It’s four in the morning; that weirdly silent time on a quiet night. In the daylight, with it’s harsh noises and exuberant colors awash by the sun, quietness can be a welcome respite from an over anxious world. In the light, those still, soft moments cushion the edges of life with soft downy thoughts full of possibilities and hope. In the darkness, the mind is different.
The night holds its own haunting beauty. Quiet on top of quiet in the world when most are dreaming. The landscape both in front of me and in my mind is very different in the shadows and at four in the morning, sometimes the shadows have teeth. Sometimes the stillness is lonely and my mind drifts down paths better left alone. And there is really nothing that can be done about it. Attempting to ignore my mind’s ghostly whispers at four in the morning is every bit as effective as telling a curious ten year old to not push a big red button. So I ride it out.
I read somewhere that the sign of a rational mind is the ability to entertain a thought without accepting it. I take great peace in that when my traitor brain decides to have a house party with all of my fears and insecurities. I’m just entertaining obnoxious guests for an evening. They damn sure aren’t moving in.
I have an idea! Let’s count all the people you’ve known and loved in recovery and as a caregiver who have died. Let’s not. You are so far behind where you should be in life. Maybe. But I’m not where I was either. Working the graveyard shift is going to give you a fat ass. Just more of me to love. You’re going to fail. Definitely. A lot. Major, epic fails. There is so much I want to do and explore in this life that failure is a statistical certainty. I accept that. I’m okay with it. I’m not afraid of failure because I’ve learned the most from my biggest mistakes. You are too much and not enough at the same time. I don’t even know what that one means…and I realized, as my mind decided to be a total ass for no fathomable reason, that there was nothing it could throw at me that would stick. Even at this hour, underneath the utterly predictable and surface level fear was the deeper awareness that I am comfortable in my own skin and am incredibly happy with every aspect of my life that matters. Mine has not been the smoothest of paths and I have certainly not been the most graceful of hikers, but I like to think I’ve learned from it all. I refuse to spit in the face of my happiest moments by fearing the loss of them.
It may be hard to remember that at 4:00AM, but at 5:00 AM the very best and bravest reminders of this truth begin to wake up and it is no longer quiet on the hall. Once again, it’s time to get to get back to the work that brings such purpose to my life. As dawn broke and the day ended for me as it began for others, I said a silent prayer of thanks that, for now anyway, the night whispers had empowered me with moments of clarity rather than embittered me with self pity and fear and when I clocked out, I did so with a smile and confidence.
Working the graveyard shift on a memory care unit…there really are no adequate words to describe the experience. In many ways, it’s the most challenging experience I’ve ever had in this field. I have twelve residents on my hall and on any given shift there are four to six that won’t sleep. It’s a crapshoot whether it will be an all night dance party full of fun or a nightmarish landscape over which I have little control. Mostly, it’s some combination of the two.
“I think I’m dead.”
“You’re not dead.”
“I might be.”
“ You’re not.”
“Ok. If you say so.”….I have that exchange at least once a week. This particular resident is very matter of fact about the whole idea that she might be a ghost, as if she finally figured out why her life has become so strange and unrecognizable. Death, however final, at least made some sense to her. The disease that has ravaged her mind and slowly robs her of who she once was makes no sense at all. She is still in there, though. Her caustic wit cuts through her mental fog; a beam that lights brief paths to moments of clarity in which who she is underneath the Alzheimer’s disease shines through. She loves music. All kinds of music and she loves to dance. She hates tuna fish. If she doesn’t trust you, she lets you know it. She doesn’t respond well to formality, preferring warmth to surface level pleasantries and when she laughs, it is full throated and from the soul rather than polite titters hidden modestly behind a handkerchief. This is a woman who does not bother with giggles. She laughs like she means it and I love that about her.
Those are the moments that I hold onto when the bad nights come; when my people wander in the darkest hours of the night, confused and afraid. When she is having a difficult night, she doesn’t sleep.
“I’m frightened!”, she tells me. Eight hours straight of I’m frightened. And when I’m on a round and out of her sight that fright turns to panic until I am finished helping another resident and she can lay eyes on me again. The best I can do to help her through those nights is to continuously remind her of who she is; that she hates tuna fish and loves music and loves to dance. That helps some, for a little while…but I have eleven other residents who also need me and when three or four of them are having a difficult night at the same time I feel like I’m drowning in my own powerlessness. I can’t cure dementia. I can’t bring back dead mothers or lost dogs from their childhood. In the light of day, with the activity and structure of the daily routines, redirecting is much easier. At three in the morning, it is much more difficult to escape the ghosts of the mind. That’s true for me, so I can’t imagine how hard it is for them.
When I first started on this hall, those shifts were so emotionally exhausting that by the time I punched out, I was feeling something very close to despair. I do not do despair very well. I haven’t for a very long time. Despair leads to giving up and that is quite simply not an option. Besides, those were only the shifts when it seemed that everyone was having a bad night at once and as painful as they were for me, it was exponentially worse for those in my care who were actually living through it.
So much of this field is trial and error. I decided to go back to my basics; ideas and tools I learned years ago when I worked in memory care on first shift. The hours are different and as are the mental state of those in my care but certain truths transcend from day to night. Consistency is always vital in memory care. If I say I’m going to do something, I follow through. I learned my residents, their patterns and preferences and the best night time bathroom times for each one individually and developed my routine. I keep it consistent but flexible. I work around them. If a lot of my folks are restless, I have a midnight snack party and play calming music. My night owls like Law and Order. It’s funny…the can’t follow the show but they seem to remember enjoying it and that’s enough. All of this has helped a great deal.
Of course there are still really tough shifts when events seem to snowball, but they are less frequent and I am better able to deal with them. One of my favorite aspects of my work is that in order to be most effective, I have to learn continuously. Anyone who says differently isn’t doing it right. I have been blessed with the support of those who love me most, both in and out of the field. It is impossible to give up when surrounded by people who believe in you. I walk in the footsteps of those caregivers who trudged the path before me and passed on what they know. At the end of the day, good or bad shift, daylight or in the still of the night, I love what we do. I love writing about what we do. I love that I see the value in what we do and I love those in our care for whom we do it.
I wanted to write about memory care. I really did, about how it feels to come full circle and how much I love the challenge of constantly adapting but that post is going to have to wait. As much as I would LIKE to write about my new job assignment, I feel COMPELLED to tackle a different topic: bullying. On the surface, it seems a simple enough problem to discuss. Don’t be a jerk. ‘Nough said…except that as with so many other issues, bullying is a deeply rooted systemic problem that will never be solved without an open and honest examination of how and what it truly means.
Most work places have a zero tolerance policy for physical conflict. That’s a pretty low baseline. I’ve never actually met anyone who showed up for work one day and randomly started punching people, so as far as I can tell that is a cover your ass policy that does little to nothing to curb the problem. If things have gotten so bad that there has to be a no punching rule then somebody has dropped the ball somewhere.
Did you hear?…Well, First shift…If second shift…the new girl…How many conversations start like that? It catches faster than a forest fire and suddenly everyone is angry over something they heard second or third hand. Everyone gets in on the action, morale goes down, quality of care goes down, communication becomes petty and useless and I feel like I’m in fifth grade again. It’s ridiculous and I am over it.
It’s modeled behavior. Supervisors act as if they are confused as to why there is chaos on the floor. It’s baffling. Of course there is dysfunction on the floor because there’s dysfunction in the office. I have yet to work in a facility where I didn’t know exactly how the supervisors felt about each other; where I didn’t know which caregivers were favored on which shift. It’s impossible not to hear the claptrap. This along with an inconsistent application of consequences inevitably causes resentments. If management doesn’t hold themselves to a higher standard, why would they expect it from those who work under them?
It’s not just caregivers that are on the receiving end either. New supervisors come in and before they even have time to adjust, a collective snap judgement is formed by the members of management who have been there longer. Suddenly everyone from the office down is berating the new kid on the block. I have to wonder, for all the criticism regularly heaped on new people, how many senior employees have reached out their hand? How many have said, “Man, I know how tough it is to be new. I remember when I first started. I know how overwhelming it can be. If I can help you or you have any questions, just let me know”? Now THAT would be a refreshing show of true leadership. Sadly, it’s much easier to bitch about a person than it is to solve a problem.
It’s rampant in the online CNA support groups too. The helpful posts and genuine questions are often buried under posts that take unnecessary digs at other people. This co-worker is lazy. That co-worker calls out. So much of it is catty, as if one can’t feel good about themselves without putting another down. It maddening and ugly and I don’t understand the point. Unless a resident is being put in harm’s way, there are better ways to solve the day to day troubles of working with others than to engage in pettiness. Those in our care handle living with cancer, dementia, Parkinson’s, and mental illness better than some caregivers handle having to stay five minutes over or putting a trash bag in a trash can; better than some supervisors handle sharing an office. It’s a little pathetic.
The truth is, I’ve never had a problem with those from other shifts who work my hall. I do my best and respect my co-workers and in return they seem to be just fine with me. Our halls run smoother because of it and those in our care get the attention and energy that would be wasted on engaging in drama. For the most part, when I put good out I get good back and I trust my own experiences rather than the gossip that runs rampant.
Be it in the workplace or out, bullying has become an epidemic that rots the best and empowers the worst of the human experience.
It is the worst kind of groupthink and it scares me how normalized it has become in now. When did it become socially acceptable to rip another person to shreds simply for disagreeing with you. A single person behaving in such a way may hurt another’s feelings, but when it becomes groups of people tearing others down, real damage is done. It is leading us down a dangerous road at breakneck speed.
We who work in Long Term Care exist in a microcosm of the outside world. Because of this we have the ability to see the damage that collective bullying is doing on a small and intimate scale within the walls of facilities. In this world, we can do something about it. We can be helpful instead of hurtful. We can lift each other up instead of knock each other around. We can speak up, even when it’s hard, even when it is to those in charge. We can choose not to engage in toxic behavior. In doing so, we will be happier, our residents will be calmer and our co-workers will have a window into better ways of handling conflict. Maybe, just maybe, we can learn these lessons on the job and use them off the clock. We can be an example for others. After all, chaos and negativity may be contagious but so is positivity and hope. The choice is ours.
Hey you. Yes! YOU, reading this. Don’t ever allow yourself to be convinced that you are less than you are. Don’t allow anyone else to define you. You are so much bigger than your mistakes, fear, and struggles. I know you’re tired. I know you sometimes ask yourself what’s the point and I know sometimes you think your best isn’t good enough. Not one of those thoughts are true. The very fact that you are reading this post shows that you are defining your position in the world of long term care rather than allowing the system to define you. I know. That’s how this whole blog began. Two caregivers found each other online and decided it was time to let the world know what it is truly like from our perspective. We are no different than you. If we can be a part of the solution, so can you.
Step one: we have to get rid of the “I’m just” mentality. I’m just a CNA. I’m just a single mom. I’m just
a high school graduate. I’m just one person. No. You are not. You are a dynamic human being with ideas and value. Your worth is not to be measured by something as simple as a degree. You are not “just” anything. KNOWING that is the key to willingness and willingness unlocks doors you can’t even begin to imagine. Willingness produces action and action produces change.
Step two: we have to stop letting others dictate our behavior. Everyone calls out. I’m going to call out too. Right or wrong, that thinking just excuses their reasonings for our poor pay, awful work loads and disrespect. Is it fair that the best and the worst of us are treated the same? No. Hell no. But the system sees no need to change it. They treat us as disposable. We react to being treated as disposable. They use this as an excuse to continue to treat us as disposable. Collectively, we have power over this. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: mountains move from the bottom. Rome wasn’t built in a day. We need consistent and collective moves forward and that will not happen until we excel. Until WE define what we do and how well we do it. Until we become the leaders we wish we were provided, it’s going to be business as usual. We have to stop bullying. It’s a problem from the top down. I should not know what the office people think about the new nurse. But I do. It’s no different than the floor. The new kid on the block always has it rough. We can lead by example there. We can help the new workers, regardless of their position, rather than tear them apart. We can help other shifts instead of bitching about them. Having worked all shifts, I know they each have their challenges. We can not involve ourselves in malicious gossip like twelve year old mean girls. If we feel someone isn’t pulling their weight, we can discuss it with them like grown ups. We can speak up for one another when necessary and we can speak up for the residents. We do not have to get drawn into the drama, even when those in supervisory positions often seem to be the ones stirring it up. We can CHOOSE not to play ball, to respectfully decline to participate in bullshit. In doing so, we become examples for good. We show that it doesn’t take making another feel or look bad in order to look good.
Step three: Never give up. It may seem like no good can come from all this effort. I know I’ve felt that way. Press on regardless. Change happens slowly. It takes patience and sacrifice and even then, the satisfaction of seeing the outcome of all the effort isn’t guaranteed. Trust me, it makes a difference. Once, I was a whistle blower. My entire life was thrown into turmoil. I lost my job. Had to start from scratch and couldn’t see how any good came of it, but as it turned out, it wasn’t just their one facility that had glaring and dangerous violations that had gone unchecked, but several. By shining a light on one, all of them were on the radar. It was three years before I found out that my action had any impact. I was green in the field and naive at the time. Now I realize the most impactful change in this system is not an explosion but the slow and steady burn of passion that motivates this blog. The simple act of speaking your truth consistently will leave a mark. So leave your mark. Write your own piece. Email it to us for posting. Or reach out your hand to another person in this field. Teach with patience. And know we are all in this together and you are not alone.
She had a collection of clocks. Dozens of them, haphazardly placed among her other bric-a-brac. Each one was set to a different time. They were her moments. Her most momentous moments, forever frozen on the featureless faces of the unassuming time pieces. Her greatest pain and purest joys forever memorialized, never to be robbed by something as insignificant as second hand rotating repeatedly; endlessly around the same set of numbers.
She refuses to see life in phases; minutes to slip away or for which to be accounted and set aside for mundane tasks that will soon be forgotten. Her frozen clocks scream of a life that refuses to be empty and thoughtless, regardless of age. That clock holds the moment her that her love arrived. That one tells the tale of great loss and brokenness that she did not think she would survive. Each one holding a story; a defining moment of a life full of love and pain and meaning. The best moments gave her faith and hope and the most challenging and painful defined her character as they taught her. She holds every moment encapsulated in those still, quiet clocks with equal importance. For how does one appreciate joy without acknowledging pain? How does one not become embittered by pain without holding onto joy and humor?
The longer she walks in this world, the more vital those clocks become to her. In the chaos and noise, they are her truths. No one can rob her of her experience, not even time. As her wrinkles deepen and the world changes around her, she finds peace in wisdom. It may have taken her a lifetime, but she knows what matters and shares her experiences; her clock moments with others. In doing so, she is both teacher and student and remains full of curiosity despite her age. After all, as long as she still has breath, there is room for more stopped clocks. For her, that is a life well lived.
I am a person. I am not dementia. I am not diabetes. I am not simply a resident or client. I am not a care plan or a two person assist. I am not room 242 needs something for agitation.
I was a dancer. An ambassador. I fought for this country. I was a nurse. An engineer. I am a mother, son, daughter, sister. I am dying but I’m not dead yet. You make rules and say they are to protect me, and yet you don’t see me. You don’t ask me what I think. I am one more blurred face. I am one more bed filled. I am a number on a census.
Your voice and demeanor change when my family visits. Suddenly, we’re pals. Suddenly you are filled with concern but if I were to ask you how I slept last night or what my biggest fears were, or my favorite color or pet peeves, you wouldn’t know. That’s beneath your pay grade. That’s for the caregivers, if I’m lucky enough to have a good one that you doesn’t run off in search of greener pastures. And I don’t think you realize how truly demeaning it is to not be seen as an individual; how, more than anything else, the minimizing of who I am as a person to a checklist robs me of my dignity. There shouldn’t have to be a list of patient rights in order to be seen as a human being. Is there a more important rule than that? It shouldn’t be so complicated.
The higher up the food chain you are in this field the further you are removed from the people for whom it exists and the legislators making the calls are about as high up as one can get. The best way to find out how to improve the quality of life is to ask those who receive and provide the hands on care. It’s a no brainer.
Lucinda. To some, she is the manager at the super market on my corner. To others, she is the cashier, if they notice her at all. To me, she is a person with whom I interact with on a regular basis. She is a mother. She is a woman who worked from the bottom up and isn’t afraid or above hopping on a register when the store is short staffed. She is someone who managed to dig deep and find a genuine smile despite the fact that she had to show up to work after leaving the funeral of a loved one. I know this because I noticed the tracks of the tears that escaped her make up and I asked her about it. She knows my name and I know hers.
We interact with thousands of people in our lifetime. How often do we take a second to acknowledge their humanity outside of the limited role that they play in our lives? Do we see the person first or the service we expect them to provide for us,paid or otherwise?
My years as a caregiver have honed my ability to see a person beneath whatever descriptor they may hold. Quality of life is not improved by seeing a resident’s disorder before seeing them as a person. By knowing their individual personalities and preferences, I am able to provide better care and remind them that they are deeply valued as people. A person who feels worthwhile is less likely to be combative and angry. A person who knows you are a friend is more willing to trust, to be open about how they feel and less likely to feel alone and afraid. No one, myself included, wants to be seen solely as one thing. It is true on the job and it is true in the world.
Civility is slowly dying because our circles of empathy are shrinking. People view life through this filter of self. How do you and your actions affect me? We are all guilty of it. Just because I am aware of this doesn’t mean I don’t fall into that trap; that age old opera of ME ME ME ME ME when the reality is most of the time it’s not about me at all.
My work reminds me of that in thousands of ways, big and small. Those in my care manage to maintain their dignity through challenges that I can’t imagine facing. Even my most difficult and moody folks maintain the ability to occasionally laugh through constant pain. They help one another through the heartbreakingly tough days. Even those that don’t get along show each other support and notice when someone is missing from the hall. Somehow, through all of their troubles, most of them manage to smile at us and say thank you. It is impossible for me not to be humbled by that; to not strive to be just a little bit better every day at living well among other people.
We lost a resident this week. Sometimes it seems like I always see it coming but I never see it coming. I know the inevitable for the demographic with whom I work, but for me it’s always about their life. I never feel quite prepared for their death. This fellow left an impression that will stay with me for the rest of my life. A few weeks ago, I was working on his hall and saw his light on during my 2:00 AM hall check. Curious, I knocked on his door.
“Come in!”, he answered with more enthusiasm than I had at that hour. He was sitting in his recliner, listening to a book on tape as he carefully cut out a rectangle from the bottom of a square plastic cross stitch board. He had quite a stack of them piled on the side table beside him. This was no small feat as he was as close to legally blind as one could get. He explained to me that they could help the vision impaired to sign documents. Just line up the cut out rectangle above the space on which they need to sign and use the plastic as a guide for the pen. Voila! No more shaky, sloppy signatures. He asked me to hand them out to anyone I knew with poor eyesight. He went on to say that he was in a program that offered free audio books to anyone who no longer had the ability to read if I knew anyone who would be interested. I was thunderstruck with his courage. He didn’t even know he was brave and I knew instinctively that if I pointed it out, it would only make him feel uncomfortable. This was just who he was. To comment upon it as if it was an isolated event would cheapen it somehow. Still, I thought about it a lot for the next week. Here was a man who by all rights had every reason to feel sorry for himself. No one would blame him and yet there he was using his mind, creativity, compassion and his own personal struggles to make the lives of others better in a way that no one else could. It was nothing short of amazing and the fact that I was able to witness this empathy and gutsy perserverance in action was a gift that I will never take for granted. The very least I can do is get to know Lucinda; to do my best to see people beyond what roles they play in my life and what they do to me or for me. It is yet another reminder that the lessons are there. They are always there. I learn them when I become willing to see.
Business as usual. She died. No one saw it coming and it’s business as usual. And I get it. Of course I do. We work with the most vulnerable of people, most of whom are at the very end of the long race that humanity is running. Many of whom have outlasted all of their loved ones. Our job is walking with those people, hand in hand, to the end. That’s how I see it. We care for them, preserve their dignity, protect their humanity and calm their fears as the sun goes down on the incredible day that has been their life. I tell them in all the ways that I know how that the sunset is always when the light is the most beautiful and that their colors will be forever painted on my heart.
She was here when I ended my last shift and she’s gone when I came in for this shift; gone in an instant. It’s how I would like to go if given a choice; in an instant after a full long life. Still, the shock rattles my mind as I absorb the news. Loss is part of the job and there isn’t always a warning. And I know it’s business as usual because we have others in our care but can we pause?! Can I have a minute to adjust to this reality before I have to hear who didn’t do an adequate job on the hall this weekend or which other resident was disruptive?! Can I have a minute to remember my favorite moments with her before dismissing her death as just part of the gig?!
Can I have a minute before I hear, “Alice, you like an adventure, right? Want to help give a shower to an “impossible” resident”? Can I have a minute before I hear the dread in another person’s voice that a resident living with mental illness is coming back on my hall tomorrow? You say oh God. I say thank God.
I will double my hall checks tonight just to be on the safe side. I will spend extra time with my night owls. I will gladly give that shower to the impossible resident. I will smile at the many times the resident we lost made me laugh. I will appreciate others more and be deeply grateful for my own life. It’s business as usual. That doesn’t mean I ignore loss. It means I use it to enrich me as a caregiver; as a human being. It doesn’t mean I dismiss death. It means I celebrate life.
Assisted living. It brings to mind a calm and safe environment where people who need minimal assistance with the activities of daily living can reside and flourish. It’s hardly work at all. They don’t even have lifts (in theory, anyway) and because of this, the pay is less. A calm oasis, complete with shuffle board…just like in the movie Cocoon, if you will pardon the dated reference. In my experience, the reality could not be farther than that mental image.
The state in which I live has cut so much funding for mental health that there are no longer any long term treatment options available for those living with severe mental health issues. We have a short term behavioral health center that is sort of a catch-all crisis center for a variety of disorders. Three to ten days;just enough time to get a brief taste of stability before they send them on there way until the next crisis. Those of us who bring in support groups from the outside often see the same clients come in and out again and again. Fairly often, people I would see when I was volunteering at the short-term behavioral health center ended up in the assisted living facilities where I worked.
They don’t belong here. It’s not fair to the other residents. How am I supposed to take care of her. She screamed all night long. This isn’t what assisted living is supposed to be. These are the mumbling grumblings I would hear the most. I learned early on that there is no point wasting time in the land of “supposed to be”. That is the dubious luxury of the legislators who make regulations that make no sense for a world they do not understand. Poorly enforced useless regulations at that. A facility will get dinged if a caregiver accidentally wears gloves in the hall but call bells that haven’t functioned correctly in over a year are just fine…but that’s a post for another day. My point is that as a caregiver, one of the first lessons I learned is to divorce myself from all expectations. There are no supposed to be’s.
In my experience, assisted living is sixty percent mental health, twenty percent total care and twenty percent people who need moderate assistance. Or some combination of the three. I’m not a numbers person, but I would say that’s a fairly accurate assessment. On one hall, I have had a resident who was living with the damage of long term substance abuse, another who heard voices, one in the early stages of dementia, one who spoke no English, one who was legally blind and a young man who suffered permanent damage from a catastrophic car accident. Every single case required me to use a different set of skills that I learned from the floor in order to be of maximum assistance with their activities of daily living.
Think about that. Doctors and nurses have specialities; classes and separate skill sets that enable them to work in a focused area of care. For caregivers working in assisted living, our specialty is “handling it” And I love it. It keeps my job endlessly challenging, but it is not everyone’s cup of tea. If you aren’t open minded and able to adapt to the reality of the situation rather than the expectation of what it should be it’s going to be a rough road to hoe.
My question to all who struggle with what assisted living is verses what it should be is what is the alternative? In my state, at least, there isn’t another viable option readily available. Is it ideal? No. But at least my residents living with severe mental illness have a place to live and receive their medications for both physical and mental health as prescribed. At least they have food and companionship. At least they are safe.
Some of my residents living with severe psychological challenges stay in these facilities for years and some go back and forth between the streets, the short term behavior health center, and assisted living places. I have had past residents who have left the facilities where I worked only to turn up years later at the behavioral center where I volunteer.
Last winter one of my residents living with a mental disorder died in the most tragic way imaginable. I hadn’t seen him in awhile. He was so young. Just a kid really. He slipped through every imaginable crack in the system. He left the facility where I was working at the time and later turned up in the group at the behavioral health center. That was the last time I saw him alive. I speak for every caregiver who ever worked with him when I say that there isn’t any length we wouldn’t have gone to in order to prevent his death. It’s just heartbreaking to think about. So while it may not be an ideal option and the training caregivers receive in psychological disorders is sorely lacking, those of us who adapt well to the strange and interesting world of assisted living facilities will be the first to say it certainly beats no option at all.
I get so tired sometimes. I want to shrink from this world that seems to subsist and thrive on anger, panic and fear. Has it always been this way and I’ve just been oblivious to the fever of it or is this some new beast fueled by everyone’s absolute certainty that they are right? The days of context and nuance seem to be gone for the moment and shades of grey no longer exist. Black or white. Right or wrong. Bottom line thinking for an end results world.
I am never very certain about very much. In my experience, that way lies madness. I have certain ethical guidelines and passions that anchor me and I try to keep my mind open to learning from others who have different points of view. Work has been vital for my sanity in this social climate where people seem to be filling some inner need by yelling at one another and coming up with shallow, half-hearted and blame-filled excuses to the deep and complex problems that our society is facing. I guess that’s easier and less satisfying than putting aside anger and wounded egos in order to come together and effectively work toward common solutions. We currently live in a world where everyone wants to be the boss but no one wants to lead.
Those of us who work in Long Term Care are no strangers to the damage such a management style causes. It’s flat out ineffective. The best supervisors are the ones who roll up their sleeves regardless of who is watching. If I only see you when state is in the building, I’m less likely to trust you around those in my care. I have more respect for an LPN who will help me calm a resident who is lashing out in fear than a career administrator with degrees on the wall who’s first solution is Ativan because she’s about to give a tour to a potential new client and wants the hall orderly. That is the difference between a leader and a boss. Because I find my own personal standards of quality care to be much higher than what is expected of us, I have no need for a boss. I learn from leaders, however, and that makes them as invaluable as they are rare.
I decided to step back from Facebook for a little while. Every other status I read is angry. Every article posted has completely different facts cherry picked to enrage or validate you depending on what side of the given position you take. They all agree that everything is the absolute worst. The only difference is who they believe is to blame…and all of that is crap. Cynical, self serving crap wrapped in a bow made of ego.
But, Alice! Aren’t you concerned about the state of affairs?! Of course I am, possibly shocked and appalled reader, but here’s the thing…this is NOWHERE NEAR as bad as it’s been. In my years in this field I’ve cared for people of color who actually lived through the civil rights era. I’ve cared for a Vietnam vet who lost his sight, and a WWII vet who lost his leg. I’ve cared for people who were children during the Great Depression and for people who lived through the Cold War. I’ve had women in my care who lived in a time when it was more socially acceptable to be an abused wife than a divorced woman. Collectively, we survived all of that. As a society, we have faced our worst behaviors and bit by bit we have grown from them; progressed step by painful step forward. I refuse to believe that this…this angry, entitled, backwards thinking reality we are all actively creating is going to stick. I have more faith in us than that.
Individuals are all more than one thing. Are my residents simply their Alzheimer’s disease? Or prostate cancer? Or schizophrenia? Are they not bigger than that? Am I not more than my political affiliation? Is it not beautiful that we are all people who bleed the same? It is a combination of different ideas and individual experiences that gives life it’s richness. When did we decide that we should only surround ourselves with those who look, think, believe and behave exactly like us? How can we possibly come up with and solutions to vastly complex issues without the benefit of diverse ideas and the freedom to dissent without fear?
So I would like to thank every single person who has ever been in my care for teaching me gratitude and perspective. Life is too short to waste on fear and anger over troubles that we create or stir up in our minds before they even occur. I would also like to thank you for living through adversity and sharing your stories so I know what courage looks like. I would like to thank my fellow caregivers who adapt to the reality on the floor rather than the one we are told to expect. We come together to make the most of what is rather than complain about what should be…ok to be fair sometimes we do both but for the most part we are about action. It is a diverse world on the floor, full of people from all walks of life with a variety of skills and reasons for being in this field. Despite what some may think, we cannot all be painted with one brush and for that I am incredibly thankful. This field has honed a strength in me that would not have developed otherwise and directed a passion for purpose toward a path where it would be put to good use. I get tired, but I’m one of the lucky ones. I get these reminders at least five nights a week. I can step back from the combative and fear filled world online and reorient myself to the world in which I live.