24 September 2014
Wednesday morning
This morning began
like so many others. Sleep evaded me any further about five thirty in
the morning. After lying with eyes closed for nearly half an hour, I
noticed that I was rocking and rolling on the inside. Okay, enough
closed eye time, the time for wakey wakey has arrived.
I
switched the iPod over to NPR news, found the bed controller and
adjusted the head end of this hospital bed into a more raised
position. Groping with my left hand for the on/off switch of my CPAP
machine, I cut the power to my nightly assistive breathing device.
Relaxing in my now elevated position, I listened to the morning news.
I
began to think about the upcoming breakfast meal, remembering having
read the menu, that this morning's meal was to consist of a baked
Denver Omelette (onions, chopped green pepper and ham) was the main
entrée. I was looking forward to something a little more substantial
than the standard scrambled eggs, which are a misnomer, in that they
are not complete eggs but only egg whites mixed with yellow dye to
fool the recipient into believing that the missing yolk is still
there. No amount of foolery can hide the fact that these particular
scrambled eggs are always off taste and substance. I had several
hours of preparation to get my mouth ready for a Denver Omelette.
When
the meal came, disappointment once again rode on its appearance with
the meal. The main entrée consisted of the pseudo-scrambled eggs
containing bits of ham covered with one slice of melted American
cheese. Not quite what the menu had promised. But I was not
surprised, for this is the standard way that communications are
skewed here in this facility.
There
was the usual small bowl of rice crispies accompanied by the 1 cup
serving portion of whole milk in its nifty little sealed, waxed
cardboard, container. I remembered speaking with the new dietitian
just a few weeks ago, wherein she was quizzing me as to why I did not
eat certain foods that were sent up to me. This question was tinged
with a slight bit of emotion and tone of voice that gave the
impression that she, and possibly the entire administration was
considering the fact that I did not eat everything they sent me as
some sort of insult that I did not like what they were serving.
I
rather swiftly disabused her of this idea stating that I find eating
too much milk product always lends towards overproduction of mucus,
as milk tends to do. And I have been weaned for several years now. In
spite of the USDA food guidelines, I don't need that much milk
anymore. Although I do like rice crispies now and then, I do not eat
them every single day. Perhaps if there was some other liquid to
float the crispy kernels other than milk I might consider it. The
brand-new nutritionist did not receive this information kindly.
Apparently those who determined that certain food choices are just
not for them are suspect of being surreptitious, subversive and not
to be trusted, just because they're not like everybody else.
Newsflash
sister! Look at me! Red Hair, fine Celtic skin that sunburns even
through a shirt,a lifelong case of Celiac disease, and now MS, and
you are unhappy that I don't conduct myself like everyone else?
Really!
What
brought this inquisition on was unknown. There was a strange tone
regarding this whole discussion when she and another of the first
floor administrators had been seeking me out one morning. They found
me in my wheelchair headed for the elevator, making an effort to go
downstairs to go outside. The two of them insisted on speaking to me
privately, an impromptu meeting was proposed, we could go to my room
which was now empty. Once it all gained positions in the room the two
of them stood to inquire of me the questions that were on their
minds.
Right
from the beginning this did not have a good feel to it. I felt more
like errant third-grader who had been banished from class until he
had visited with the school principal. The inquisitional tone of the
entire situation gave the impression that I was under some sort of
attack through fact-finding. Just the mere act of me seated in a
wheelchair and them standing, looming over me gave the very strong
impression that I was in a position of subordination. It seemed that
nothing I could say could get all of us on the same level. It was
almost as if their method was to impress me with their power, and to
make sure I recognized I had none.
The
nutritionist asked why I did not eat the gluten-free waffles that the
kitchen had gone to lengths to prepare for me? (I found this to be
interesting because the kitchen had stopped sending up those waffles
months before this woman was hired as the new nutritionist -
obviously records have been kept regarding my previous eating
patterns) I indicated that there was nothing wrong with the waffles,
but every single time they were accompanied with a single serving
package of Smuckers imitation maple syrup, which tasted heavily of
corn syrup with just a dash of maple flavoring. In my mind that taste
in mouth feel is very negative, more similar to the liquid medicine I
am to take daily. Since they are going to keep sending up the awful
synthetic syrup, the best thing I could do was to not eat the
waffles. Rather than inquire what the problem was way back then, the
kitchen just stopped serving them. Apparently, according to this
woman's question, there has been an unspoken canker regarding this
refusal, growing just under the surface of awareness for a very long
time. I viewed this bringing to light their concerns to be a good
thing, a chance for healing, an opportunity to once again work with
one another. By the tone of her voice and the following responses,
she showed that the kitchen staff had been considering my refusal of
their production to be an insult. It seemed as if they wanted to be
unhappy with me and now is the first time it was being brought to my
attention.
When
I indicated that for most my life I have really not enjoyed imitation
maple syrup. That, I have often gone out of my way to find real maple
syrup made from tree juice, that which is been boiled down lovingly
hours on end by dedicated individuals. I preferred grade B because
it's a little darker and more flavorful than the traditional best
selling grade A .
The
nutritionist's considered response was: "We don't have the time
or the energy to go chasing all over for your little esoteric
tastes". Whoa! It seems as if I've been served notice. The
veritable slap in the face by a left-handed glove, the age old
challenge. Not to a duel this time, but see who is going to win this
little skirmish, the nutritionist and the kitchen staff versus
whether I will eat their production or not.
Esoteric
tastes indeed. Is it my fault that most of the rest of the people
will dumbly, and without complaint suffer to eat whatever is placed
in front of them? Is it my fault if I recognize better tasting items
as opposed to others who let such distinctions slip right past? I am
amazed that no one considers the folks who are not so inclined. Is
that sufficient reason to continue producing low quality food?
Later
this morning one of my more favorite nurses came in bearing my
morning meds. She brightly asked how I was this morning? She sensed
the laconic tone in my voice and asked what was wrong? I told her of
the breakfast entree, how it was not as advertised. How defeating it
is to be constantly treated this way by the kitchen and the new
nutritionist. I had hoped that a new employee might have a different
attitude toward the job and her response to the residents. I
commented that it didn't take very long for the same attitude that
pervades this organization, to corrupt her as well.
At
this point she told me that she had offered her resignation. This
coming Monday was to be her last day. She said that she is sick and
tired of this entire organization being so warped about providing
care on the least amount of cost basis. She indicated that she
thought the problem came from the venture capitalist firm that bought
this care provider out several years ago. I have heard of this from
many other workers here. Lots of good workers have left to do the
same work in other facilities.
I
have seen and heard of this same issue from many others. The cutting
of costs has become so severe that many caring CENAs have reluctantly
left the employment here for other places of employment. They say
that it pains them to not have the time to fully interact with the
residents as they would like, rather just the barest minimum of care
is given. Because of cost saving measures make staffing enough CENAs
is deemed to be too expensive. Less workers on the floor means
limited time with each resident in order to get to the next one.
There
is a sickening feeling to realize that for the next years of my life,
this is going to be the constant underlying reason determining the
sort of care I get. So far my input has been often not heard,
certainly not acted upon, probably diminished as to relative value
given to the comments I make. I can't speak to how thrilled I am to
experience the next round of words and actions at contradiction to
one another.
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