I tip my chair back, enjoying this. I had to take my lunch late due to craziness on the hall and it appears as though I wasn’t the only one. The break room is packed; everyone is eating and enjoying this chance to relax. Conversation is flowing smoothly–we’ve hit on a great topic, one with legs that could run around the world.
“Oh, I’ve got one and it’ll top May’s story!” T says between bites of her casserole. “So I had this supervisor once, who decided she was going to ‘whip us into shape’. She started disciplining people up over rules that hadn’t been enforced in so long that we’d forgotten what they were. So here she is, a holy terror over everything…until one day she asked why we were so short every shift. Then we had to remind her she’d fired half the staff.”
I choke on my baked potato. “Yeah, I’d say that tops mine.”
“You’d think she would have noticed,” mutters A.
“At least she was trying,” says P, a new aide. I haven’t known her long enough to decide if she’s optimistic or naive.
“The problem,” I sigh, “is consistency. At some point, even a crazy boss is tolerable…as long as they are consistent. If I’m allowed to do something on Monday, I’d at least like to know that I’m not going to get in trouble over it on Wednesday.”
“Only for the boss to decide that the next aide can get away with it on Friday,” T finishes.
“Hard to toe the line when it keeps shifting under your feet,” A agrees. “So which do you all think is better: the boss who never comes out of the office and lets the staff get away with anything or a micromanager?”
“I don’t know about better,” P says, “but based off your stories, I’d rather deal with an absent boss than one who is all up in my business.”
“Yeah, second that,” I say. “I’ve had enough bad bosses to learn it’s best if I just take personal responsibility for my own work ethic.”
T shakes her head slowly, like she’s thinking really hard. “That works for you–and everyone in this room–but what about the bad aides? The ones who don’t care about the quality of their care?”
Three voices rise in unison: “Then they shouldn’t be CNAs!”
“Which,” I add drily, “means that either we step into the gaps they leave or the residents go without.”
“Those kind of aides should just go flip burgers,” A spits out. “They’d make about the same and our folks wouldn’t suffer from their apathy,” P agrees.
There’s silence for a few minutes. Everyone goes back to chewing their food. Thoughts are churning ceaselessly around in my head and, from the expressions on their faces, the others are thinking just as hard. Eventually P breaks the quiet, an almost desperate look etched on her face. “Please tell me you’ve all at least had one good experience with a supervisor.”
I smile at her. “Of course. Matter of fact, we’ve got a pretty good one now.”
“Yeah,” T agrees. “He’s doesn’t do the drama, doesn’t play games and he helps.”
“He’s looking pretty stressed out lately,” A sighs. “I hope he’s not on his way out.”
All four of us look at each other in horror. Truth is, as much as we boast about our ability to self-direct and self-discipline…it’s nice to have a supervisor who can take up the slack. It’s nice to have someone who will listen when we speak, pull us aside when something needs to be addressed. It’s nice to have rules that don’t change with the wind, nice to have someone who doesn’t play favorites and isn’t afraid to be stern when he needs to be. Who isn’t afraid to joke with us when he doesn’t need to be stern. Who we can trust to be fair.
“Oh, God I hope not,” I say fervently. “Let’s go write him Employee of the Month recommendations before we get back to the floor!”
What makes a bad boss? If only I knew. As it is, I have only guesses…thoughts inspired from seeing events from below, glimpses into Management through cracks in the floor. I can only assume it’s the same stresses that make a bad aide. There’s too much to do, not enough time to do and precious recognition or thanks. It’s an impossible job. Only instead of taking care of far too many people for far too many hours, they are juggling the constantly changing demands of Medicare, Medicaid and the Health Department–and keeping the floor in some semblance of function.
There’s also disconnect between the care plans and the living people they represent. It’s a disconnect that in some ways can’t be helped in the current system. Charts can’t convey the reality of long term care, not alone. Accurate documentation of my shift as a CNA would mean writing a novel each day before I go home–there’s just no way to communicate the reality on a glorified spreadsheet.
And in some ways, it’s a disconnect that can very much be helped.
There’s a culture of enforced silence among direct care workers, learned in the dark hours of neglect when speaking up meant losing your job. It’s a habit we’re still trying to break, to speak our truths and tell our stories. There’s a culture of enforced deafness among managers, learned in the dark hours of greed when listening meant being mocked by your peers. It’s a habit we’re still trying to break, to listen with wisdom and compassion.
If all you look at are care plans, then you haven’t seen the person. If all you look at are numbers on page, then you haven’t experienced the toll those ratios take on your employees and residents. The best of bosses know the people they are responsible for, both residents and caregivers. They are the ones who can read on my face when I’m about to break down, who care about me enough to step in and say: “What can I do to help?” But that takes time. That takes energy.
That takes a real dedication and devotion to the art of caregiving. To all good managers and bosses–thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you do and risk for me. It does not go unnoticed and, I hope, does not go un-thanked.