.jpg)
I was a caregiver in a nursing home for 18 years and it taught me many things. I'm quite sure it is one of the most difficult jobs in the world, at least the way we do it in this country. It taught me time management, and organization. It taught me how to manage
ridiculously small paychecks. It taught me how to triage and how to let things
go I had no control of. It taught me team work, and leadership, but most importantly it taught me empathy, respect, and
tolerance.
During those 18 years, I took care of many types of people.
Adventurers, homemakers, professionals, rich, poor, Christians, Atheist, drug
addicts, alcoholics and everything in-between. All patients were due the same
respect and the same level of care, regardless of their background. As a caregiver my job was not to judge for
past miss-steps someone may have made, or the way they chose to live their
lives. To do my job to its highest level I had to set judgment aside. Caregivers become quite good at this.
Empathy was very important, many of these people were at the
end of their lives, or had lost so much control over their lives that they were
angry and/or sad. They often could not complete the most basic tasks we all take for granted, and were in physical and mental pain. I was bitten, scratched, hit and called names. I chose for quite a few years to work in the special needs unit, where this behavior would dominate the daily routine, because I knew, a patient and steady hand was in need. I was not perfect but I did the best I could. It was
confusion and lack of control over their lives that caused many of these
patients to act out in this way. It was not about me. I would like to think I
carried this lesson beyond the workplace. It is very hard not to react to
others negative actions, but rarely is it about you.
I have many memorable moments and people from that period of
my life and one story has come up for me on multiple occasions. One of the
patients I cared for, for several years was an elderly woman with Alzheimers.
She has lost her ability to walk, use the bathroom, feed herself; basically she
relied on her caregivers for all of her basic needs. No one had heard her speak
for years.
One morning, after feeding her breakfast I wheeled her back
to her room. As usual, I faced her to the window, opened the shades so she
could look outside, and tucked a blanket around her lap. Probably uttering a
few polite words such as “here’s your blanket.” And “let me open the window for
you” As I turned to leave the room I heard a voice say “Thank you.” I was stopped
in my tracks. This woman had never before uttered a word to me. Of course I
went back to her, told her she was welcome, but her moment of lucidity was gone.
It was a poignant reminder that she was still there, still worthy of care and
respect, and still alive. It still gives me goosebumps.
I had many patients I was close with. A tiny little Catholic
man with 10 children who couldn't figure out for the life of him how I could be
married and have no children. (I had none at the time) He always had a mischievous glint in his eye when
he teased me about this.
And then there was the Aids patient, many years ago when
fear of aids was very high. He was on a section that one of my co workers
worked, one day I observed her putting on a full sleeved gown, two pairs of
gloves, and a mask, so I asked her if he was bleeding and did she need help.
She said no, she just needed to check his blood pressure. I stopped her right there
and said she could take one of my patients I would take over his care. I have
no idea the last time someone had come into his room without a full hazmat
outfit on. He must have felt inhuman and probably missed human touch very much.
A particularly touching moment is when I brought my firstborn baby into the home to visit the patients. There was a woman dying of cancer, who also happened to be a grandmother of someone I had gone to school with. Recognizing me, her daughter asked me if I would please bring the baby to see her mother. I brought the baby to the old womans bedside full of pride and love, and the woman reached out to touch him and began to cry. She held his little hand and said "this makes all okay, I must go to make room for this new soul" I can assure you there was not a dry eye in that room that day.
A particularly touching moment is when I brought my firstborn baby into the home to visit the patients. There was a woman dying of cancer, who also happened to be a grandmother of someone I had gone to school with. Recognizing me, her daughter asked me if I would please bring the baby to see her mother. I brought the baby to the old womans bedside full of pride and love, and the woman reached out to touch him and began to cry. She held his little hand and said "this makes all okay, I must go to make room for this new soul" I can assure you there was not a dry eye in that room that day.
I worked very hard, broke down my body, had daily emotional
struggles trying to meet the needs of so many. Some days I cried with frustration
and anger at how we provide for our sick and elderly. But many days I laughed,
and loved and was fulfilled by the knowledge I was doing good in the world. The
moments I was thanked by family at the bed of a dying patient, or pulled aside
and told “mom really likes you, thank you for caring”, More than made up for
the bad days. And I highly value the lessons and strengths I gleaned from that
experience as a caregiver. It humbled me in face of humanity, and as cliché as
it sounds we ARE all one. Life is not easy, or fair but there’s no need to make
it harder by judging harshly or defining yourself by others actions. More compassion and less judgement will make for a much better world to live in.
