I told y'all I'd be back to haunt your inter web space.
So, I'll catch you up a bit.
Working in memory care is a constant challenge-reward vortex. I am absolutely people-and-emotion-and-physically-exhausted at the end of every work day, yet when I get a day off, I find myself wanting to pop into work to see my residents and make sure everything is going smoothly. (Plus I secretly enjoy coming into work wearing what I like to call "people clothes," aka non-scrubs. I recently was at the grocery store and recognized one of my nurses in the same aisle as I was... I debated whether or not to blurt the first hello, but it entertained me that a few glances were exchanged between us with no apparent recognition on his side. I opted to keep the amusement of my anonymous existence outside of my scrubs to myself.)
Today, I walked into work, and one of my residents ( and yea ok, we are never supposed to have favorites, but this little number and I had a golden connection from day one) who I am convinced, despite her inability to express herself in a lucid manner most of the time (she is almost CONSTANT chatter, it's amazing, she is the energizer bunny of mostly gibberish conversation) knows my face and responds to my way of caring for her beautifully, saw me and said clear as day, "OH! hey you you you! Hi! Oh you, I like you!" Couple this with the sweetest, almost childlike, clingy hug from her, and I was butter. This is the same woman who most people had given up trying to toilet or shower because she retaliated so physically aggressively, but for some reason, I hit home with her. For months, I was the only one who could get her in the shower, much less onto the toilet without her beating me up. ( I will admit, I have had proof of her feistiness in the form of scratches and admittedly ugly bruises, but at the end of the day, and after almost a year, she knows my face, and she knows my voice, and she trusts me) She seeks me out for hugs and in her gibberish tells me all the things she is thinking and I sit with her at the piano, and somehow, some way the former pianist in her emerges, and I am sometimes fortunate enough to hear her play something almost flawless, always beautiful. This, folks, is why I can show up to work every day and not be mad about it. I am so, absolutely, totally in love with my sweet residents. They all still have a mind, and in my opinion, it just doesn't cooperate with them sometimes. This may sound naiive, but when you catch the lucid moments from the people you are CONVINCED can't make any sense of things, you are humbled and really realize that you're caring for your elders, adults, people who absolutely still expect to be treated with dignity and kindness and respect. It kills me when I hear people talking about my residents right in front of them. Like they can't process. I thin they can hear and process way more than they can output or express. Just an opinion. But I try to talk to all of my residents (even though in my heart, they are all my babies) just as they are-- my elders, accomplished people, and fellow conversationalists. Even if a resident has silly, gibberish speech, or is slow to respond or doesn't make sense, I talk to them like I would to my boyfriend, my mother, my dad, my friend. They deserve normal speech, after all, they have like 50,60,70 years of life experience on my ass. I respect that shit.
There was a day a few weeks ago when I had to send one of my coworkers with my debit card to walmart to grab me a new pair of scrub pants because mine had just been splattered to the knees with someone's poop. I have photographic proof, but no one would appreciate that.
I have a deep, healing, yet purple bruise on my left upper arm from a tiny 89 year old lady who pinched me so hard that my eyes watered. when I finally had her in bed, she thanked me and apologized if "she said anything offensive." Close enough. Remind me to trim her nails.
I have a resident that, maybe 30 years ago, was a registered nurse. Sometimes the only way I can get her to settle into her room for the night is by telling her that it's the hospital on-call room, and that she's had a long shift and that I made sure she has somewhere to rest. She is so grateful that I made the on-call room up so nicely for her, and I sure her that someone will make sure to wake her up for rounds in the morning.
Have I mentioned that it's three in the morning and I have insomnia? Oh shoot, it's almost 4. I have to stop and pick this up later. Until then, here's to another post on the little blog that could.
