I hereby interrupt this posting lull with breaking news! I am back and determined to keep this little-blog-that-could alive.
I don't know where I left you, but I haven't the focus to zero-in on the wheres and whens, so I'm probably gonna skip a few chapters of my life since I last posted. I will, however, give you a certified and abridged synopsis of my goings-on since I finished my latest semester of Nursing school in May.
Here goes.
Being back in Virginia from January-May was a complete whirlwind of surreality. School felt odd, and I felt old jumping back into the mix. I was surrounded by wide eyed, energetic true sophomores who whispered about their fake IDs and clubbing stories during Microbiology lab. Having taken a 3.5 year break, I felt a huge maturity rift between most of my classmates and myself. It both helped and hurt me. Commuting was a blessing and a curse-- blessing because I operated on my own terms and could come and go as I pleased, curse because I had less time truly "being" on campus and cultivating working relationships with classmates... study buddies are extra helpful in nursing school, and I had few. I was lonely, yet determined. In sum, I did really well in all of my classes. I ended up having to make up a clinical at the end of the term because I missed the first one [because my chicken pox titer (fancy word for making sure I've already had the virus) wasn't back from the lab yet. So, so lame.]. Due to unforeseen stomach trouble resulting in my inability to leave the house, I was an hour late to my clinical make-up, resulting in my automatic failure for the course, clinical and lecture. I appealed, contended, did everything I could, but it was futile. I got an F on my transcript because of a rebellious GI tract, folks! in short, failing that course essentially set me back a full year in the program because it's only offered in the spring. I was disheartened and disbelieved, but there it is. It sucked. It still kinda sucks. I can't help but wonder what life would be like if I had just stayed at school before I left the first time, stuck it out for the full four years and graduated on time. Then I stop myself and realize I wouldn't wish that for the world because so much LIFE and learning and skills have been learned because I left initially, and the fact that I received that F may have been just another weird blessing in disguise. I am so happy that I am not at school in Virginia right now.
I moved back to good old South Bend in May. I went with my boyfriend Stephen to his brother's wedding in Bloomington and it was one of the best weekends I have ever had.
Oh, yeah, Stephen is here. and it's the best. he is a constant reminder that God is in it for me to win at life. Cause Stephen is a total winner. (enter all the extra mushy lovey dovey emotional stuff.)
I resumed my job in home care and met some of the most wise and amazing old people and got to take care of them. They encouraged me, shared their lives and their families with me, told me I was going to do great things, and left a lasting effect on me. Two of them passed, leaving me not knowing how to deal with the loss. I work in healthcare, I deal with loss all the time. People die, it's the finish line of natural progression. But something stops me every time and my breath catches-- each loss feels new. There has never been one person I am less sad or heartbroken about being gone than another. Each one feels new and exactly as difficult. I realize it is because I spend my heart on the people I care for. I actually cannot help it. I am wired this way. For a time, I was tormented by these losses, inconsolable, actually. I felt like I was in a tunnel that had no end. I continually spent my emotions and heart and mind and physical energy on people that just end up dying. Why is it worth my time?? Why is it worth the grief I go through, or giving so much of myself to someone who may very well not even recognize me the next day? Why do I put myself through this?! Then I got some words of wisdom. Some of them from Stephen, bless his heart, and some through prayer-- It makes a difference. I make a difference. A specific difference in specific lives, all the time, throughout my day every day. I once told someone that I'm a CNA (certified nurse's assistant) and they replied with, "Oh, so you're basically wiping ass for a living... like a professional ass-wiper!" I don't recall how I responded at the time, probably something insecure/masked with sarcastic whatevers, but in retrospect, I want to go back and correct that person and set them straight. Yes, I spend a lot of my day helping old people go potty. Yep, that includes wiping them. It also includes dressing and undressing them, bathing them, changing their sheets, doing their laundry, feeding them, tracking every time they urinate or have a bowel movement, doing their skin assessments, being kicked, slapped, pinched, cussed-out, and unappreciated by the people who can't make heads or tails of why someone has to do these things for them. But the thing is, after being slapped around (old people are STRONG, by the way, mark my words) and cussed-out and screamed at while trying to help "Jane" get her jammies on and go potty, once she's tucked in bed, she says thank you and she loves me.
So maybe thats a natural progression for me to say that I now work full time at a memory care assisted living facility!
Most every resident living there has some form of dementia. There are few exceptions. This makes for one heck of a work day! Dementia is sneaky and presents itself differently in each person via personality changes and habits. Sometimes it reveals itself in nervous ticks or repetitive questions. Sometimes it makes people consistently worried/concerned. Sometimes maternal instincts tighten and you've got 90 yr old "Jane" carrying around baby dolls because those are "her babies" and they can't be left alone in her room. Those are her actual babies. Sometimes complacency sets in, and as a caregiver, you have to figure out clever ways to communicate to a brick wall of response. You start to develop clever ways of cuing someone to stand up, walk, sit down, reach out their hand, etc. I never would have thought I could have spent 20 minutes trying to explain to someone/convince/desperately ask someone to sit down on a potty before. Oh but i have, and i do. 40 hours a week. My favorites are the ones who basically regress to childhood. They may be speaking gibberish ( and some do), but you pick up enough to know that they had bad childhood experiences and their negative reactions are prompted by certain things. You start to learn their patterns. One lady counts when she starts getting upset. Ive heard her get all the way up to 97, then she went to 11 and started back at 1. You have the 100 year old who was a medical professional and you just can't help but admire the hell out of him, even though he can't remember what he practiced. You have the 90 year old lady who was a nurse and can kinda talk about it when you prompt her but when she gets off topic, she cannot let go of the fact that "someone has been in her room and all of her things are stolen." Not one of these people are the same. Each one with different behaviors, each one affected by the same disease, if thats what you call dementia. The fact of the matter is, I get to take time to learn about the person who lives in the dementia riddled body. I have every reason to believe that they know exactly who they are, their bodies just cannot cooperate with them. It's heartbreaking, tough work. But the times when you catch someone in a lucid moment and they tell you that you're beautiful, ask you if you are married and have kids, if not they'll pray one day you will, tell you stories of their lives and childhood, impart knowledge or advice, confide in you about hardships, but most of all, when at the end of a hard day, when I feel beaten up, exhausted, sad, I hear the words "thank you" from someone whose bottom I wiped and whom I clothed in jammies and tucked into bed.
It's getting far too late and I haven't written this much in eons. for now, I guess this was part 1. God bless you if you read or followed even half of this post. I always warn you, this is my brain vomit.
Anyways, Im grateful for another day of being able to give and be given to. Nighty night.
