When Penny entered residential care nearly twenty months ago, she brought with her the sharp mind of a veteran English teacher and the determination of a former restaurant owner.
She knew how to communicate, how to organise, and how to advocate. But nothing prepared her for the sheer, exhausting wall of bureaucratic indifference she would face just trying to get management to listen.
Penny’s journey is a sobering look at what happens when a resident attempts to use the formal channels of complaint in Australia’s aged care system.
Out of 130 residents at her facility, Penny estimates that only about 10 are capable of speaking up for themselves. Recognising her position of privilege, she’s taken it upon herself to fight.
When older Australians enter residential care, the transition can be bumpy – especially when it comes to food and meals. With 50% of older Australians at risk of malnutrition, rising complaints about food in aged care need to not only be heard, but addressed.
Penny’s concerns began on arrival and were initially met with immediate resistance. When she challenged a manager to eat the food being served, she wasn’t met with curiosity or empathy. “He just waved me away,” she recalls.
Refusing to back down, Penny escalated her concerns to the Aged Care Quality and Safety Commission late last year.
The regulatory pressure briefly forced management to come to the table, resulting in weekly – and then fortnightly – meetings between Penny, the chef, and the center manager. For months, Penny sat in these meetings, presented photographic evidence, and offered constructive feedback. Management smiled, nodded, and promised changes.
Then, the Commission closed the case.
As soon as the regulatory oversight vanished, the meetings were abruptly stopped, and the promised changes dissolved into nothing.
It’s what happens when a regulatory framework fails to truly believe or validate the lived experiences of the people it’s meant to protect. Even when facility leaders look her in the eye and admit that the day-to-day reality is unacceptable, the institutional momentum ensures that absolutely nothing happens.
After paying around $1,200 a week for residential care and spending an additional $15,000 a year out of pocket, just to look after her own basic nutritional needs, Penny is fed up.
“I’ve run out of steam,” she admits, a heartbreaking confession from a natural leader who simply wanted the system to work. Her 20-month saga is a stark reminder to aged care leaders that ignoring residents doesn’t make their problems go away: it just breaks their spirit.
I sympathise completely with Penny, and every other person who has been beating their head against a brick wall. It is not only residential care complaints that go unanswered. The Manager of a well-known Community Care Provider rang my Mother’s phone ten whole weeks after she had died, to ask how she was getting on. They got me, instead. When I complained to the Provider, they thanked me for my ‘feedback’. When I complained further, they said that they were ‘saddened that I had thought to complain’. When I asked if they were still receiving funding for her care, they replied ‘Of course’. Even a complaint to the Regulator went nowhere. I call it Universal Apathy. The Provider later stated that they had ‘rung my Mother repeatedly’ during those ten weeks and got no answer, saying they were ‘starting to get a little bit worried about her.’