Latest news with #caregivers
Yahoo
2 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
Shreveport's The Bridge hosts open house on dementia care
SHREVEPORT, La. (KTAL/KMSS) — Starting on Tuesday, June 3, The Bridge Alzheimer's & Dementia Resource Center will host open house tours every other Tuesday from 1:30 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. 'The Bridge' offers support to caregivers The Bridge is the region's first dementia-centered adult day program. During the Tuesday tours, visitors will be able to meet the team, explore what services are available, and learn more about The Bridge's programs. Executive Director of The Bridge Alzheimer's & Dementia Resource Center Toni Goodin said, 'We want people to know that they're not alone. These tours are a simple way for anyone—whether a caregiver, family member, or healthcare provider—to come see what we offer and ask questions in a relaxed, welcoming setting. More Health & Wellness The Bridge is, 'a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization dedicated to providing education, resources, and support for individuals living with Alzheimer's disease and related dementias, as well as their caregivers.' The Tuesday tours do not require a reservation; guests can stop by during the tour hours. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Health
- Yahoo
How foreign caregivers became Israel's lifelines during October 7 massacre
The bravery and compassion of 'the strangers within your gates': Whose needs do we put first in this moment? Israel's foreign home care came from different corners of the world to dedicate their time and energy to taking care of the Jewish state's most vulnerable members. And when tragedy struck on October 7, these 'strangers among us' found themselves in an impossible scenario: Whose needs do we put first in this moment? As Gaza border communities were ravaged, brutalized in an up-close-and-personal manner, foreign home care workers became front-line defense forces. Between sirens, gunshots, and allegations that terrorists had infiltrated the communities, home care practitioners from across the world shielded those they were dedicated to serving. On October 7, aides from Sri Lanka, the Philippines, Thailand, Ukraine, and others moved their patients into bomb shelters while still taking the time to prioritize their daily needs. They made sure their patients were fed, had diapers changed, received their medication, and even acted as human shields for them. In Israel, the home healthcare sector has seen a remarkable increase in the reliance on foreign workers, particularly in the context of an aging population that requires additional support. These foreign workers have not only become an integral part of Israeli society but also, in many cases, like another member of the family for those they care for. On October 7, caregivers put the person they were dedicated to caring for as their main priority. In moments of strife, they acted on their feet and still put their jobs first. When the October 6 celebrations began, they were filled with joy, music, and a shared sense of belonging. Yet for Camille Jesalva and Monica Biboso, two home care workers living in Gaza border communities alongside the women they cared for, the next morning's events turned into an unimaginable fight for survival. Their fight was not just for themselves but for the people they were brought to Israel to care for. Others, including Paul Vincent Castelvi, were killed while protecting those they came to serve, leaving behind loved ones at the most crucial times. In a panel hosted by Israeli NGO Hotline for Refugees and Migrants, survivors shared their firsthand experiences, while those missing their deceased loved ones paid tribute to the crowd. Camille Jesalva, 32, was initially supposed to be flying back to visit her family in the Philippines for the first time in years, just days before October 7. It was a long-overdue break, especially as she was aching to reunite with her young son. Her long-awaited return had been delayed repeatedly by the COVID-19 pandemic, but this time, it was finally happening. Still, Jesalva decided to stay just a little longer. She postponed her flight to celebrate the holiday of Simchat Torah with her community in Kibbutz Nirim – a choice that would ultimately save lives, including her own. Any good feelings from the night before quickly vanished. Before 6:30 a.m., red alert sirens began to sound. At first, Jesalva thought it was routine. But when the explosions continued for over half an hour, she knew something was deeply wrong. 'I heard Arabic voices outside the window. I said, 'Oh my God, they are here.' That's when I knew they weren't the military.' Jesalva and the 95-year-old woman she cared for, Nitza Hefetz, sheltered inside their home. Despite the growing danger, Jesalva's first thought was Hefetz's well-being. 'She is my reason for being here,' she said. 'As a caregiver, we do everything for them. She was hungry, she needed her medicine. So I ran through the glass doors like I was playing with Hamas, just to help her.' As bullets flew and Hamas terrorists stormed the kibbutz, Jesalva focused on keeping Hefetz calm. 'I was scared of the fire but not yet scared of the people – I still didn't understand.' When the terrorists entered their home, Jesalva took a desperate risk – she approached them directly, hands raised, and offered her belongings. 'I said to the Hamas, 'Shalom adoni,' – 'adoni' ['sir'] because I wanted him to be calm – with my hands up. I begged for our lives. I told him, 'Take everything – my wallet, my money – but not my ticket. I want to go home. My son is waiting for me.' 'I looked him in the eyes and said, 'Please.' I wasn't trying to be brave. I just knew I needed to survive – for Nitza, and for my son.' Miraculously, the terrorists left without harming them. Though relieved, Jesalva felt a pang of guilt, unsure if her actions had put Hefetz in greater danger. 'When the Hamas left, I jumped to Nitza and cried for two-and-a-half hours. That was the first time I felt so weak – like a candle falling to the ground.' But Hefetz, whom Jesalva had protected throughout the attack, returned the favor. 'She hugged me. She calmed me. She's my hero,' Jesalva said. 'I came to take care of her, and she ended up taking care of me.' They remained trapped for over seven hours before the military arrived. Even then, Jesalva feared it might be another deception. Once she realized help had truly come, she and Hefetz began their escape – crawling through mud and dodging gunfire. 'We escaped under fire. I injured my foot catching Nitza so she wouldn't fall. We fell in the mud. It was like a roller coaster,' she recalled. Reflecting on the ordeal, Jesalva credits her survival to faith, resilience, and the unwavering sense of duty she felt as a caregiver. 'I kissed my son's photo and said to God, 'If it's my time, take me.' But somehow, I'm still here,' she said. 'I came here for my son, and for Nitza. I don't need to die – I need to live.' Just days after her husband had flown back to the Philippines to join their two children, terror struck for Monica Biboso, a caregiver who stayed laser-focused on helping her patient in a crisis. When explosions woke Biboso before 6:30 a.m. on October 7, she immediately sensed something was terribly wrong. The gunfire that followed wasn't distant – it was right outside her window in Kibbutz Kfar Aza. Still, her first instinct wasn't to flee. It was to care for Esther Rot, an 81-year-old woman with dementia whom she looked after. Biboso, 36, a caregiver from the Philippines, had been trained to prioritize her own survival in emergencies. 'They always told us, save yourself first,' she said. 'But I went to Esther.' She changed Esther's diaper, got her out of her pajamas, administered her medication – including sleeping pills – and blended food, and moved her into the mamad, the reinforced safe room. 'I thought to myself, it's not good. But I didn't think twice. I had to take care of her.' As gunfire and explosions intensified, Biboso did what she could to remain composed. 'All the time, I'm holding the door,' she said. 'They tried to open it again and again. I don't know how I was that strong, but they couldn't open it. I put all my power, all my strength.' When the Hamas terrorists couldn't break down the door, they deployed chemical smoke. 'It was a very bad smell – like burned rubber or plastic. I couldn't breathe,' she said. 'I told myself, 'It's better to die here than for them to catch me.'' Esther was barely conscious, unable to speak more than a word or two. As smoke filled the room, Biboso stayed focused on keeping her alive. She improvised a gas mask from her T-shirt, tying it around her face. She surrounded Esther with pillows and blankets, hoping to preserve a small pocket of breathable air. 'Her whole body was red,' she said. 'I even used her pants to fan away the smoke. It wasn't enough.' At one point, she thought Esther had stopped breathing. 'I shook her and said, 'Esther, Bucha, shake.' But she was so quiet. She didn't move.' Biboso, now physically weakened and soaked in sweat, began losing her grip on the door. 'I peed on myself from fear. Twice,' she recalled. 'I didn't even feel it. I thought it was my last breath already.' Without Internet, electricity, or hope, Biboso placed her phone under Esther's bed and waited. Friends and Esther's family had been trying to reach her, and when connection briefly returned, she got a call from a soldier who was a friend of one of Esther's daughters. He told her it might be safe to leave – that the IDF was close. 'I trusted him,' she said. Biboso opened the window and jumped outside, hiding under a maple tree beside the house. 'I asked him where I should run – right or left – but he didn't know. I decided to go right.' What she saw next would haunt her. 'Bodies lying on the floor. Burned cars. I couldn't go. I dropped my phone next to a dead body. I picked it up and ran back.' Too shaken to continue, she returned to the safe room. After more than seven hours of hiding, the IDF finally reached them. Esther had to be rushed to the hospital due to smoke inhalation. Biboso, though conscious, was severely dehydrated and emotionally devastated. 'While we were driving, I saw bodies, burned cars, everything,' she said. 'That's why I have nightmares all the time.' Despite everything, Biboso never left Esther's side. 'Everyone thought we were dead,' she said. 'I thought no one would save us – just God. So I prayed. I prayed a lot.' In the face of terror, Biboso held the line – both literally and emotionally – choosing courage over flight, and care over fear. 'I don't know how I did it,' she said. 'But I did. For Esther.' Filipino caregiver Paul Vincent Castelvi was killed on October 7 – his son was born weeks later. On the night of October 6, Castelvi, 42, was full of pride. He had just assembled a crib and stroller in anticipation of his baby boy's arrival. Smiling, he sent a selfie to his wife, Jovelle 'Bell' Santiago, back in the Philippines. 'He was so proud and happy that he already built it and it was ready for our son's arrival,' she recalled. The Kipnis family, for whom he'd worked as a caregiver and extended family member, had gifted him a ticket back to the Philippines for Christmas of that year, according to a Thai news outlet citing Paul's father, Lourdines. Little could anyone have known, the events of the following morning would drastically change those plans. The next morning, October 7, sirens blared across Israel as Hamas terrorists launched an unprecedented assault on Israeli communities near Gaza. Castelvi, a caregiver working in Kibbutz Be'eri, messaged Jovelle to say he was already in the bomb shelter with the couple he worked for, Eviatar and Lilach Kipnis. Eviatar was badly injured in a bike accident nearly a decade prior and had developed an autoimmune disease, leaving him in a wheelchair. He urged her to stay calm: 'Try and relax and not to worry – God will never leave us alone.' At 9:30 a.m., Castelvi sent what would be his final message. Hours passed with no reply to his wife's repeated calls and texts. 'I thought there was no signal in the bomb shelter,' she said. 'But time passed, and it was already afternoon – and he didn't reply.' Castelvi, along with Eviatar and Lilach, was murdered that morning in the terror attack. Castelvi was declared dead, and his body was recovered in the nearby Be'eri Forest. Eviatar was found dead on October 17, and Lilach was found dead on October 23. A month later, Jovelle gave birth to their son – a child Castelvi never got to meet – bearing the name of his father in his memory. Now a widow and single mother, Jovelle continues to speak about her husband with love and quiet strength. 'I'm still hoping this is just a dream, a nightmare – that I'm living alone now, without my husband,' she said. 'A widow, and left with our son – a son that Paul was never given a chance to meet.' She described Castelvi as a gentle, selfless man. 'Paul, my husband, was a very good man – a good provider for the family, a good son, and a good husband.' Castelvi was also the family's primary breadwinner, according to his parents. He sent much of his income back home to support his parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews financially. Though overwhelmed by grief, Jovelle is determined to raise their child in his father's image. 'For our son, little Paul, I will be strong and brave to raise him.' Jovelle also remembered Castelvi's employers, Eviatar and Lilach, who had embraced the young couple as family. 'They were great people,' she said. 'They were excited to meet our son, and that I would come to Be'eri for my maternity leave. They made us – both Paul and me – their own family.' Her tribute ended with a final farewell to her husband: 'To Paul, my love, you are always in my heart until we meet again. My greatest love, you.' Their names may never appear in history books or on national memorials, but the stories of Camille Jesalva, Monica Biboso, Paul Vincent Castelvi, and so many others are etched in the collective heart of a nation. These caregivers did more than fulfill a job description – they risked everything to uphold their promise to protect and serve the vulnerable. On October 7, when faced with terror, they responded with love. In a moment where many would have run, they stayed. They acted not as bystanders but as lifelines. Their bravery is a reminder that in the darkest of times, humanity is defined not by fear but by compassion, duty, and an unbreakable sense of purpose. ■
The Guardian
2 days ago
- General
- The Guardian
Kathy has terminal cancer and cares for her son with a profound disability. At a crisis point, his NDIS funding ran out
Next to the bed Steven Rieger spends most his life in is a framed print that says: 'This is my happy place.' For him, it is – his small room on the eastern outskirts of Melbourne is covered in Collingwood paraphernalia and basked in warm light. Steven, 37, needs round-the-clock care. He lives with cerebral palsy, is nonverbal and suffers from seizures – natural light can trigger them so he spends almost all of his time in his room. His parents are both in their 70s – his father Rodger has had several strokes and is partly deaf. His mother, Kathy, who has cared for him most of his life, is dying – her breast cancer has metastasised, spreading to her bones and brain. In March, the family lost their national disability insurance scheme (NDIS) funding, and Steven's paid carers felt obliged to work for free – the family could not cope by themselves. They had been overspending on their plan, but the family say they were underfunded for their care needs. When the money ran out they panicked. Steven's sister Kylie started a GoFundMe and Kathy rang their local member of parliament, Julian Hill. They have now been put on a plan that provides 10 hours of care a day, but they need more. 'It was almost three weeks where there was no funding,' Kathy says. 'The carers that do look after Steven were nice enough to still come in here, but they weren't getting paid. They were doing their normal shifts but without pay.' Sign up for Guardian Australia's breaking news email Advocates say participants have become collateral damage as the NDIS goes through massive changes, with many plans expiring and reviews dragging on. They say crucial funding is not getting where it needs to go. In January, Kathy had started preparing everything for the annual review of Steven's plan. As she was getting sicker she knew they needed to be funded for 15 hours of care a day. 'It was very stressful for me,' she says. 'I was getting things organised … and hoping the funding wouldn't run out, but it did. 'We started calling NDIS a few weeks before this funding was going to run out, and they said it wouldn't run out. They said they would escalate [the case] every time.' The family say they now owe around $15,000 to carers for the three weeks of work. Twice a day, Steven is lifted into a chair and fed through a drip. El Gibbs, CEO of the Disability Advocates Network Australia, says the NDIS is delaying plan renewals for so long, people run out of personal funds. 'We had a meeting a few weeks ago, and all our members reported a 50% or more increase in their waiting list for help with AAT [administrative appeals tribunal] appeals, where people with disability and their families are fighting for the support that they need,' Gibbs says. Under the changes, NDIS plans are meant to automatically continue if the review has not taken place yet. Because the Riegers were asking to increase Steven's care hours, their plan ran out. The last quarterly reports show an increase in participants taking their review decision to the AAT, with the number of new cases as a proportion of active participants increasing from 0.66% in the March 2023 quarter to 1.05% in the March 2025 quarter. Gibbs says the delays mean people in crisis are falling through the cracks, as is the case for the Riegers – Steven's funding running out while Kathy is dying worsens the family's situation. Sign up to Breaking News Australia Get the most important news as it breaks after newsletter promotion 'Our disability support system has to be able to meet them where they are,' Gibbs says. 'If a family goes through a crisis, and informal supports aren't there any more then, of course, the NDIS needs to step in and do it quickly and make sure a terrible situation isn't made harder.' Gibbs says vulnerable families should not be accruing debt to get the right care and the massive reforms to the NDIS need to be more clearly communicated. 'At the moment, the changes are often rushed and harsh, and the communication about them isn't clear to people with disability, to families, to support coordinators,' she says. 'So it is really hard for everyone to understand what is happening and to have a clear pathway about what comes next.' A spokesperson for the National Disability Insurance Agency said its priority was 'ensuring every participant, like Steven, has access to the disability-related supports they require'. 'The agency continues to work with Steven and his parents regarding his future needs. 'When a participant's circumstances change a request for an early plan reassessment can be requested. The agency cannot make decisions to change a participant's plan without being provided appropriate evidence.' Jenny McAllister, the minister for the NDIS, was contacted for comment. An occupational therapist report to possibly increase Steven's care to 15 hours a day is set for three weeks' time, but Kathy is struggling. 'I physically can't care for Steven any more,' she says. 'With extremely high needs like Steven's, there shouldn't be a review in their plan. They're not going to get better. There's no change. 'They're not going to wake up one day and go, 'Oh, hi Mum, I'm all good. I'm going to work now.''
CTV News
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- CTV News
CTV National News: New comedy series focuses on ‘helpful' advice for caregivers
Watch A new series takes a comedic look at some of the common pieces of advice for caregivers. CTV News Avis Favaro reports.
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Lopez: If people taking care of our elders get deported, will anyone take their place?
She rides three buses from her Panorama City home to her job as a caregiver for an 83-year-old Sherman Oaks woman with dementia, and lately she's been worrying about getting nabbed by federal agents. When I asked what she'll do if she gets deported, B., who's 60 and asked me to withhold her name, paused to compose herself. 'I don't want to cry,' she said, but losing her $19 hourly job would be devastating, because she sends money to the Philippines to support her family. The world is getting grayer each day thanks to an epic demographic wave. In California, 22% of the state's residents will be 65 and older by 2040, up by 14% from 2020. 'At a time where it seems fewer and fewer of us want to work in long-term care, the need has never been greater,' Harvard healthcare policy analyst David C. Grabowski told The Times' Emily Alpert Reyes in January. So how will millions of aging Americans be able to afford care for physical and cognitive decline, especially given President Trump's big beautiful proposed cuts to Medicaid, which covers about two-thirds of nursing home residents? And who will take care of those who don't have family members who can step up? There are no good answers at the moment. Deporting care providers might make sense if there were a plan to make the jobs more attractive to homegrown replacements, but none of us would bet a day-old doughnut on that happening. Nationally and in California, the vast majority of workers in care facilities and private settings are citizens. But employers were already having trouble recruiting and keeping staff to do jobs that are low-paying and difficult, and now Trump administration policies could further shrink the workforce. Earlier this year, the administration ordered an end to programs offering temporary protected status and work authorization, and the latest goal in Trump's crackdown on illegal immigration is to make 3,000 arrests daily. Read more: 7 million people have Alzheimer's. Why is the Trump administration derailing research? 'People are worried about the threat of deportation … but also about losing whatever job they have and being unable to secure other work,' said Aquilina Soriano Versoza, director of the Pilipino Workers Center, who estimated that roughly half of her advocacy group's members are undocumented. In the past, she said, employers didn't necessarily ask for work authorization documents, but that's changing. And she fears that given the political climate, some employers will 'feel like they have impunity to exploit workers,' many of whom are women from Southeast Asia, Africa, the Caribbean, Mexico and Latin America. That may already be happening. 'We've seen a lot of fear, and we've seen workers who no longer want to pursue their cases' when it comes to fighting wage theft, said Yvonne Medrano, an employment rights lawyer with Bet Tzedek, a legal services nonprofit. Medrano said the workers are worried that pursuing justice in the courts will expose them to greater risk of getting booted out of the country. In one case, she said, a worker was owed a final paycheck for a discontinued job, but the employer made a veiled threat, warning that showing up to retrieve it could be costly. Given the hostile environment, some workers are giving up and going home. 'We've seen an increase in workers self-deporting,' Medrano said. Conditions for elder care workers were bleak enough before Trump took office. Two years ago, I met with documented and undocumented caregivers and although they're in the healthcare business, some of them didn't have health insurance for themselves. Read more: They take care of aging adults, live in cramped quarters and make less than minimum wage I met with a cancer survivor and caregiver who was renting a converted garage without a kitchen. And I visited an apartment in Panorama City where Josephine Biclar, in her early 70s, was struggling with knee and shoulder injuries while still working as a caregiver. Biclar was sharing a cramped studio with two other caregivers. They used room dividers to carve their space into sleeping quarters. When I checked with Biclar this week, she said four women now share the same space. All of them have legal status, but because of low wages and the high cost of housing, along with the burden of supporting families abroad, they can't afford better living arrangements. B. and another care provider share a single room, at a cost of $400 apiece, from a homeowner in Panorama City. B. said her commute takes more than an hour each way, and during her nine-hour shift, her duties for her 83-year-old client include cooking, feeding and bathing. She's only working three days a week at the moment and said additional jobs are hard to come by given her status and the immigration crackdown. She was upset that for the last two months, she couldn't afford to send any money home. Retired UCLA scholar Fernando Torres-Gil, who served as President Clinton's assistant secretary on aging, said 'fear and chaos' in the elder care industry are not likely to end during this presidential administration. And given budget constraints, California will be hard-pressed to do more for caregivers and those who need care. But he thinks the growing crisis could eventually lead to an awakening. 'We're going to see more and more older folks without long-term care,' Torres-Gil said. 'Hopefully, Democrats and Republicans will get away from talking about open borders and talk about selective immigration' that serves the country's economic and social needs. The U.S. is not aging alone, Torres-Gil pointed out. The same demographic shifts and healthcare needs are hitting the rest of the world, and other countries may open their doors to workers the U.S. sends packing. 'As more baby boomers' join the ranks of those who need help, he said, 'we might finally understand we need some kind of leadership.' It's hard not to be cynical these days, but I'd like to think he's onto something. Meanwhile, I'm following leads and working different angles on this topic. If you're having trouble finding or paying for care, or if you're on the front lines as a provider, I'm hoping you will drop me a line. Sign up for Essential California for news, features and recommendations from the L.A. Times and beyond in your inbox six days a week. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.
