What I Wish I Knew Before Moving My Parent Into a Nursing Home
There’s a moment when you realize the roles have shifted. The person who once cared for you—drove you to school, made your lunches, paid your bills—is now the one who needs help brushing their teeth or remembering what day it is. You do your research. You ask around. You tour the facilities with a polite smile and a knot in your stomach. And then, somehow, you sign the paperwork.
You tell yourself it’s the right decision. Maybe it is. But what you’re not ready for is the weight of the doubt that follows. The quiet questions that creep in afterward—did I miss something? Did I ask enough? Did I look closely enough?
There are things I wish I had known back then. Not to change the decision entirely, but to ease some of the guilt and give my parent a better experience than the one we ended up with.
You’re Not Just Choosing a Facility — You’re Choosing a Team
The brochures highlight garden views, daily activities, fresh meals, and private rooms. What they don’t highlight—at least not clearly—is the heartbeat of the place: the people doing the actual care.
It’s the nurse who takes an extra second to adjust a pillow. The aide who notices your dad hasn’t finished his water. The night staff who doesn’t brush off a call button just because it’s 2 a.m. Those are the people who matter most.
What I wish I had asked wasn’t how new the furniture was or how often they hosted bingo. I wish I’d asked: How long have your staff been here? Do residents get assigned consistent caregivers? What happens when someone is short-staffed?
The people caring for your parent are the ones who will notice when something is off, or not notice at all. That difference can mean everything.
“Little Things” Aren’t Little (Trust Your Gut)
At first, it looked like nothing—a pink spot just above the waistband of my dad’s pajama pants. He brushed it off. The nurse referred to it as “minor skin irritation.” I wanted to believe it was nothing. He hated it when I made a fuss, and I didn’t want to be the daughter who hovered and questioned every little thing. So I let it go.
A few days later, I noticed he was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. The spot hadn’t healed—it had worsened. It was darker now and tender to the touch. He winced when I helped him adjust his blanket. I mentioned it again. The response was vague. “We’re keeping an eye on it,” they said.
By the end of the week, what started as a small red mark had turned into an open sore.
I didn’t know then what I know now—that pressure injuries, or bedsores, can develop quickly when someone isn’t being properly repositioned or monitored. They’re not just uncomfortable. They’re dangerous. And in many cases, they’re preventable.
Seeing that wound on my father’s skin felt like failure. I had trusted a place to care for him the way I would, and they didn’t. That’s when I started looking into our options. I spoke with a bed sore lawyer to understand if this was neglect, and what steps we could take—not just for my dad, but to help make sure the same thing didn’t happen to someone else’s parent.
I wasn’t looking for a legal battle. I was looking for someone who could help me stand up for him when I wasn’t there to do it myself.
If something feels off, speak up. Ask again. Ask louder. Don’t let politeness override your instincts. That quiet discomfort? That “little thing”? It might be the only warning you get.
Ask These Questions — Before It’s Too Late
When you’re choosing a nursing home, it’s easy to focus on the logistics—location, cost, availability. But what you really need is a deeper look into how care is delivered day to day. And no one hands you that checklist when you walk through the door.
I wish I’d known what to ask beyond the surface-level tour script. Here are the questions I’d ask now:
- How often are residents turned or repositioned, especially if they’re immobile?
- What’s your policy when a bedsore is discovered? Who’s notified, and how soon?
- How many caregivers are on each shift, and how many residents does each one oversee?
- Are family members allowed to access care notes or daily logs?
- What kind of training does staff receive around elder skin care and mobility risks?
It’s easy to assume these things are being handled. But assumptions are dangerous when your loved one’s well-being depends on someone else paying attention. You don’t have to walk in with a clipboard—but you do have the right to get clear, confident answers.
Advocate Like You Would for Your Child
There’s a switch that flips when you become a caregiver. The tenderness is still there, but so is a new kind of edge—one sharpened by watching someone you love become vulnerable in ways you never imagined.
At first, I hesitated to speak up. I didn’t want to offend the staff or come across as difficult. But the people who receive the best care are often those with someone watching closely, asking questions, and following up.
It reminded me of parenting. You wouldn’t let a teacher brush off your child’s needs with a vague answer. You’d press. You’d advocate. You’d show up and stay involved because you know your child better than anyone else, and you’re not afraid to speak for them when they can’t speak for themselves.
Our parents deserve that same energy. They may not say when something hurts, or they might not remember how long it’s been since someone helped them out of bed. That doesn’t mean everything’s fine. It just means you have to pay attention, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Being kind and being firm aren’t opposites. You can show compassion while still demanding answers. Sometimes, love means standing your ground.
You’re Allowed to Change Your Mind
One of the hardest parts of this process is realizing that a decision you made with love and care might not have been the right one. You did your best. You asked the questions. You trusted what you were told. And still, things can go wrong.
If the care isn’t what was promised, you’re allowed to reevaluate. You’re allowed to move your parent to a different facility. You’re allowed to ask hard questions, file complaints, and hold people accountable.
We didn’t know that at first. We thought we had to “wait it out” or “be patient.” But elder care isn’t something you can afford to wait on. Delayed care can mean real harm.
There are resources out there—ones I wish we’d found sooner. The National Institute on Aging provides a practical guide for selecting a nursing home, including key considerations and questions to ask. I wish I’d had that list in my hand during our first tour. I wish I’d known that being the squeaky wheel isn’t something to feel bad about. It’s what protects the people we love.
Making a change doesn’t mean you failed. It means you’re paying attention—and that matters.
Conclusion: Do the Best You Can — and Keep Learning
You won’t get everything right. You’ll miss signs. You’ll trust people who don’t earn it. You’ll feel guilty about things that were never fully in your control. But care decisions are complicated, even when made with love and good intentions.
If you’re somewhere in the middle of this right now—touring facilities, second-guessing choices, or losing sleep over what you might’ve missed—you’re not alone. These choices stretch you. They humble you. And they teach you how to keep showing up even when your heart feels completely spent.
There’s grace in doing the best you can with what you know at the time. And there’s strength in learning as you go. Small decisions—like asking one more question or speaking up when something feels off—can shift the outcome in quiet yet important ways. And in the moments when care feels overwhelming, understanding the role of transitional care in aging can offer a clearer path forward, both for your loved one and for yourself.
