Saturday
5 October 2013
More
of the same intellectual foolishness
why
am I reminded of the Keystone Cops?
Yesterday
was my second scheduled shower day, I was looking forward to it. My
briefs hadn't been changed in two days (for a different reason). I
don't care how careful one is while urinating while supine, there is
always some drainage once the sphincter muscle closes. This is in
part why females can be very insistent on having toilet paper
available when using the facilities and little boys learn the rhyme,
“That no mater how much you may shake and dance the last few drops
go in your pants.”
Its
a consequence of anatomy and gravity intersecting at this juncture,
after a long day of making sure I remain hydrated sufficiently, the
medical people fumbling about with various diuretics to reduce my
blood pressure, there has been more than my fair share of my own form
of “uretics” that have no where else to go but my briefs and to
some small degree my lower abdomen. Now, I am told by some CENAs that
I can request a bed bath at any time, and this does help clear up the
feeling of being steeped in my own juices, like an overused teabag.
But there is nothing like running water cascading all over you to
convey the sensation of approaching being truly clean. And the fact
that through no reason of my own cause, I am authoritatively assigned
two showers per week. It is not just me, everyone is awarded only two
cleansing showers per week, just as prisoners are afforded. I guess
if that is good enough for individuals who have been adjudicated in a
court of law, then what standing do I have that this might by
somewhat niggardly of an approach toward my wanting to “closer to
Godliness?”
So
yesterday I was feeling somewhat vile, odious, filthy even, I was
ready for a shower, eagerly anticipating the mildly tepid water that
we are allowed. The water temperature is regulated before it even
gets to the tap and the mixing valve for the same reason the coffee
here is so bad and it is impossible to make a decent cup of tea as
well, there is this absolute fear and loathing that someone may get
burned. It started with various corporation's counsel after that
famous case where the elderly California woman burned herself with a
cup of coffee bought from MacDonald s drive through window. She sued
MacDonald s for damages, it made the news, the late night comedians
all made great fun of the issue. While we all were being treated to a
laugh fest about being clumsy with a hot beverage, those of a more
legal and busybody mind began to swing into action to save us all
from ourselves from ever getting burned ever again. Ah, there is
nothing like the self appointed Nanny effect to bring those who favor
fancying themselves as looking out for the public good. Now, not only
do facilities such as this have built in safety measures that make
sure we will never be harmed by overly warmed water ever touching any
part of our bodies, but state legislatures are not to be outdone.
There are regular surprise inspections to determine if everyone is
playing by the guidelines the state has so thoughtfully determined to
be so very safe for various kinds of water applications to these
fragile bodies. Good Lord, I am sure now we won't fry or melt.
It
amazes me that they could give any broken fecal material if we ever
have a warm, steaming hot shower ever again, or a good cup of coffee,
or tea. No! That causes no one any concern whatsoever, why after all
they even make laundry soap that is supposed to work effectively in
cold water – so what's my problem?
It
is just that after discovering the wonders of some of the more gentle
and delightfully wonderful aspects that could be enjoyed in life, and
spending most of my adult life securing and enjoying them, suddenly
they have changed the upper limits limits for me. No matter what I
try or how I conduct myself, these items are continually and most
possibly forever being withheld from me. If I challenge the rationale
behind such acts, I am told with the straightest of faces that it is
either in my best interests or it is against facility rules or state
law or both. Sheesh! Talk about feeling small, powerless and ganged
up upon …
So,
Friday I was looking forward to one of my only twice a week
opportunities to get clean per week. I was helped from my bed by a
new CENA with the aid of a machine known as an
Easy
Stand. My wheelchair was at the ready. My selection of clean clothing
had been selected and already carried down to the shower room,
awaiting my entry and subsequent shower. I was literally dangling in
mid air, between the bed and the wheelchair when there was a knock at
the door. Another CENA poked her head in the room and announced that
the word had just come down that the order was being sent up and down
the hallway that there were to be no more showers begun from now on,
until further notice.
The
CENA working with me protested, that we were just on our way down
there, my clothing and toilet articles are down there waiting for us.
“That doesn't matter”, we were told, higher ups are in the
building and our administrators don't want any showers going on.
The
CENA working with me apologized to me, (even though we both knew it
was not her fault) then stripped off my two day old, odious briefs
and put on some new ones. I was fitted with some shorts and shoes, I
was still wearing my T shirt from Wednesday (I'm still wearing that
one now, today its Saturday afternoon). I was placed in my wheelchair
ready to greet the day as if a shower had already been effected.
Maybe other people are fooled by such subterfuge, but I know better.
The thought that I am going out even within the halls of this place
wearing unscrubbed skin, left since last Tuesday's shower is somewhat
disconcerting. This is on Friday. As I write now on Saturday I feel
even more unapproachable by those who have been able to pass soap and
water over themselves. Talk about feeling a part of the “Great
Unwashed”, ugh.
I
rolled my wheelchair out and down the hall, pressed the elevator
button and could subtly hear some of the verbal commotion coming from
the floor below. A sure sign that something was going on down there
that necessitated someone holding the elevator doors open, and thus
the elevator wouldn't be arriving anytime soon.
Often
when I am riding down the elevator and it does stop at that floor,
the doors would open and several people will be sitting in
wheelchairs clustered around the doorway to the elevator, close
enough so that if anyone wishes to get off at that floor, they can't
do so as there is nowhere to step. Often the people clustered near
the door are having “issues” with one another, trading insults
and invectives with each other like impudent children. Many of these
folks do not hesitate to include others, including yourself, into
their little special abusive contumelies, if you are unfortunate to
be nearby. Further from the door is a gentleman with an unknown (to
me) difficulty. He never speaks but is often vocal. He makes growling
sounds which seem to have some kind of meaning to him, often with
some long term observation of his behaviors, some of his
vocalizations/behaviors begin to show some meaning. But whatever he
is trying to say, it gets repeated ad infinitum until it loses all
sense and meaning. Through the closed doors of the third floor
elevator I could hear this tumult rising up from the second floor.
Listening
to this brouhaha the thought occurred to me that I don't even sing in
the shower, yet I had to forfeit my shower for some bigwig, high
mucky-muck to not be disturbed while doing a surprise inspection?
Boy, I hope the sacrifice was worth it. Whatever the result I can be
assured that my sacrifice has been long since forgotten by now. I
should be soaking wet by this time, soap cascading over the entire
surface of me, reaffirming my able part in gentile community. Instead
I am captive here in Bedlam due to the fact that I have a
neurological disease and this is the only place that everyone
believes I need to be. I certainly don't understand, I really feel
completely misunderstood myself.
The
elevator takes me down to the ground floor. The second floor rumbling
disturbance passes behind doors that don't open on this pass,
thankfully. I roll up near the reception desk,make my greetings and
sit for a while, able to see normal people – at least more normal
than the rest of the people I get to see here all day. Various family
members and friends of residents come in and out. Service providers
come and go. It is a relief to sense their different sense of who
they are as they come into the building. Most of the employees give
off a different feeling. Many have the sense of just scraping by
until the next paycheck, or trying to stay away from too much
scrutiny for now.
Someone
new to me comes down the stairwell and out into the lobby. He has
dark hair, next to no neck and his white shirt is distended quite a
bit over his belt, which looks as if it had given the better part of
its functional life for a thankless cause. He is carrying a case type
clipboard into which he places papers and retrieves others. He is
wearing one of the company name tags on a cord around his ample neck.
Several people speak to him informally, he responds in kind. There is
no sense that anything is wrong. He says thank you and leaves out the
front door.
I
turn to the receptionist (who seems to be aware of everything going
on in the building) and ask quietly, is that the reason everyone was
walking on egg shells?
Yep.
Well,
I certainly hope my giving up my shower was worth it to everybody.
Personally, right off the bat I am not too impressed, maybe it is
because he shares the same physique as my younger brother. Possibly
there is some transference going on here. I am not very appreciative
of fellows who are that overweight. And I'm still feeling unclean.
Back
upstairs I find my lunch tray waiting on my bed. I roll up to it and
pull the tray onto my knees, then proceed to eat my lunch. Ten
minutes later I am done (the portions are small – I continue to
lose weight, in spite of extreme inactivity). I find the food cart
with the trays on it, a CENA thanks me and takes the tray to place it
somewhere until the full food trays are completely removed, then the
cart becomes the collection cart gathering up the empties to return
to the kitchen.
As
it grows close to two o'clock and the end of the shift, the CENA from
this morning and the aborted shower finds me and apologizes for not
being able to accomplish the shower today. She assures me that she
feels really bad about the way things worked out. But, she does work
both Saturday and Sunday, she will move everything to get me a shower
then, is that okay?
She
hasn't worked here enough to know that will never happen, I realize
that she would like to do that, she is even willing to do that, but I
would be very surprised if she will get a chance to do what she
offers. I know that even if she is due to work those days, once they
come on the floor the CENAs working on that shift break down the
number of residents on their floor by the number of CENAs working
that shift so that they each have even number to care for. The
resident numbers are down now so recently there have been three
rather than four CENAs per shift. The chance that she will get to
work the section in which in I reside is small. Folks that work with
me also get to work with my neighbor – he is always difficult to
work with. He argues, always takes a negative point of view, even if
it is not to any advantage. He insists on being intolerable. He
insults anyone, he doesn't care. Complains vociferously and loudly.
If one where to try to motivate him by saying that he is hurtful and
mean, he says “Good, now get out!”
The
advantage to having to deal with Joe, next door, is that the same
CENAs also get to work with me. Joe just requires attention in the
morning, getting up out of bed – and at night getting back into
bed. That is when he most often swears at the CENAs and is so
unreasonable. First and second shift each get a wrestling match with
an undesirable character. The rest of the time they like to stop and
hang out in my room.
Sure
enough this morning she was on staff but not assigned to me. I saw
her briefly helping (receiving valuable experience with another CENA
how to survive working with my neighbor). Through my open door, our
eyes met briefly. She had that knowing look that gave the impression
that she realized that she couldn't get to giving me a shower today.
I smiled equally knowingly to her, “Welcome to organized Bedlam –
watch your sanity.”
I
know that several CENAs have told me that I should be able to get a
bed bath any time I want. Sounds like something from the depths of
the CENA-Resident interface handbook. Something they are supposed to
know but no one ever actually says out loud. I have asked for a bed
bath a couple of times while I was getting used to only one shower
every three or four days. Only a couple of CENAs undertook such a
task very willingly, usually such an effort was best engaged early in
the morning. By the time ten–thirty rolls around their focus is on
moving toward lunch duties, and after that the emphasis of their
efforts is toward getting lunch picked up. Finishing their charting
of behaviors, passing out shift waters, then leaving. Chances of
getting washed up quickly disintegrate once the opportunity for the
planned shower has passed.
Afternoon
shift has a whole 'nother set of residents whom they are expected
to shower, and there are only two single occupancy shower rooms on
this floor. Right now the resident number is somewhere in the low
thirties. Capacity is set at low forties as the numbers ebb and flow,
the quality of service changes.
I
am beginning to have my own delicate oder about me. Good thing I
sleep with the CPAP machine, I might be distracted by my own ripeness
otherwise. Tomorrow is Sunday. Most every Sunday is laid back around
here. Just like about everywhere else. No body comes to visit me
here, I don't expect things to be too crowded tomorrow. The CENA
schedule should be somewhat more open tomorrow. Sure is different
having to preplan something as simple as getting washed up. By the
time get to next Tuesday when I probably will get my next real
shower, my hair will have no body left to it and I really will look
like a grease ball.
Oh
the joys of a healthcare program designed by administrators, overseen
by different administrators, and carried out by individuals who seem
to exhibit various levels of willingness, ability and follow through!
I never envisioned my non-working time to be lived out this way. None
of this is even close to what I expected. Not by a long shot.
No comments:
Post a Comment