29 March 2014
Saturday
Deja vu Repeats
Like that movie
Groundhog Day, this Saturday seems to have been here before. Complete
with the same attributes the pattern has demonstrated , a laid back
quality that seems to fit the thank-your-lucky-stars Friday is past
and the work week is done. And we don't have to gear up for work
again until Sunday night mentality. This combination pervades the
staff here. As the end of the week approaches, CENAs and nurses alike
make references to what they are going to do this coming weekend. The
standard work schedule, however, allows each employee only every
other weekend open for themselves. The work schedule alternates three
days on a day off, with three more days on then two days off. The
staff trade work days among themselves as their family needs require.
In this way everyone gets to work on the weekend somewhere in the
month. The only constant shifts belong to the salary people, floor
supervisory nurses who oversee everything that happens on that floor,
facility administrator, facility nursing director, the director of
rehabilitation.
This difference in
these work schedules makes for a difference in the way the employees
behave during the week. The folks that work through the weekend
occasionally seem to be more approachable, while the salary workers
are a little more aloof. I suppose that distance helps to retain
their professional demeanor and allows them to make clear headed
decisions that are a part of their job duties. But they never seem to
be able to drop the professional persona to reveal the person hidden
beneath. Thus the decisions that are made that seem to reflect the
professional part of the decision maker, and not much that benefits
the resident. Decisions that influence the resident act upon the
resident as an object, not as a person that may benefit, the facility
is the major beneficiary.
Now somewhere in
the organizational hierarchy it was decided that to make the time
spent here a little more enjoyable for the residents. There is a
leisure cart containing reading material so that people might relieve
their boredom. Nice idea. But the concept is not carried out very
well. The leisure cart contains women's magazines that are several
years old, old Zane Grey novels that are older than that, twenty year
old Reader's Digest books with extra large print, and an occasional
issue of Field & Stream with someone's favorite article ripped
out. I find the leisure cart to be more filled with tedium than
leisure. The idea of a leisure cart is good at the conceptual level,
but the completion of the idea is very lacking. It seems to be
stocked with someone's result from a collection of Spring cleaning
from various homes. Rather than throw something out, it was donated,
somehow the whiff of an insult seems to be unconsciously perpetuated
through the leisure cart. If they are going to supply cast off
material for leisure activities, how about old Scientific American,
Smithsonian, or Nature, and Science magazines. How about library cast
offs, there are sure to be some variety there.
Months ago I spoke
with the supervisory staff here about doing some leisure activities
here that are peculiar to me, I would be glad to help teach others
some things like working with glass. I would need about half a room's
space and a footlocker to preserve the tools. Well that would take
too much space, we don't have that. But for some months now the
resident population has been low here, and there are rooms empty and
the CENA staff is constantly being whittled down, making life on the
remaining residents here that much more difficult. Never fear, if you
don't see anything on the leisure cart that appeals, we always have
television. Yeah, right. So much for challenging the resident's free
time. I am trying to figure out just what qualities of a resident's
life television is there to serve?
Another indicator
that it is the weekend here, lunch was just served, or as we call it
the Saturday mid-day snack. During the week soup is often served with
lunch. There is something satisfying to a bowl of soup with a meal.
For some obscure reason Saturdays get by around here without any
soup. Today the entree was a scoop of chicken salad (everyone else,
the non celiacs, gets a chicken salad sandwich) accompanied by a
small bowl of diced peaches. Last week's Saturday mid-day snack was
three slices of lunchmeat with a slice of cheese. There were also two
slices of gluten free bread, I suppose that meal had a dash of
self-participation included so we wouldn't feel left out, build yer
own sammich, whee! Last Sunday the noon meal was a scoop of egg
salad, everyone else got egg salad sandwich. These folks go out of
their way to make you feel right at home, although I'm here to say
they got me all wrong, I am not that self deprecating or lazy at my
house. I used to whip up a bowl of hot and sour soup with plenty of
white pepper, or would weekly make a crock pot of Senate Bean Soup,
served daily in the US Senate dining room, recipe available form the
Michigan Bean Commission.
If good food is a
key to one's improving health and maintaining of mental health these
folks are definitely not on board with that. In fact I do believe
they have no idea of the effect that food can have on people. I
suggest a field trip to any sit-down style restaurant with these
kitchen gnomes so they can experience for themselves the enlightening
notion of good food for good health. There is so much more than
calorie content alone. I have spoken with the head dietician, she is
indeed a registered dietician. I asked her if she had any restaurant
training in her background, “No”, she said, “Why?” The fact
that she asked that question in return was most illustrative. It was
obvious she never saw the implications of her lack of information
background in comparison to being the food manager here.
The food here is a
constant reminder that life has been and still could be better, I
have never been in a situation where I have been so hamstrung in the
ability to improve the situation I was in. Three times a day I am
reminded that I have only two choices; to shut up and eat, or ignore
it. There have been times when I just don't eat. The CENA staff here
tracks the food that you eat during each shift. After a couple of
days, the dietician comes to speak with me to find out if anything is
wrong with the food. I take the time to explain the connection
between eating and good health, physical and mental. She says that
she understands, then leaves. The next few meals are no different.
The sense I get is why try? Everyone pretends they want to do better
by you, but the follow through is definitely lacking. What really
hurts is seeing so many people who don't seem to understand, even
when you take the time to explain to them.
Then I catch
myself. I'm never going to make a dent with these folks. Their idea
of a restaurant has a drive through window, food can be ordered
through the car window by speaking into a clown face. The menu is on
the wall or a weather proof placard outside near the clown face, the
paper napkins blot the french fry grease from your fingers, but the
special sauce from the burger never completely leaves your fingers.
After that your steering wheel is forever filthy and you learn to
settle for life corporately designed. Ain't life grand, what we ever
do before Burger Doodle with their grease bombs came along?
One of the nurses
the other day sat down to watch me take the morning's wad of pills I
am supposed to take daily. (This is per one of the state laws.
Medications are not to be left with the resident trusting them to
take them on their own.) Some CENAs indicate that they have found an
occasional pill hiding in a resident's bed, where the resident has
lost it and it couldn't be found. The nurses take a darker point of
view, the reason I have been given by some are to make sure the
resident does not choke on the meds, others have said that they have
found that the residents have been putting their meds in the trash
next to the bed.
This particular
nurse is from the more suspicious group. As soon as I put the last of
the pills in my mouth, she leaves the room. I'm surprised that she
leaves before I swallow. This leaves a very bad taste behind, she
only stayed as long as she did to babysit the pill swallowing
exercise. This time she sits down in my wheelchair and just watches
me silently. There are eighteen pills, every morning, some of them
are huge, I can take them only by themselves. As I swallow the third
one she asks, “Why are you so quiet?”
“Because I am
busy swallowing pills.” between swallows, I reply.
“I mean other
than that.”
“I'm an
introvert,” I respond, “I am comfortable with silence. Its like a
canvas upon which the sounds of life are arranged. I like to listen
to what fills in between the sounds, there is much to be found
there.”
“What do you
mean?” she asks.
“Just that, what
you just said. How illustrative. Did you catch it? Its very subtle”
I reply.
“I don't
understand” she protests.
“Exactly, not
everyone does” from me. “Its like trying to explain rock and roll
to your parents, they don't understand either. They hope that you
will give them a template of words that they can apply in expectation
that they will know what you know.”
“So, what's
wrong with that?”
I patiently reply,
“Some people think their way through life, because that is the way
they have been taught. Other people add their feelings to the mix.
Feelings in one evoke similar resonant feelings in another. Which
kind person do you want to be?”
“What do you
mean?”
“What do you
feel about a new nickname, how about “Barby Doll”?”
“I don't
understand.”
“Indeed, with
time, maybe ...”
Have you ever been
in a room when someone enters, they start jabbering, filling the
space of silence with lots of verbiage, and yet the feeling you get
is the same as before anyone entered the room? There's no substance
there, there is nothing to connect to, there might as well be another
piece of furniture in the room instead of them. All of that verbiage
is just to keep you occupied, distracted from what is really
happening, giving your mind a chew toy to keep it busy like a simple
dog. Some people are masters at that technique. It has always
reminded me of two medieval warriors taunting each other encased in
helmet and chain mail, hiding behind huge war shields. Unable to see
one another, telling who the other is by the markings on their
respective shields, and yet ready to kill the other as soon as they
perceive the upper hand position is theirs.
There is so much
more to life than that.
Do you remember
that television series, canceled way too early, named Northern
Exposure? I know it was quirky and a lot of people never saw some of
the humor built into some of the scenes. There was one scene where
the Native American woman, Marilyn, who was the receptionist in Dr.
Joel Fleischman's office was sitting on the bench outside with
another native. There was mostly silence between them interrupted
with an occassional “Uh-huh,” “I know what you mean”, and
“Yep” between them. Being or doing some act was the glue of the
situation. The connection between the principles was the real action
that was happening. Some people fail to see that. I feel real sorry
for them about that.
I realize that
there are not that many people who have taken the time to notice the
felt component of life. If they have, there is the easy willingness
of letting popular media and commercial interests define the unknown
for them. Like the tempting candies in the shop window, its hard to
resist the temptation of a readymade, generalized, commonplace
answer. People that answer to the call of depth and greater realism
are far and few between. And they certainly are not going to be
haunting a facility like this. Unless something changes on the
medical front, I figure the rest of my days will be spent in a place
like this.
Makes my lack of
being extremely outgoing more poignant and full of feeling. I can
only begin to describe the contrast of self mastery and being cared
for in the fashion practiced here. This style of care giving is not
as life affirming as some might want to think. At least my memories
are rich and intact. I may have lost a lot of my possessions and
pictures, for now I still have my memories, but rest assured, there
are ways those too can be taken. Meanwhile I find that a lot of
people are here and in another way they are not here at the same
time. Oh, to walk in the woods again!
Ever hopeful,
John Whiting
in the same ol'
room, eh what day is it?
