Usually, it seems, when you read an article about nursing homes, it is a sensational expose pointing out residents who are barely cared for by a callous or overworked staff. You read about oversedation, abuse, and huge profits made at the expense of adequate care. Certainly untrustworthy homes should be taken to task, but credit also ought to be given where credit is due.

My father has lived in the Caribou Nursing Home for six years. He was not dumped there but chose the place himself when he realized he couldn’t live alone anymore, didn’t want to move in with relatives, and needed more care than the excellent Bangor retirement home (Phillips-Strickland) he had first moved into could offer. The Caribou home was chosen because he comes from northern Maine and has friends and three very caring nieces and their families there.

Inevitably when you move into a nursing home and many or most functions that in the past you have done for yourself have to be done by others, you lose some of your dignity and, perhaps, self-respect. What I have especially appreciated about the Caribou staff is that they have done everything they can to preserve my father’s dignity. He is treated very much like an individual and his opinions and desires and eccentricites are respected.

I don’t know how typical the Caribou Nursing Home is; it may be one of the better institutions. Anyway, both my father and I are pleased with the care and I have never heard one complaint from him about anything substantial. What I would like to do here is list some examples of the actions and attitudes that have been especially pleasing and that I would bet many nursing homes offer in greater or lesser degree. If they don’t, they should and could.

Some actions are done because regulations require them: Every three months all staff members involved with my father have a conference to compare notes on his needs. One of my cousins or I am always invited to attend, and what I come out of these sessions with is an assurance that the staff has a good understanding of my father.

But the responsibility of informing me about his needs goes well beyond the legal requirements. I am always notified if there is a health problem. I am also apt to get long-distance calls from the social worker if my father needs new trousers. Last fall when his television stopped working, I was informed that the set from the nurses’ lounge would be put into his room and the staff would get his set to a repair shop. Eventually, I had to buy a new set, but myf ather never had to go without one during the entire two-month period. When his electric razor stopped working, the same process occurred: The social worker called and said she would get it to a shop and loan him one. A nurse volunteered to pick it up when it was fixed.

What my father especially appreciates is the individual attention he gets in addition to the required jobs of helping him get organized in the morning, bathed, provided with meals, and readied for bed at night.

My father spends much of his time reading. He is not interested in social activities and, after initial attempts when he first moved in, the staff has not pushed him into situations he would not enjoy. Often the nurses stop to ask about what he is reading or chat if they have read the same book. Last Christmas two nurses gave him a set of Louis L’Amour westerns because they knew that was the genre he liked best. Others bring books he can borrow.

My father’s bulletin board contains mostly photographs of his family. It also contains photos of nurses’ children, many of whom have been brought in to meet him. It contains Christmas cards from staff members. Whenever he has a birthday there is a large and personalized congratulatory poster for his wall.

I assume there are aspects of the home that bother my father; after all, few people really want to be in an institution. Still, the complaints have been very few and only on minor matters. Though he has never been a whiner, he seems to be content. When I walk down a corridor at the home, I can talk to any staff member I meet and he or she will know who my father is, his likes and dislikes, and what his condition is at the moment. For me, that is the best test of how well the institution operates.

What impresses me as I walk the corridor is the large number of nurses and other staff members standing in doorways to chat with residents or sitting beside them and holding their hands. I see nurses helping patients to walk the corridor, use a pay phone, or wheel their chairs. Some patients are noisy or continually ask the same question for an hour at a time; I have never seen a nurse show impatience even though she must feel it at times. What I have seen are reasurring pats on shoulders or sometimes answers given as nurses walk by even though they know the resident won’t remember them.

I’m sure not all nursing homes live up to the Caribou standard. Presumably there are homes that are interested only in getting as much money as possible for as little service as they can offer. But I would bet that the majority of homes operate as close as they can to the standard of my father’s place, that there are a lot of caring staff members in them.

When my father first entered the home, he was able to pay the monthly fees from his own savings. Nursing homes are expensive and eventually most of his savings was used up. Then the government, leaving him a certain amount in his checking account, took over to make up what his pension and Social Security would not cover. The government does not pay as much as a private patient, yet there has been absolutely no difference in the care or attitude he received.

In his present condition, I think, my father is very lucky to be in a nursing home. Robert N. Kirk is a resident of Old Town.