post marks my last D4Dementia blog of the year), my challenge to everyone involved in the care and support of people with dementia is to make 2018 the year you resolve to embrace a human rights based approach. And to support you, this won’t be my last blog on the topic.

Thank you for all your support in 2017. Until 2018...

You can follow me on Twitter: @bethyb1886

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The thorny issue of mental capacity

(A note before I begin this blog: You should not consider anything written in this blog as legal advice for you or anyone you care for).

I've long thought about writing a blog on mental capacity for people with dementia, but two factors have put me off. Firstly, mental capacity is not an area of expertise for me. Secondly, most people (apart from those who are experts in this field) switch off at the mere mention of it - I know, I've been one of those individuals who have glazed over.

But bear with me, and this blog post. I want to explore three of the five principles of the Mental Capacity Act very much as a lay person, a former carer to my dad, and a person who believes strongly in the abilities of people with dementia to retain control over their lives.

For those not familiar with the five principles of the Mental Capacity Act, here they are: 

1) A person must be assumed to have capacity unless it is established that they lack capacity

2) A person is not to be treated as unable to make a decision unless all practicable steps to help him/her to do so have been taken without success 

3) A person is not to be treated as unable to make a decision merely because he/she makes an unwise decision

4) An act done, or decision made, under this Act for or on behalf of a person who lacks capacity must be done, or made, in his/her best interests

5) Before the act is done, or the decision is made, regard must be had to whether the purpose for which it is needed can be as effectively achieved in a way that is less restrictive of the person’s rights and freedom of action

 

Principle number one intrigues me from the outset, partly because despite the Mental Capacity Act having been law since 2005, most people who aren't aware of the principles of it assume that the moment a person is diagnosed with dementia they do not have capacity. The old phrase, "They've lost their marbles," springs to mind.

 

What I would say is that in my experience, not just with my dad but through meeting many other people who are living with dementia, mental capacity isn't a one-size-fits-all. Each individual retains their own level of capacity at any given point in their life with their type of dementia, and another person with exactly the same type of dementia who is believed to be at the same 'stage' (I wrote about 'stages' here) may have a very different level of capacity. Capacity is, therefore, completely personal.

 

Moreover, capacity is often a fluctuating state. So, for a person with dementia who has suddenly contracted an infection, their own usual capacity may be temporarily diminished, but when the infection has cleared, they may return to the same level of capacity that they had before. Even having a sleepless night might render a person to temporarily have a reduced level of capacity - as a mum to a 14 month old, I can certainly appreciate the effect of sleeplessness, and I am an otherwise healthy person who isn't living with dementia.

 

Other factors can play havoc with capacity too - for example, a person with vascular dementia who has had a new TIA (Transient Ischaemic Attack), a person with chronic pain (which may be undiagnosed), a person who's had a fall that's shaken them up, or someone with poor levels of nutrition or hydration. For all these reasons, and many more, it is vital that it's never assumed that a person lacks capacity today just because they (maybe) did yesterday.

 

The second principle regarding practicable steps is also an interesting one. Again from experience, I know that the idea of practicable steps varies hugely depending upon who is trying to ascertain if the person has capacity. It's very common to cut corners here, and simple steps to improve the person's ability to demonstrate their mental capacity can be overlooked. For example:

•     Not considering if the person needs to be wearing hearing aids or glasses in order to communicate more effectively

•     Whether the environment is appropriate for the person (Too busy or too noisy)

•     Whether the person is comfortable (free from pain, not hungry or thirsty, no illness)

•     Whether the person has had the medication that they need (or indeed if medication is affecting their abilities through undesired side-effects)

•     Whether the right language is being used (is English the person's first language?)

•     Whether the assessor has the right abilities (eg: To speak clearly and form a trusting relationship with the person who has dementia).

Finally, the third principle fascinates me, since the whole idea of an 'unwise decision' takes us into the territory of risk taking, something that I've written about in the past as being an area of dementia care and support that is often unduly and unfairly restrictive. Risk aversion is a huge issue, sometimes for the right reasons if someone's life is in danger, but often it's far more low level and about creating circumstances that work well for those providing care and support but considerably less well for the person with dementia.

 

That last point, more than any other, is probably behind why I've come to see the Mental Capacity Act, much like the Human Rights Act (which is gathering increasing interest and alignment with best practice in dementia care and support - see the work of Dementia Alliance International) as more than just dry legislation that isn't applicable to the practical world of dementia care and support.

 

Anything that helps support a person with dementia to maximise what they can do, rather than what they can't, is to be celebrated. If you do nothing more with the Mental Capacity Act than familiarise yourself with and practice its five principles, you will have gone some way to enhancing your understanding of people with dementia and refocusing your approach to providing care and support in a way that puts the person front and centre.

 

Until next time...

You can follow me on Twitter: @bethyb1886

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The ‘F’ word that no one wants to hear

Most older people are frightened of having them, most relatives of those older people are equally concerned by them, and most health and social care services are under pressure to avoid those in their care having them. Falls really are the ‘F’ word that no-one wants to hear.

 

The fear of falling that older people have stems from a variety of reasons - the most notable include the likelihood of injury (possibly serious injury that could include hospitalization, operations and long-term rehab - which could include a prolonged spell of being bedbound and/or needing residential care) and the loss of independence and confidence that a fall often brings. Other psychological problems include embarrassment, feelings of becoming a burden to others, and ultimately isolation from potentially not being able to get out and about as you once did.

 

If a person has osteoporosis, a fall is a serious matter. Broken bones, when you already have a condition where your bones are weak, is clearly something to be avoided. Post-menopausal ladies are particularly susceptible to osteoporosis and the drug treatments currently available are controversial, with some people claiming that they actually increase the chances of brittle bones.

 

For the relatives of an older person, the implications of a loved one falling can be huge, not just from the point of view of being incredibly anxious for their wellbeing (particularly if they need an operation), but also because a bad fall could lead to a long-term caring role if it leaves your relative less independent. The desire to minimize falls can often leave families wanting to wrap their loved one in cotton wool, but that in itself could lead to an older relative wanting to take more chances just to prove what they can do.

 

Risk-aversion, however, is something most commonly associated with health and social care professionals, as I wrote about here. Their services are often judged on the amount of falls those in their care have, and since serious falls can also lead to death from other complications in very frail individuals, they are under immense pressure to minimize falls. 

 

I dislike bringing every health issue back to finances, but it is a well-known fact that falls cost the health service a lot of money – in excess of £2billion a year.  Add in the pain, worry and potential long-term care implications and you would have a much higher figure (if indeed you could even put a cost on those). Despite this my dad, a gentleman who had multiple falls during the time when he was compelled to walk due to his dementia, was only ever given hip protectors and a crash mat by his bed to help minimize his chances of breaking bones. Possibly a hard-hat might have been more use on the occasion when he burst a blood vessel in his head from a fall and required staples in A&E.

 

Meanwhile, if you are an older person who is already in hospital, don't assume you are necessarily safe from falling. I recently heard about an internal study on falls that was conducted by an NHS Trust providing older people's inpatient mental health services. Amongst the stats they collected, they discovered that the people falling in their care were on average being given 4-12 different medications.

 

More worryingly, despite discovering this (which personally I don't find surprising), they didn't present either an explanation for such a significant level of polypharmacy or a proposal for how they were going to tackle it. Chances are little was really understood about these multiple drug interactions, and it was going to take a pioneering medical and pharmacy team to enable them to systematically review each patient and reduce their medications.

 

Although required to prescribe less antipsychotics in the treatment of people with dementia, medics often use other drugs such as antidepressants or sleeping tablets to make patients more 'compliant'. However, the effects on their cognition and ability to be alert enough to move around safely is likely to be severely impaired, and that is to say nothing of the side-effects and interactions from all of their other meds.

 

In this Trust, and indeed any health and social care service where older people are having falls, I would like to see a complete prescription policy review, environmental changes (for people with dementia), regular OT input that helps people with exercises (including for balance), and investment into stimulation and boredom-reducing activity. Alongside this needs to be sensory assessments (to check for eyesight problems that could affect a person’s ability to see where they are going, or hearing problems affecting balance), assessments for other medical conditions that could lead to an increased risk of falls, careful consideration of foot health and suitability of footwear, and appropriate provision of walking aids as required. Last, but by no means least, there must be safe staffing levels in health and social care environments.

 

It cannot be overstated just how important safe staffing levels are. Firstly they ensure adequate supervision, which whilst it won't prevent every fall will stop some and enable learning and change to happen to promote further falls reduction. Secondly they will provide support to people who want to (and need to) move around. Mobility is vital but it often requires support and for that to be available in a timely fashion, for example if a person wants to go to the loo urgently. 

 

Imagine being an older person needing the loo, asking for help to get to the loo, that help not being forthcoming, getting desperate and trying to go on your own, falling and then soiling yourself - a more undignified scenario you really cannot contemplate. The opposite outcome is a health or care professional coming to assist you on your first request, helping you to the loo, waiting for you (not returning 30 minutes later when you've got so fed up of waiting you've tried to move and fallen) and then helping you to get to wherever you need to go.

 

We have to elevate falls prevention (without becoming overtly risk adverse) into the priority it clearly is. NICE issued this guidance and there is plenty more well-researched literature, including this from the Kings Fund. We know falls are bad news for everyone involved, but for the person falling most of all. We talk extensively about the dignity agenda in the health and social care of older people - preserving that must include proactive falls reduction. The nature of the human spirit is such that we will never prevent every fall, and in trying to could stifle people's liberty in a totally unacceptable way, but the simple measures that are possible must be implemented.

 

Until next time...

You can follow me on Twitter: @bethyb1886

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On the move

For everyone who is fortunate enough to be able to move around independently, I would estimate that most take that for granted. Likewise, I would suggest that one of the key ideas people have about ageing is that immobility is likely to come hand in hand with getting older.

Along with wearing dentures, losing your driving licence, becoming incontinent and living with dementia, immobility is right up there in most people’s vision of what ‘being old’ is like. It’s a hugely stigmatised view of course, since many people live a very long life without encountering any of these problems. Indeed I once knew a lady in her 90’s who was still driving her little Mini around, was perfectly able to get to the toilet when she required it, still had all her own teeth, and most definitely didn’t have dementia.

Nevertheless, the image of the older person with their walking stick or zimmer frame looms large in most people’s vision of ageing and indeed of living with dementia. It is worth pointing out, however, that I’ve known many people who never really had mobility problems during their years with dementia, and only became confided to bed when they became ill with an infection that they died from shortly afterwards.

Supporting mobility is a key aspect of helping a person to live well with dementia. The exercise is good for their general health, the independence is good for their mind, and mobility ensures a sense of normality is retained when many other aspects of their life may be changing. That’s not to say that being mobile doesn’t present risks, particularly around the desire to walk a lot (as I wrote about here) and the potential for falls and accidents that can result in broken bones, cuts and bruises. All of these can take a longer to heal for an older person, and if a hip is seriously broken it can be a threat to someone’s life.

These risk factors often lead to worries about a person’s safety and security if their mobility is actively encouraged, but we shouldn’t become too risk adverse. Mobility is vital part of a person’s life that as families and professionals we should make sure we support. Keeping people seated or in bed simply to protect them from the potential for injury is likely to do a huge amount of harm to their physical and mental wellbeing, and even more so if restraints are used.

Seeing immobility as some kind of cosy cotton wool world is totally inaccurate. If someone becomes immobile it produces a whole range of added problems, most notably around pressure sores and increased risk of infections. My father had far more chest infections when he became immobile, and his GP was firmly of the belief that his lack of movement was contributing to his inability to effectively remove the secretions from his airways. Imagine being unwell with chest, bladder or stomach problems and unable to move – a fairly unpleasant thought for anyone to contemplate.

Maintaining an individual’s mobility when they are living with dementia does, however, produce challenges. If a person becomes unsteady on their feet and requires a walking aid, trying to support them to learn how to use that correctly can be very difficult. Keeping people mobile if they are beginning to struggle with independent mobility also requires a huge amount of commitment from professionals and/or family members.

In care settings, including hospitals, you need high staffing levels to ensure that there is enough support to help people to move around. Movement often takes time and patience and cannot be rushed. In almost every care setting there are never enough physiotherapists, occupational therapists and indeed supporting care staff who are ready, willing and able to help someone to walk down the corridor, go to the loo or indeed venture further.

Even if an individual does eventually become immobile, that doesn’t mean that they should be dumped in a room and left there all day, or excluded from events or activities simply because no one has time to give them the opportunity to move. One of the big problems in my dad’s care home was always the lack of wheelchairs; you would often have to beg and borrow in order to find a wheelchair for him to be moved from his room. It would be utterly unacceptable for someone to not have clean clothes or food in a care home, but apparently it’s perfectly acceptable to restrict their chance to move around just because they are unable to walk anymore.

Immobility has huge implications for a person’s quality of life. It can affect the opportunities they have for engagement, fun, new experiences and environments, and the pursuit of hobbies and interests. It is also likely to affect emotions, often producing frustration, anger or boredom. Indeed, whenever you feel someone who is immobile is producing ‘challenging behaviour’ ask yourself how you might feel in their circumstances. Some people can even lose the will to live through immobility.

For many years the Paralympic movement has shown us what people can do when they are restricted by mobility or movement (see my blog on the positive approach of Paralympians), yet we often see older people, people living in care homes and particularly people with dementia, assume immobility is a natural part of their life and simply give up on helping them to maintain their mobility. I’m not suggesting our older generations are likely to want to become Olympians (well you never know!), but they should be given every opportunity to keep moving, however much they can and for as long as they can. After all, wouldn’t you want the same chance afforded to you?

Until next time...

You can follow me on Twitter: @bethyb1886

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Risk verses reward

I’m not quite sure when it happened, but it seems that wrapping human beings up in cotton wool has become a habit that many individuals and organisations are struggling to get out of. Prime candidates for this approach are anyone who is older and considered to be vulnerable through their health or circumstances. For anyone who falls into this category, the cotton wool approach is likely to become the standard response to ‘caring’ for you.

In the UK, and I’m sure further afield too, we have become very risk adverse. Since just about everything in life has some risk attached to it, it seems that a return to the womb may be the only option to ensure we remain truly safe. With reverse births yet to be pioneered, however, perhaps it is worth proposing an alternative approach – let’s put risk back into living, mainly because life without it really isn’t life at all.

I’m all for ensuring that people with frailties are cared for with due recognition of what is making them more fragile, but risk aversion has gone too far. In many health and care settings, people are expected to remain seated or in bed because of the risk of falls, even though many are capable of being more mobile and would benefit from being so, not least in reducing the instances of pressure sores and infections.

I’ve seen food and drinks left out of reach of people until they are cold, simply because of the risk that these items could prove to be too warm to consume. Personally I am not a fan of cold tea or coffee, so taking this approach with me certainly wouldn’t encourage me to keep hydrated. Doors to the outside are kept locked because of the risks associated with going outside – getting burnt in the sun, catching a chill in the cooler weather or getting wet, despite the fact that sun cream and clothing are readily available to prevent all of these eventualities.

You can take it further too. Banning animal therapy because of the risk of spreading diseases. Avoiding arts and crafts because of the risk that paint or other substances could be ingested. Preventing someone from making their own drink or preparing a simple meal because of the risk that they might burn or cut themselves. Banning gardening in case someone over-stretches themselves with a task, or eats something they shouldn’t. Only allowing people to bath or shower when absolutely necessary because of the risk of them slipping when they are wet and soapy.

The list is endless, the point is that taking away risk means basically condemning someone who has needs, capabilities, wants and desires to a vegetative state that isn’t of their making. I have written previously about the need we all have for a sense of achievement, but this can only come from allowing us some risk in our lives. Letting people do as much as they are able to, and supporting them to excel and potentially push themselves even further, can be frightening but also very rewarding for them and for the professionals caring for them when they do something that they were never considered able to do.

The compromise is to manage risk. You wouldn’t necessarily help someone with a heart condition to go bungee jumping, but you could help them to go outside and sit in a swing in the sunshine. You would be irresponsible to leave a person with advancing dementia alone in a kitchen with numerous safety hazards, but you could be there with them and help them to make themselves tea and toast for breakfast. Indeed many activities that are considered risky can have their risk reduced through supervision and assistance.

Allowing the people we care for and love to have some risk in their life isn’t easy. We want to keep them safe, protecting them from all harm or potential for pain or upset. But it can never be considered good practice to become so risk adverse that you order those in your care to remain seated or in bed, thus condemning them to losing the use of their legs. Many people become more unsteady on their feet in later life, and especially when they are living with dementia, but numerous mobility aids exists to support someone to move around, and certainly in my dad’s case, items like hip protectors were also very helpful.

Sometimes I think care providers lose bravery. Away from their jobs, they can still go and have adventures and try new, exciting and sometimes scary things. It’s easy to forget that those needing their care are no different in wanting that feeling of the wind in their hair, the taste on their lips or the smile that comes from achievement. We hate the idea of losing our own independence, but by become risk adverse in our professional lives, we automatically deny the opportunity to experience the unexpected to those we are charged with caring for.

So next time you see risk, make sure you are also seeing the person. Ask yourself these questions:

1. Are you really protecting the person, or are you actually more concerned about protecting yourself? 
2. Are you guilty of seeing too many situations as risky, when in actual fact the risk is far more minimal than you realise, or could be virtually eliminated? 
3. Can you find a way to enable someone you are supporting to do something that they want to do rather than just dismissing it as too risky?
4. Finally, can you build more proactive risk taking into the daily life of the people you support so that they are actually living and not just waiting to die? 

Until next time...

You can follow me on Twitter: @bethyb1886

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