I'm workin' heeeah!

To all of you family members of the present and future:

On behalf of the entire health care field, I would like to invite you to contemplate the situation your mother/father may be living in now. I know that you have spent the last 60 years or so with your mother/father. He/she raised you, helped you with homework, made your dinners, made your dress for your high school prom, maybe even walked you down the aisle. No doubt he/she has been your hero over the years, and you want the best for your beloved parent. Believe me, we as health care workers want the same. Let's discuss this idea of "the best."

When Mother turns 93, and sadly, on her 93rd birthday, she has bronchitis and may sound as though a fluid-filled lung may fly out of her throat at any time; her birthday party may not be her first priority. Though I'm sure she kicked her heels up in her day, right now it would be best for her to stay in her recliner and sleep rather than raise a glass to "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow." It's not a personal insult. You are a fine daughter/son. And yes, I'm sure there were far too many dishes to wash and cakes to bake for her to even think about a nap. But trust me, she's tired. And she's 93. It's fine.

Another concern is to the family members considering putting Father on hospice. Hospice is for those who are declining due to serious illness. Serious illness is not, however, forgetting where he put his glasses when he went to bed. His memory may slip now that he's in his 80's. I'm 25 and I forget to turn the stove off sometimes. I'm not on Hospice. It's fine.

My final, yet most crucial concern is that of patience. Yes, breakfast starts in ten minutes. Yes, Mother's aide has not been in to see her. And yes, Mother needs her blood sugar taken before she eats. I know that you see all these things because you have been staying with mother for one month now. But what you do not see is that Mother's aid has been cleaning the remnants of a colostomy bag off the bathroom wall for the last 25 minutes, people in the dining room have been yelling randomly for the last hour that it "cold as hell in here" as I sweat bullets because a woman on Alfredo's hall doesn't want a man to help her so I have to run up and down the stairs every 3 minutes because she forgot her sweater, can't get the tangle out of her hair, her brief is on too tight, and then she forgot to give me a candy bar (but the small size because I "look like I'm watching my weight"); and now I have found the strips for your mother's glucometer after asking 4 times for them-and the glucometer has a dead battery. Yes, Mother needs help. But so do 47 other people in this building- and that is NOT INCLUDING ME. So next time you think to complain to either aide or administrator, remember that these people, your friends in the health care field, usually don't get breaks. We work thru the night, and wake up very early to wipe Mother's butt and make her bed. So though we may look very nice in our coordinating scrubs and our stethoscopes around our necks- remember that today at sometime, for someone somewhere, the shit may literally be on the fan.

Yours Sincerely,
Sarah, CNA