Sentimental Songs

While I immensely enjoyed humming with "M" throughout last year's holiday season, it pales in comparison to the pleasantly surprising sound of "V"s soft singing, barely audible, as she accompanied the closing tune to one of her favorite television programs the other night.

 

"V" has been home from the rehabilitation center for several weeks, and this past weekend was my third shift with her since the discharge.  My duties have changed somewhat in response to "V"s slightly altered physical needs.  Specifically, I now awake with her three or four times during the night to assist her in using the commode, rather than sleeping straight through 'til morning, accompanied by the soothing sound of her snoring. 

 

She is having trouble sleeping, and her internal time clock seems to be a bit off, which is not an uncommon condition after a hospitalization. 

 

When I ask "V" if anything is bothering her or what is on her mind, her reply is usually, "I'm worried that you won't get any sleep."

 

"Don't worry about me!" I always scold her in a gentle tone.  "You're the one who needs to rest so you can get strong again!"

 

Then, "V" typically sighs with a resigned, "You're right." 

 

I have adjusted to the new nighttime routine, and do not mind the change.  Mostly, I am concerned about "V" getting enough sleep, although she has taken to dozing more often during the day, and sometimes during the evening as well!  I thought for sure that the Fred Astaire/Ginger Roger classic "Top Hat" showing on TMC would rouse her on Christmas night, when I worked an extra shift with her, but not even Fred and Ginger's amazing talents could hold "V"s attention.  For my part, I was absolutely enamored by their skills, and keep picturing them swirling in perfect rhythm in my head!

 

After the extra holiday shift with "V", followed by a day off, I returned to her home last Friday evening to complete my regular weekend assignment.

 

As I reflect on the shift now in somewhat shortened hindsight, I feel safe in stating that this particular time spent with "V" was distinguished by three distinctively sentimental songs.  And as I describe the events surrounding each tune, you will hopefully feel the same melancholia, not uncommon at this time of year, that I experienced with "V".

 

To start off, I had to gas up my little Blue Honda Fit before heading over the river and through the woods to "V"s home.   Actually, that's not entirely true.  I gas up on the other side of the river when traveling to "V"s county because the price of fuel is generally ten to fifteen cents cheaper!  With as much driving as I do, I can't afford to waste even a few pennies!

 

I was feeling a bit melancholy last Friday afternoon even before I got to "V"s house, reflecting on the events of the past year... What I should have done, what I wish I didn't do, how I should be focusing on what I did do... Typical thoughts at the end of a year.

 

My spirits were not helped as I heard the soulfully sad lyrics of Dan Fogelberg's 1980 song "Same Old Lang Syne" amazingly streaming from the gas pump along with the fuel.  That was my senior year in high school, and memories not that different from the song's theme began to flood my brain, along with a few tears. 

 

"Now you're just being silly," I muttered to myself, and tried thinking of happier topics, like the fact that I'd be spending another weekend with "V"!

 

When I arrived at "V"s house, I chatted with her daytime caregiver for a while, and then started making preparations for dinner.  Beans and franks accompanied by a side salad, "V"s with the usual healthy tomatoes, cucumbers, and olives, and mine with stale, dried out raisins (they do have vitamins and minerals in them according to the box!).

 

During our meal, we leave the television on, and the volume is turned up high so that "V" can hear the nightly news, thereby knowing if we will finish eating in time for "Jeopardy."

 

For some reason, perhaps the simplicity of the meal, we finished about ten minutes early, so I helped "V" to her reclining chair in the living room where she sits most of the time.

 

A story on the ABC Nightly News caught our attention, probably because it was atypical from the daily stories of global warming weather disasters, ongoing national budget crises, and endless overseas conflicts.  Same old same old.

 

A very old man was on the TV screen, and both "V" and I listened intently as the reporter narrated the story in detail.  Fred Stobaugh, a very nondescript ninety-six year old gentleman from Peoria, Illinois recently published his first song, a loving little ditty to his wife of seventy-five years, Lorraine.  He had entered the tune, the first he had ever penned, in a local song-writing contest.  Moved by the touching tribute, the production company, Green Shoe Studio, recorded the song with a professional singer and Fred's active participation.  As Fred and the accompanying guitar player sang the lyrics to "Oh Sweet Lorraine," images of the couples' life together flashed before our eyes.  It didn't take very long before "V" and I both reached for the box of tissues on the little side table next to her reclining chair, dabbing the tears that slowly steamed down our faces.  I knew what "V", soon to be ninety-six years old herself, was thinking about.  Her late husband.  Although they had not made it to the seventy-five year mark like Fred and Lorraine Stobaugh, "V" and her husband had nonetheless shared a significant number of decades as husband and wife, filled with memories of treasured times spent together.  Ever-so-softly, I patted "V"s shoulder.  In response, she reached over and patted my hand.  No words were exchanged.  They were not needed.

 

I was never so happy to see Alex Trebek in my entire life!  America's second favorite game, right behind the upcoming "Wheel of Fortune."  Ahhhhhh...  Some much-needed levity.

 

The rest of the evening was uneventful (thankfully), consisting of an hour of channel surfing until "V" finally found "Everybody Loves Raymond."  Ahhhhhh...  More much-needed levity.

 

The following day, Saturday, was also fairly uneventful.  "V" easily played Solitaire on her I-Pad as I struggled to turn on my new Kindle Fire that a dear friend had given me for Christmas.  Darned technology!  There had to be an on button hidden somewhere! 

 

"Maybe," I wondered after quite a bit of frustration, "I should just ask "V" to find the button!"

 

There were other events throughout the day, of course.  Mail time (mostly junk, but still fun to look through).  Phone calls (happy holiday wishes from a few old friends).  And a lovely lunch spent in "V"s sunny dining room.  The temperature had sored to forty degrees that afternoon, and the warmth of the sunlight felt warm and welcome as it shone in through the sliding glass doors.  The field of beans, still somewhat visible, was a mixture of sagging yellowish stalks interspersed with patches of pristine white snow.  Overhead, some hopeful blackbirds dove down in a comical attempt to break through the hardened soil and find some supper.  I couldn't help but think of "M", now living permanently in Florida, wondering what type of birds she was looking at...

 

Dinner was enjoyable, as "V" and I treated ourselves to a meal and a movie.  Captivated by a cable channel showing "The Da Vinci Code" for the umpteenth time, "V" and I stayed in our seats for three hours, with me warming up the baked ziti that my mother had generously prepared for us during the lengthy commercial breaks. 

 

"How nice to have a traditional Italian meal prepared by a real Italian!" "V" declared after eating the delicious dinner.

 

"I'll make sure to tell her that!" I promised (and I have since kept that promise!).

 

8:00 pm rolled around, and it was time for "V" to watch her two favorite British comedies that were broadcast weekly on our local PBS affiliate.  The past four weeks leading up to Christmas had been filled with fundraisers, so the programs, much to "V"s disappointment, were not shown.  But now that Christmas had come and gone (how in the world did that happen?), television programming was beginning to return to its post-holiday normalcy.

 

The first one, a classic BBC comedy called "Keeping Up Appearances", gave us a half hour filled with much needed and quite genuine laughter.  Very funny stuff!

 

The second one, another BBC classic starring Dame Judi Dench that ran for an amazing thirteen seasons (counting the reunion specials), was entitled "As Time Goes By."  This particular program relied a little less on the comedy, and always mixed a bit of melancholia into each episode.

 

Great!  Just what we needed!  More melancholia!

 

The episode itself was wonderful, and I'm happy to say that no tissues were needed by neither "V" nor myself.

 

The closing theme, however, is a different story.  As the credits roll, the words to the 1931 Herman Hupfold classic, immortalized when Sam sang it again for the lovesick Humphrey Bogart in the classic film "Casablanca, are sung again, but not by Sam.  To be honest, I'm not sure who sings the song at the end of the show, although I'm certain I could Google it in an instant (and I sincerely apologize to the singer for not doing so now, but I'm on a roll here!).

 

This week, however, the soulfully sentimental lyrics were sung by "V" herself.  Up to this point, I had never heard "V" sing.  Characteristically demure and private by nature, I generally do not expect her to burst out in song.  Now I, on the other hand...  Well... We'll save that rather frightening image for another time...

 

Looking over at "V", softly singing along with the song, I could see her smiling, ever-so-slightly as a few tears rolled down my cheek.  I had a feeling that this wasn't just Humphrey Bogart's and Ingrid Bergman's song, immortalized by Sam (the unforgettable Dooley Wilson) in the 1943 film, but that perhaps this had been "V"s and her late husband's song.  The movie came out around the time of their courtship and marriage, and, based on the far-away expression on her face, the song seemed to hold great significance to her... perhaps in the same way that Dan Fogelberg's "Same Old Lang Syne" does for me.  Long-ago memories (hers obviously longer than mine), filled with hope and promise for the future as two young people experience their first love.  Sometimes, as is the case with Fred and Lorraine, the love is shared for a wonderfully long time.  Other times, as with "V" and her husband, it is cut a little too short.  And every now and then, which was the case with me, the love never fully had the chance to bloom into beautiful maturity.

 

What a sentimental and melancholy weekend for "V" and I.

 

I can't wait for New Years' Eve, when I do another extra shift with her!

 

But in all honesty, there is no one else I would rather share it with.   The opportunity to enter 2014 with a beautiful, incredibly inspiring woman who will turn ninety-six years young in February of this year.  And to share another song with her,  "Old Lang Syne."  First written by Robert Burns in 1788 as a Scottish folk tune and now sung around the world on New Years Eve, the song has become symbolic of letting go of the past and welcoming in the present.  A new beginning for everyone everywhere, every single year. 

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR to all of you readers, and may the New Year bring nothing but peace, love and happiness to you all!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Afternoon with Alma (and an Old Electrolux!)

The Electrolux Vaccum (It really DOES do everything!)

 

Every now and then, a caregiving experience occurs completely out of the blue!

 

That's exactly hat happened to me yesterday afternoon!

 

It involves a person I had never met before (I'll refer to her as Alma, since she refers to me as Bernadette) and a gadget I had never used before (the extremely popular Electrolux vacuum).

 

Here's how the situation unfolded...

 

It is two days before Christmas, and I am between caregiving assignments with "V" (with whom I will happily be spending part of the holiday).    

 

Caregivers are frequently advised to "take care of themselves," and this is an area I admittedly struggle with immensely.

 

With all my Christmas shopping wrapped up, I decided to go see a movie at the local $3.00 theater (Yes.  You read that correctly... a $3.00 theater!  $2.00 on Tuesdays!  They show recent films that are just about to be released on DVD, and are very popular with people like myself who like to see a movie in a traditional atmosphere). 

 

I didn't even know what I was going to see, but all of the films start around the same time, so I headed out in the early afternoon towards the dreaded mall area, allowing myself plenty of time to navigate the last minute shopping holiday traffic. 

 

The slightly suburban area I live in has a typical strip of road lined with various retail stores, assorted restaurants, and, of course, "the Mall."  The movie theater I was headed for is, unfortunately, right in the center of this strip.  Luckily, my mobile home is located in a part of the county that is more rural, complete with quaint country roads dotted with old barns and horse farms.  Whenever I have to head toward the dreaded mall area, I take solace in the fact that I can enjoy these beautiful back roads.

 

About halfway through my drive, I received a phone call from an unknown number, so I pulled over to investigate further (and not get a ticket!).   Whenever I receive a call from an unknown number, I always answer it in a guarded manner, in case it is some kind of solicitor trying to convince me to purchase a product or service that I simply do not want.

 

Guardedly, I answered the phone with a low-toned query, "Hello?"

 

"Can you help me vacuum my living room so I can put up my Christmas decorations?"  I could tell that the voice was that of an older woman, someone I had never heard before. 

 

A bit taken aback, I politely asked who was on the line.

 

"Oh.  I'm Alma.  My son-in-law gave me your name and said you could help me vacuum my living room so I can put up my Christmas decorations." 

 

Recognition began to set in.  The son-in-law is the owner of the mobile home park I live in, and in a recent discussion about my job as a caregiver, I had given him my phone number.  As is commonly the case, he said that he had several older members in his family who might need my services.

 

"Can you help me?" the woman asked, a sense of urgency in her voice.

 

"Sure I can," I replied, completely unsure of what I was getting myself into.  "When do you need help?" was the next logical question, so I asked it.

 

"Can you come now?" The sense of urgency sounded even more serious.

 

"Well..." I hesitated, not wanting to commit myself to a new assignment without first meeting the woman, which is generally the way I begin any case.  Kind of like a getting-to-know-you visit to see if me and the potential caregiveree (I know it's not a word, but the purpose of my blog, it should be!) are compatible.

 

"Oh what the heck!" I thought to myself.  It's the holiday season.  The $3.00 theater and the second run movie will be there another day.  Plus, I still wasn't sure which film I wanted to see.

 

"Sure I can help you," the words tumbled out of my mouth quicker than anticipated.  "Where do you live?" Again, the next logical question. 

 

Let me preface the next part of the story by saying that I do not believe that there are any coincidences in life.  At the half century mark, I have been around long enough to learn that everything happens for a reason, even if I don't quite know what it is at the time.  Eventually, sometimes sooner and sometimes later, (frequently much later), the reason becomes crystal clear.  Ohhhhhhhhh!  That's why that happened!  If I hadn't have experienced a certain event (often times a painful loss), then I wouldn't have been ready to experience the subsequent situation (often times, a joyful new beginning!).  After all, this is exactly what had happened in my life over the past year.  If "M" had not moved to Florida, where she now has a local caregiving team, I would not have been able to work with "V", who is a sheer delight!  See?  One door closes and another one opens.

 

As luck (or fate) would have it, the woman just happened to live about five minutes from where I had pulled over to take the phone call.  

 

And that's how I ended up in Alma's kitchen yesterday afternoon, where she greeted me with a cup of coffee and "stale" bread that was anything but stale!  Talk about delicious!  What a treat!

 

We chatted a little, a brief getting-to-know-you period, and Alma told me about how her mobility had diminished significantly over the past three months.  I was unclear about the whys, but I could definitely see the results.  Alma, who had also suffered a stroke several years ago, was  seriously struggling to get around the first floor of her home with a walker and a cane.  She pointed to her legs, swollen and painful-looking, and told me that as much as she wanted to, she simply wasn't able to do the things that she used to do.  My heart went out to her, as this was the same situation that was going on with "V".

 

"Christmas is in two days and I haven't even vacuumed my living room or put the decorations out," Alma told me.  Seeing her physical limitations in person, I began to understand why the sense of urgency in her voice during our initial phone contact made complete sense.

 

Without a second thought, and also without seeing the living room, I agreed to help Alma for a "few hours."

 

"I just need you to help vacuum the living room and put up some Christmas decorations," Alma explained as she led me to the area I would be working in.

 

SHOCK!  Sheer and sudden!  That's the only way I can describe how I felt when I saw the device with which I would be vacuuming the pristine looking living room (that didn't even appear to need any vacuuming!)

 

"It's an Electrolux," Alma told me proudly.  "I've had it for years!  It can do anything!"

 

Excitedly, and much too quickly, Alma showed me all the attachments, and explained which one I should use on each different surface.  "This one is for the furniture.  This one is for the lamp shades.  This one is for the bricks on the fireplace.  This one is for the corners of the room.  This one is for the stairs.   This one is for the carpet..." 

 

One more time, please, and a bit slower!  I was amazed at how adept Alma was at switching the assortment of attachments that accompanied the vacuum!  Panic began to creep into my body as I watched Alma's quick movements.  How would I ever be able to operate this "thing"?  I desperately wanted to help her, but I also wanted to do the job right!  The quality of my work is very important to me, as well as the satisfaction of the people I work with!  Simply said, I didn't want to screw this up!

 

"I'll be in the other room if you need me," Alma said, disappearing around a corner. 

 

And there I was.  Left alone with the Electrolux that supposedly does everything.  I'm not a big fan of modern electronic devices, but how I wished that I could just tell the "thing" what to do, and have it complete the project, no questions asked. 

 

"Well," I reasoned to myself.  "There must be a reason I was meant to be in Alma's living room learning how to use an Electrolux today."

 

With a great trepidation, I began the task at hand, talking myself through every step.

 

"Okay.  This gadget goes here, and this gizmo goes there..."  I diligently made my way through all the things Alma had asked me to do.  The furniture.  The lamp shades.  The bricks on the fireplace.  The corners of the room.  The stairs.  The carpet. 

 

I was sort of proud of myself when I had finished, and I called Alma into the room. 

 

Her reply was in no way what I expected to hear!

 

"Are you sure you vacuumed in here?" she questioned me.  "It still looks dirty!"

 

A bit shocked at her response, I recalled how pristine the living room had looked to begin with.

 

"I did everything you asked me to do," I answered, definitely taken aback by her response.

 

"The pillows need fluffing!  Did you vacuum the pillows?  They need to be fluffier!"

 

I looked around the living room again and noticed two little pink pillows on one of the chairs.  The chair was adjacent to the front window, and there was an empty glass on the end table next to it.  I had assumed that this was Alma's sitting chair, thus leaving the two little pink pillows untouched.  I wanted everything to look exactly the way it had before I started, including the two little pink pillows.

 

"And the glass!" Alma continued.  "You didn't put the glass in the kitchen!"

 

I didn't know what to say, but I knew I had to say something.  In a desperate attempt to justify the unmoved glass, which I hadn't even noticed, and the two un-fluffed little pink pillows, which had appeared perfectly fluffed to me, I explained to Alma that I didn't want to disturb any of her personal items and I had tried to keep everything the same as before.

 

"Okay.  Okay," she said, moving on to the next cleaning task.

 

The next cleaning task?  I thought I was just vacuuming the living room. 

 

"Go to the kitchen and get the paper towels and the glass cleaner under the sink," she instructed me, and I hurriedly obeyed, wanting to make sure she was satisfied with my work. 

 

Towels and spray bottle in hand, I returned to the living room, where Alma instructed me on how to clean the large front windows. 

 

"Now this is something I knew how to do, I thought confidently.  Spray the cleaner.  Wipe the windows. 

 

"I'll be in the other room if you need me, "Alma said, again disappearing around the corner. 

 

Quite frankly, I have to say that those windows looked perfectly clean before I sprayed them down and wiped them clear.  But in spite of my perception, I began to consider Alma's perception.  She had always completed certain cleaning tasks in a particular order right before the holidays.  And this year, because of her physical limitations, she was unable to do these tasks independently.  Plus, this was the first time she had to ask for help.  I thought about how I would feel in that same situation, and realized how frustrating this must be for her.  Compassion suddenly replaced the confusion that had been swirling around in my head.   

 

The rest of the afternoon flew by as I happily did everything that Alma asked me to do.  I dusted the furniture.  I wiped down all of the family photographs.  I followed her slowly as she literally crawled up the staircase to the unused second floor of the home, where the Christmas decorations were kept in her daughters' old bedroom. 

 

At times, Alma's breathing was quite heavy and a bit staggered.  It was evident that the exertion of getting to the second story was a strenuous effort for her. 

 

As Alma and I sorted through the Christmas decorations, with her sitting on one of the twin beds in her daughters' old bedroom and I gathering the different bags and boxes she pointed to, I noticed that the urgency had left her voice.  She began to slow down, happily telling me stories of Christmas' past spent in the company of  her late husband and three (now grown) children.  There was great pride, and love, in her voice, and I could literally feel just how much each decoration meant to her.

 

With the utmost care, I carried each decoration down the stairs to the living room.  After about ten trips (at least it felt like ten!), all of the boxes and bags had been moved, and Alma slowly worked her way down the staircase, with me following close behind to ensure her safety. 

 

As it grew darker outside, Alma sat in her chair (the one with the now fluffed and vacuumed little pink pillows) and allowed me the pleasure of decorating the little Christmas tree that we had found, put together, and placed on an antique table in front of the immaculate front picture window (after I gingerly removed the giant lamp and placed it in the proper corner of Alma's bedroom, of course).  First the lights.  White ones interspersed with a few colored bulbs, as directed.  Then the little ornaments, placed exactly where Alma told me to place them.  And finally, a single strand of garland, which I managed to wrap around the tree "Perfectly!" according to Alma.  (Yay me!!!)

 

"It's beautiful!" Alma exclaimed, very much satisfied with the results.  "Now everyone can see that I have my little Christmas tree up and decorated, just as usual!" 

 

"It is beautiful," I replied sincerely.  "I might just go home and redecorate my own tree!" I told Alma, and she laughed, so much more relaxed and content then when I had first arrived.

 

"Just vacuum up the sparkles from the tree that fell on the kitchen floor," Alma told me, "then you can go." 

 

I gladly vacuumed up every single sparkle.  And I didn't even worry about which Electrolux attachment to use.  I had a feeling that whatever one I chose would be just right.

 

The two hour assignment had turned into four hours, but that was fine with me.  My afternoon with Alma had turned out to be an unexpected holiday gift, bringing both of us great joy, pleasure, and companionship.  Our new friendship was confirmed when Alma uttered the next sentence.

 

"After the holidays," Alma added as I was leaving, "We'll work on the drapes!"

 

My heart sank just a bit.  Drapes?  I don't know anything about drapes!

 

"By the way," Alma called out after me, "If you don't know anything abut drapes, I'll teach you."

 

Standing in Alma's driveway, I snapped a picture of her little Christmas tree as it appeared through the immaculately clean front window of her home.  Blurriness of the photo aside (night photography with my new Samsung phone is another area I need to improve upon), I have to admit that my afternoon with Alma was a complete and utter delight!

 

 

You just never know what unexpected pleasure may be waiting around the corner, so keep your eyes (and mind) open, and enjoy the holiday season!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Christmas' Past

With only six days until Christmas, I can't help but reflect upon previous holidays, many of which were spent in different places with a diversity of wonderful people.

 

Twenty-five years ago, I remember the Christmas I spent in a Long-Term Adolescent Psychiatric Unit.  I wasn't a patient there, and even if I was, I would still mention it.  I was one of the Mental Health Workers. 

 

At the time, I was putting myself through graduate school and working a weekly three day, thirteen hour overnight shift that fit nicely into my schedule.  I always volunteered to work the holidays, not only because I would earn a bit extra, but because it kept me from thinking about my own perceived problems. 

 

It's amazing.  All one need do is really look at the actual difficulties that so many people worldwide endure every single day to put your own life into perspective.  At least that's how is with me anyway. 

 

Take the kids on the unit for example.  All of them were under the age of twenty-one, and some were as young as twelve or thirteen.  And many of them were suffering from a long-term psychiatric disorder, most commonly Schizophrenia.  At that time, insurance was not anywhere near the same as it is today, (get them in and out as quick as humanly possible while keeping in compliance with all types of regulations), and the teen-agers in the hospital were permitted to stay for as long as a year, sometimes even more.

 

I remember a young girl on my unit, "J", who was one of these long-timers.  She must have been about fifteen or sixteen, and the Christmas I worked with her was actually the second one she had spent at the hospital. 

 

Her parents came to visit her on every holiday, and this one was certainly no exception.  But as nice as the visit was for "J", her family would ultimately go back home, leaving her (again) in the care of Mental Health Workers and Nurses who they trusted would do just that... care for their daughter. 

 

There really wasn't anything distinctive about that particular Christmas, other than I remember helping some of the young people bake and decorate holiday cookies.  (Yes!  You read that correctly!  Me!  Baking!).  Actually, my role was to assist in the decorating rather than the baking, so this suited me just fine! 

 

A lot of the other adolescents on the unit had earned "passes" so that they could go home for the holiday, so the unit was low in census.  In fact, I think there may have only been three or four patients there that day.  This was rather nice, because it gave the workers time to connect more personally with the teens that remained on the unit, something that was not always possible during a regular shift when a full census was common and full staffing was not.

 

When I think back, I can remember spending a good amount of time with "J" that Christmas Day, and it was a mutually happy experience for both of us.  Extended one-on-one time with a favorite staff member was rare, so this was truly an opportunity to savor.

 

"J" never said much.  Her vocabulary was fairly limited.   She did smile a lot, though.  Luckily, the voices that dominated her brain were friendly ones, not dangerous or scary, as could be the case with some Schizophrenics.   "J" was almost always in a happy mood, and one of the easier patients to work with because of that.  To me, she was a beautiful young woman whose mental health was severely impaired, causing her to see and hear things that were not there.  When she was able to take joy in a non-imagined task, such as decorating a Santa Claus or Snowman cookie, it was a wonderful experience to witness.  I know I certainly was grateful for the opportunity to share it with her.

 

A quarter of a century has passed since then, and I have spent the holiday season in a wide variety of environments.  Often times, it would be a small group home made up of mentally ill and/or developmentally disabled adults who were nearing their senior years.  These holidays were always fun and full of happy memories!  I'll never forget the Christmas that one of my favorite elderly gentleman, who had spent much of his early life in a not-so-nice institution, was given a large three-wheeled bicycle as a gift from the agency.   Generally ornery and foul-tempered (I think everyone liked him that way, so he kept up the "act"), his eyes lit up like a small child getting the BEST GIFT EVER when he saw that trike!  The weather was bad that year, so the staff let him ride the bike around the first floor of the old Victorian style house that the residents called home.  Eventually, he would be able to ride it around the large circular driveway, but not on this particular Christmas day.  Round and round he went, an uncharacteristic and quite genuine grin on his face, truly enjoying a magical moment.  It was magical for me, too, or I wouldn't be able to recall it so distinctly.

Of course, last year was one of the most joyous holiday seasons I've ever experienced!  Regular readers will know that it's because of the merry little Christmas I spent completely alone in the company of the beautiful "M".  Christmas Eve was as magical as they get. "M" and I were the last two people to be seated in the local church for the most inspirational candlelight services I have ever attended.  Both of us quite literally were moved to tears, but luckily "M" always had a zillion hankies jammed into every pocket she had!

 

Oh how I miss "M" this holiday season, although I am forever grateful for the glorious memory of our Christmas past.  Just like the other special people I have been blessed to spend a holiday (or two or three) with.  All of them, from young "J" in the psychiatric hospital, to my ornery old friend with the tricycle, to my beloved "M' in her new Florida home have left a permanent impact on my life in a truly wonderful way.

And this year, I can look forward to spending Christmas night with the amazing "V", who has made a miraculous recovery from her recent hip replacement, and is now back in her own home... just in time for the holiday.  Perhaps we will spend it watching old movies, or TV Land re-runs, but whatever we do, it will add to my list of joyous memories from Christmas' past being a caregiver to others.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL OF MY READERS!!!  AND A SINCERE THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH MY BLOG THUS FAR!!!

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Just one more thing to share with you before I close...

I ran into "J" over a decade later at a local department store near my home town.  At first I did not recognize the now grown woman in front of me, but much to my amazement, she remembered me!  How many staff members and other providers must she have encountered over the years, and yet she could still recall my face... 

"We made cookies together!" she exclaimed with a wide smile.

Yes we did.  What a gift it is to know that something as seemingly small as decorating a Santa Claus or Snowman cookie can mean so much to someone else.

 

 

 

Me, "V" and a Dose of PT

Having worked in the Human Services field for twenty-five years, I have become all too familiar with the many facets of health care that I am not at all capable of doing on a regular basis.  

 

Earlier in my career, when I first worked as a direct caregiver in a group home for the mentally ill, I got my first glimpse into emergency psychiatric care.  All I can say now is WOW!  In fact, that's all I could say back then, come to think of it.  The people who devote their lives to staffing a psychiatric crisis unit are amazing, and I have always been in awe of the incredible work they do.

 

Later on, after I decided to become a case manager, I got to see other aspects of the health care field.  Nursing always fascinated me, and at one time, I seriously considered this course of study.  With degrees in English Education and Counseling & Human Development, I knew that my occupational choices might be somewhat limited.  I also knew that I would never in a million years be able to pass the science classes required to become a nurse.  (Yes.  I admit it.  My self-esteem was flying quite high back in those day!)

 

Over the years, I've had occasion to visit many of the people I serve in a variety of settings, including medical hospitals, psychiatric facilities, state-run institutional settings (which, happily, have been almost virtually eliminated as a method of caring for the disabled in New York State), rehabilitation centers, nursing homes, assisted living facilities, community residences, supported apartments, and most often, in their own homes. 

 

And I've also been privileged to sit back and observe the many incredible tasks performed by staff members ranging from Janitorial Workers to Dieticians to Nurse's Aides to Unit Supervisors to the Chief of Medicine him or herself.  And I have developed a much deeper respect, understanding and compassion for all aspects of health care, particularly for those individuals that perform their roles with such seamless expertise and dignity.  Think about it.  How many jobs can you name that, to be done at their absolute finest, involve a delicate balance of both expertise and dignity?

 

This past weekend with "V" truly highlighted just a sample of the incredible work that those who are not in the specific profession of caregiving do on a daily basis.

 

I arrived at the Rehabilitation Center on Friday afternoon to perform my usual weekend shift only to find an extremely exhausted "V" sitting in a state-of-the-art reclining chair... complete with wheels (trust me, the wheels will become a big part of this blog in a few paragraphs!).  In fact, throughout the rest of the evening, including dinner time, "V" could barely keep her eyes open. 

 

Overall, "V" looked far better than she had when I  last saw her the previous Sunday morning.  Her hair was brushed nicely.  She was fully dressed in her usual plain colored T-shirt and jeans.  And most noticeably, she had on bright, perhaps even blinding, neon socks.  Socks suited to "V"s preferences perfectly!
 

"I'm sorry I'm so tired," "V" explained to me apologetically after I arrived.  "Today was shower day," she continued, straining to even say the words.

I looked at the bulletin board of the day's activities, and there it was in big, bold, black magic marker:  SHOWER!  And not the kind of shower where the patient sits in a bath chair and the nursing staff gently do the washing.  No...  After only a week in the Rehab Unit, "V" was being taught to wash on her own (which is a skill, I suspect, that she already mastered during the previous ten decades!).  Specifically, "V" was learning how to reach parts of her body that could be very difficult due to her body's recent trauma. 

"You don't need to apologize," I replied comfortingly.  "I like you just the same whether you are awake or asleep!" 

"It's good to see you," "V" smiled wearily, but her eyes began to close again almost before the words were out of her mouth.

"You too," I answered, not sure if she heard me or not.

The day-time caregiver had left for the evening, but one of the nursing staff came in and explained to me exactly what type of activities "V" had done during the day.  As it turns out, not only is Friday shower day, but it also involves a regular Physical Therapy session, which "V" had been participating in daily throughout the entire week. 

"That's why she's so tired," the staff member stated.  "She's been working really hard in Physical Therapy, and is making terrific progress."

Hmmmmm... I decided that I would like to observe a Physical Therapy session for myself, just to see exactly what the Rehabilitation people were making "V" do that would wear her out so completely.

They say (who exactly are "they"?) be careful what you wish for, and that generally turns out to be true.  Sure enough, the next morning, I had the opportunity to observe/participate in a Physical Therapy session.  And now that my shift is over and I am writing about the experience in hindsight, I think I am still in the process of recovering! 

The perky physical therapist arrived bright and early on Saturday, shortly after "V" had finished her breakfast, used the commode and gotten dressed (all with assistance, of course, but nevertheless AMAZING progress from the condition I last saw her in less than a week ago).  

Actually, it wasn't that early.  10:00am to be exact.  But when a ninety-five year old woman is recovering from a hip replacement, every single activity, however small, takes a great deal of time.  To her, and to me (a former night shift worker), 10:00am is early!

When the Physical Therapist arrived, first introducing herself because she was not the same person who had been performing the therapy during the week, I could see "V"s expression tighten into a bit of a frown. 

"Already?" "V" asked, the weariness returning to her voice.

"Yes!  Time to get up and going!"  The Physical Therapist explained that she would be walking next to "V" down to the gym, and my curiosity was instantly peaked.  "A gym?  What would a ninety-five year old hip replacement patient possibly do in a gym?"  I wondered.  That silly slogan went through my head again, and I knew I needed to stop wishing and wondering.

"You have a job, too!" the Physical Therapist said pointing at me.  "You get to roll the chair down!"  Aha!  There it was!  The explanation for the state-of-the-art reclining chair complete with wheels!  And don't for a minute think that just because a thing has wheels, it rolls easily!  Me and the magical mystery chair struggled down that looooooong hallway all the way to the gym.  I completely forget how "V" was doing with her walker.  This was difficult!  I'm sure all of the staff members must have been quite amused at my inexperienced antics, as they had all rolled the beast before.

Once in the gym, I was instantly in awe of all the equipment and gadgets.  Parallel bars (was "V" training for the Olympics?).  Giant, colorful rubber balls (what fun!).  Cushioned mats placed strategically throughout the room (in case a nap is needed?).  A bicycle made for only the arms (now that looks kind of fun!).  All sorts of "toys" (that's what the therapist referred to them as!) that were brand new to me.  I liked this gym!

My fascination turned to consternation quite quickly, however.  This was a house of horrors!  At least for someone five years shy of a century! 

I stood near the doorway and carefully observed the Physical Therapist's actions with "V" from start to finish.  Some of them didn't seem too difficult at first glance.  Laying on the mat and spreading each leg out.   Lifting each leg up and bending at the knee.  But twenty times each?  That was a lot!  I could see "V" growing tired by ten, and struggling to continue by fifteen.  I could also see a great deal of pain in her face.  These exercises must have been excruciating for someone who just had a hip replacement! 

And yet she persevered, diligently counting off each number with the therapist until she reached twenty for every single exercise.  After the mat, "V" was offered a cup of water and a rest in an arm chair, and she eagerly accepted both.  She looked over at me, and I gave her a broad smile and a big thumbs up, but I'm not sure that was exactly the boost she needed to complete the session. 

"You're doing GREAT!" I softly yelled across the room, and she smiled wearily letting out a deep sigh at the same time.

Next up were the standing exercises, done at the parallel bars.  My heart sank for "V".  Standing for a length of time was difficult before the injury, so I could only imagine what it would feel like after the surgery.  Luckily, the Physical Therapist placed a chair behind "V", just in case. 

Since I was standing as well, I decided that I would participate in the activities along with "V", so I would know what they felt like.  I didn't have parallel bars to hold, but I was able to find two sturdy chairs to steady myself in between.

"You're going to raise yourself up from your heels to your tip toes," she explained to "V", who was clutching the bars tightly.  "Twenty times."

Okey Dokey.  Here we go.  Up and down.  Up and down.  After a couple of ups and downs, I concluded that this wasn't all that strenuous. 

I soon realized that I had jumped to that conclusion all too quickly.  My legs began to feel the strain at around ten ups and downs.  My first thought was one of embarrassment at my pitifully poor physical condition.   That swiftly turned into my second thought, which was how horribly difficult this exercise must be for "V". 

Yet she still persevered.  All the way to twenty ups and downs.  Then the Physical Therapist had her sit down in the chair and drink some more water, which she gratefully did. 

As for me, I leaned up against the wall trying to disguise my panting as regular breathing.  Granted, I do have Asthma, which sometimes is affected by a lot of movement, but still...  It was only twenty ups and downs!  It wasn't as though I had done laps around a track or anything!  

"2014's New Year's Resolution," I thought to myself.  "GET IN BETTER SHAPE!"

At this point, I truly hoped that the session was over for "V", who looked so very tired.  Wrong again.  Apparently, the crafty Physical Therapist had saved the best for last.  In fact, I hadn't even noticed this particular "toy" when I first entered the gym.  But there it stood distinctly in the far corner - a set of stairs.  Three going up, then a little platform, and another three going down.  Of course there were railings on both sides of the stairs, which would be absolutely necessary for "V".  Even so, it seemed to me that going up and down steps after a hip replacement, even though there were only three, was a wee bit too much for someone in their tenth decade of life.

It didn't matter what I thought, however.  What mattered was "V"s sheer willpower and absolute determination.  And it was mighty darned strong!  My admiration for her increased with every step she successfully navigated up and down.   This was a tough as nails woman who desperately wanted to recover from her trauma and get back to living in her own home.  My eyes swelled as I watched her, and I was filled with an extremely well-justified sense of awe and a rather odd feeling of pride, as though I was seeing my own Grandmother complete the exercises.  Absolutely amazing!

The Physical Therapist snapped me out of my near trance when she declared, "You're all through for the day!  Time to go back to your room!"

I could see "V"s face relax as a smile slowly slipped through her lips.  "I'm glad that's over!" she said, a tone of great relief in her voice.

"Here's where you come in," the Physical Therapist added, pointing at me.  I had hoped that she may have been pointing at someone else, but unfortunately for me, other than "V", there was no one else in the gym.

"If she needs assistance getting back to her room, you can help push her," she continued.  She pointed again, only this time it was to the state-of-the-art reclining chair, complete with wheels!

"Oh no!" I thought selfishly.  I looked like a buffoon the first time around, and that was with an empty chair!  I'd no doubt look like an absolute circus clown with someone in it!

I then realized that the state-of-the-art reclining chair complete with wheels was another "just in case."  "V" started her trek down the long hallway completely on her own, using only her walker.  The Physical Therapist, whose skills I had grown to truly admire over the course of the past hour, slowly walked beside her, guiding "V" gently. 

And holding up the rear, of course, was me... and the chair!

"You can sit down if you need to," the Physical Therapist softly told "V". 

I was amazed that this woman, who, after all, had been the one responsible for inflicting all those painful exercises on "V" had such a compassionate side.  That's when I also realized that hers was not at all an easy job.  She needed to be seemingly "tough" on her patients in order to motivate them to complete the often difficult physical activities that would make them stronger.   I don't know if I would be able to successfully balance being both a Drill Sargent and a Social Worker, depending on which role was needed.  What I do know is that I don't have anywhere near the training and expertise it takes to successfully utilize so many varied physical therapy techniques.  All of the pieces of equipment in the gym were not toys at all, but rather skillfully crafted devices designed to ensure optimal recovery to specific body parts.  And in "V"s case, the outcome was incredible.

She didn't need the state-of-the-art reclining chair, complete with wheels to make it back to her room at the other end of the hall.  Not in the least!  She walked down that long hallway all on her own, using only the walker for support, along with a spirit full of sheer determination.  This was a woman who was clearly motivated to get stronger, so that she could return to the level of independence she had before the fall.  The Physical Therapist had definitely done her job!

As I watched the various hospital staff members perform their very distinctive duties throughout the rest of the day, I was filled with a sense of great respect and pride for all of the people who choose the Human Services field as their vocation.  It is not an easy job. 

And I was filled with an even greater sense of respect for the amazing woman that I had been chosen to care for. 

How grateful and proud I am to be a part of "V"s caregiving team.








 

A True Trooper

In my last blog entry, I described how "V"s caregiving team was re-assigned and distributed during our recent "Bug Out!!!" 

 

What I neglected to tell you is how "V" handled the sudden and, at times, not so smooth transition (if you consider the painfully long and bumpy ride from the hospital to the rehabilitation center in an emergency transport vehicle) to her new level of care.  From her perspective, I am certain that it did not always seem as though things were truly "going with the flow."

 

Smooth or bumpy, one thing rings loud and clear, and that is the absolute dignity with which "V" endured her recent ordeal.

 

That is at least worth a blog entry all its own.

 

When I learned of my relocation to the Rehabilitation Center for my weekend assignment with "V", I was extremely wary of what I might find when I arrived there.  The only information I had received thus far was from her other caregivers and her daughter-in-law, and while the communication was extremely helpful, it was all reflective of  "V"s time in the surgical unit before, during, and after her hip replacement.

 

The Physical Therapy Unit of a rehabilitation facility, I knew from past experiences, would involve a much more active, and frequently painful, type of recovery.  Given "V"s age, I was filled with worry and concern as I traveled to her new temporary (hopefully) residence.  Transition is difficult at any age, no matter what the situation entails, and I knew that "V"s fall would involve many changes in her daily routine, some that could perhaps permanently impact her former lifestyle. 

 

Words cannot do justice to the relief I felt when I first saw "V" in her room at the rehabilitation center.  The expression on her face said it all.  Alert.  Determined.  Ready to take on the next challenge.  And given what she had just endured during the week, I was actually quite stunned. 

 

There she lay in her hospital bed, her covers disheveled and still showing some stains from the recent operation.  The dressing on her wound needed to be re-applied, and because it was change of shift at the facility, as well as the fact that "V" was a new admission, the nursing staff had not yet been able to attend to their new patient. 

 

Nevertheless, "V" looked terrific!  Her color was good, despite the dingy grayness of the drab hospital "gown."   Her countenance revealed her usual dignity, as well as her characteristic good-naturedness.  Her eyes lit up with a smile that so clearly reflected the same one that shone so brightly through her pale, dry lips.  This was a woman with a tremendous courage and strength!  I knew from the moment I saw her that whatever changes were necessary to ensure that she could continue living independently in her home would be put into place seamlessly.

 

"You found me!" she exclaimed as I stumbled into the room with my knapsack and snack bags, more than a bit disoriented from the long drive to an unknown destination.

 

Her daytime caregiver was standing beside her, and her relieved expression echoed mine.  I could only imagine the kind of week that she must have had, remaining right by "V"s side to comfort and encourage her before, during, and after the surgery.  In many ways, she appeared more tired and worn out than "V".

 

We talked for quite a while before she left for the evening, as there was a great deal of information that needed to be exchanged about "V"s transition from the surgical hospital to the rehabilitation unit.  Luckily (perhaps not the best choice of words), "V" had been treated at this facility several times before, most recently, a year earlier when she was recovering from her first hip replacement.  She was quite understandably a favorite among the staff members, who all seemed to recognize her immediately, and vice versa.  It was like old home week, and I was the only new member.

 

It was agreed that I would stay for my regular hours with "V", and then go back to her home for the night, which would save me a great deal of driving as well as also allow me to gather up some necessary items that "V" would need in her new location, such as a change of clothes, shoes, grooming items, and, not surprisingly, her I-Pad (an absolute necessity!).  Perhaps most importantly for "V", she would have the comfort of knowing that her house plants were watered and the garbage taken out on time. 

 

Shortly after my arrival, a dinner tray was brought up to "V", and I looked on in amazement as she ravenously dug into a piece of chicken accompanied only by a lonely group of cooked corn kernels.  No dignity there!  This woman was HUNGRY!!!  Any sign of "V"s typically ever-so-neat eating etiquette seemed to fly right out the window, perhaps landing on the helicopter pad that was our new vista (farewell dead field of beans until next Spring!), awaiting immediate airlifting.

 

When she had finished devouring the chicken, "V" returned to her polite and delicate demeanor, politely asking me, "Would you like the Jello?"

 

Still stunned, but also hungry, I replied, "Yes. Thank you," and proceeded to devour the jiggling red-dyed substance.  Not our usual dinner fare, but better than nothing.

 

With dinner out of the way (at least I think that is what had just transpired in "V"s room), the nursing staff told "V" that they would be in to change her linens and gown shortly. 

 

Hearing this statement from the nurse, "V"s expression stiffened, and I suspected that she was bracing herself for what she knew from prior experience would be a most painful and quite unpleasant occurrence. 

 

I also knew what changing the linens and clothing of someone who had just undergone a hip replacement would entail, so I gently told "V", "I'll be right here next to you.  You can squeeze my hand as tightly as you want."

 

"Okay," she nodded, "I may need to."  That was a rather unexpected, but extremely welcome statement, coming from "V".   Up until this point in our relationship, we had been on a still somewhat formal basis in terms of our interactions.  Granted, I helped the woman get dressed and undressed (with the lights out, of course) at home, as well as prepared and cleaned up after her meals.  And we had become very close  as old movie and "Everybody Loves Raymond" buddies. 

 

But there was still a level of trust that had yet to be achieved in my relationship with "V" thus far, and I strongly suspected that our time together on the rehabilitation unit was about to change all of that.

 

My instincts were correct, and the next excruciating half hour was a testament to that.

 

As the nursing staff, working in tandem, gently rolled "V" on her side to begin the changing process, I could see the level of pain, and even a bit of fear, well up in her pleading eyes.  I got down on my knees so that my own eyes were level with hers, and looked at this amazingly courageous woman whose hands were clinging to the bedrail with every ounce of energy she had so that she could remain on her side while the changing took place.  We never unlocked our gazes, and I gently placed my hand on top of hers and repeated the phrase, "You're doing just fine," in an attempt to soothe her.  I'm sure that other sentences, such as "It will be over soon," and "Squeeze my hand if you need to," came helplessly out of my mouth during the agonizing changing process, but I couldn't be certain what the exact words were.  I just kept staring at "V", and she at me, hoping with all my heart that her horrific pain would stop soon.  Our gazes were locked, and it was as though I could almost feel her distress in my own stiffened body.  Almost being the key word.  I have never been through any type of bone fracture or replacement, and so I couldn't possibly know how I would feel in a state of such tremendous physical discomfort. 

 

What I did know was that in front of my eyes lay a woman of undeniable courage and strength, a woman whose ninety-five years and counting have included, along with some ecstatically joyous events, more than its fare share of heart-wrenching sorrows.  

 

When the linens were changed, along with "V"s dingy grey drab hospital gown, the nursing staff rolled "V" onto her back again.  During the process, "V" had not uttered a sound, the only expression coming from the depths of her eyes.  But as soon as she was in a more "comfortable" position, "V" let out a long, staggered sigh.  She took some deep breaths, as deep as she was able to, and the tension and pain slowly began to slide from her face. 

 

After a few minutes, she looked at me straight in the eyes and I could swear I felt a new-found trust between the two of us emerge at that very moment, the kind of trust that comes from surviving something extremely difficult together... like a well-fought but incredibly demanding battle, perhaps.

 

"It wasn't as bad as childbirth, was it?" I asked "V", feeling a bit foolish for asking something so seemingly flippant.  But I was also genuinely curious, as childbirth, on a scale of one to ten, involved a level of pain closer to an eleven, which was something I could definitely relate to!

 

"V" cracked a slight smile, and with that, I knew that we had just overcome a huge hurdle in our relationship, and entered an entirely new phase of caregiving.

 

"No," she replied slowly, but with absolute certainty.  "It wasn't as bad as childbirth."  I could see the warmth coming back to her face, which, in spite of the recent trauma, looked absolutely beautiful to me.

 

"You know who I want to be like when I grow up?" I asked her. 

 

"V" shrugged her shoulders as best as she could with a curious look on her face.  "Who?" she queried in response.

 

"YOU!!!" I blurted out with sincere admiration and respect.  "V" looked incredulous, so I continued, "Seriously... I want to be like you!"

 

"How so?" she inquired.

 

"If I ever have to go through the type of pain that you just did, I want to be able to handle it just as gracefully."

 

"Thank you," she said, a true smile returning to her face.  "You will."

 

I stayed with "V" on Friday night until she fell asleep, aided by a pain pill that the nurse was instructed to give her.  "V" generally does not take a lot of medication, especially for pain, but I could tell that she was quite eager to take this particular pill.

 

She fell asleep to Raymond's antics, with me by her side, gently running my fingers up and down one of her hands.  When she started snoring (the soothing sound that I have gotten used to falling asleep to as heard through the baby monitor in my upstairs bedroom at "V"s home), I packed up my knapsack and other belongings, and prepared to leave for the night.  Before exiting, I leaned over and brushed my lips against her head in a slight kiss. 

 

"See you tomorrow," I whispered as "V" snored on.  Then I added, "You know, I really DO want to be like you when I grow up!"

 

If ever anyone deserved a Purple Heart for a non-combat situation that nevertheless felt very much like being in a battle, it was this dear, sweet woman sleeping peacefully in front of me. 

 

In my opinion, "V" is, without any doubt, a true trooper.

 

I went to sleep that night safe in the knowledge that whatever lay in store for "V" during the next several weeks or months of her recovery process, she would absolutely get through it with shining colors! 

 

Incidentally, I slept on "V"s bed.  On top of her covers, so as not to disturb anything.  For warmth, I draped myself with a comforter that she had crocheted many years ago, when she was still able to do things "on her own."

 

"If I am truly going to be like her when I grow up," I thought, "Then maybe I can do it through osmosis!"

It was the most peaceful night's sleep I've had in a very long time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Going with the Flow ("Bug Out!!!")

Starting waaaaaaay back in the early 1970's and running well into the early 1980's, there was an iconic American television show by the name of "*M*A*S*H*" (short for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital).  Based on the movie of the same name, the show was set during the deadly Korean War of the early 1950's, although its anti-war sentiments were really a reflection of America's involvement in the even deadlier Vietnam War that ended during the show's third season.  Eight seasons later, in 1983, "M*A*S*H*" also ended, but for the past thirty years has lived on as a poignant yet painful reminder of the devastating effects war has on the lives of so many people.  

 

(Okaaaaaay...  I admit it...  I was one of the series' really BIG fans!)

 

Sometimes I even wonder if its one of the reasons I went into the frenetic, albeit fulfilling, field of human services, which often leaves its staff members feeling like they've been through a war.

 

In one very memorable episode of the show, the entire camp, a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (or the good ole "4077", as it is lovingly remembered by really BIG fans like me) had to pack up and relocate due to an impending enemy attack.   The process,  referred to as a "Bug Out!!!", was rapid, like gunfire itself, and everything had to be coordinated quickly, yet with the utmost precision and clear communication, so that the process could flow smoothly, without a hitch, to ensure the safety of the human lives that were at risk...

 

This past week of caring for "V" felt exactly like that episode of "M*A*S*H*."  A "Bug Out!!!"  Rapid.  Quickly coordinated.  Precise.  Clearly communicated.  And thankfully, safely executed, the entire process flowing smoothly.

 

When I last saw "V" a week ago, she was in the process of cheering up a very dreary late November day with her positive attitude and gentle kindness.  Always worrying about other people first, I remember her calling to me, "Be careful driving!" as I walked out the front door of her home.  "V"s spirits were upbeat, and her overall health appeared to be pretty darned good for someone her age.   As I pulled out of her driveway in my little blue Honda Fit, I had every intention of seeing her again five days later in the exact same spot.

 

That's why I was so incredibly shocked when I received a phone call from one of the other members of "V"s caregiving team the following day informing me that she had fallen and fractured her left hip... her good hip.  A little over a year ago, she had fractured the other one, and had subsequently undergone very intensive physical therapy, especially for a ninety-five year old, so that she could return to living as independently as possible in her own home. 

 

"It's a hairline fracture," the other caregiver explained to me over the phone.  "The x-rays didn't even show one at first."

 

I was stunned, and simply didn't know what to say.   And believe me, that rarely happens!

 

The caregiver continued, "They are going to do another hip replacement as soon as they can get it scheduled.  After that, "V" will go to a rehabilitation center again."

 

Again.  That's the word that made me feel so badly for "V".  The Thanksgiving holiday is this upcoming week, and a rehabilitation facility is exactly where she was around the same time last year.  I know from experience (thanks to "M" and her Senior Sisters) that Thanksgiving spent in such a place can be extremely enjoyable and entertaining.  But probably not two years in a row.  At least not for someone as self-sufficient as "V".

 

My own self-centered worry began to get the better of me after I hung up the phone.  Caring for "V" on the weekends is my full-time job.   As much as I value my time with her, it is also the way I make a living and pay my bills.  My mind began racing toward the Christmas Holiday Season (no thanks to the onslaught of advertisement that retailers bombard consumers with as soon as the kids are packed up and back in school!).  I would need money to buy gifts for my family.  I'm always a thrifty shopper, and like to "discover treasures" at second-hand stores, (like "M"s Piper Cub from last year), but I still need something to start with.  And at the current time, I don't have much.  Like so many people in today's struggling economy, I live paycheck to paycheck, and have gotten used to surviving on a shoestring budget.

 

It never once dawned on me that "V"s family members, who had already quite clearly demonstrated their commitment to having her live as independently as possible in her own home, would offer a win-win solution that would benefit every single member of "V"s caregiving team.  And even more importantly, it would greatly improve "V"s understandably sagging spirits.  I could already imagine how guilty she would be feeling about "being a bother" to everyone else, and I longed to tell her that she was anything but that!  In fact, she is exactly the opposite!

 

And that's how it was decided that "V"s four-person caregiving team would "Bug Out!!!"  We were to pack up and relocate!  Wherever "V" went, so would we!   The traveling caregivers.  (Do I have to start an entirely new blog???)  I was completely onboard with the idea, as were the other caregivers, and extremely grateful that the option was offered to all of us by "V"s family members. 

 

Throughout the remainder of the week, we all diligently stayed in touch about "V"s hip replacement surgery and recovery, and by the time my shift rolled around again on Friday afternoon, I was completely prepared and entirely willing to go with the flow.  The only problem was that I wasn't quite sure in which direction I would be flowing, either the surgical hospital, located thirty miles north of my home, or the Rehabilitation Center, situated forty miles west of my home.  Either way was fine with me!  I just needed to know in which way to point my little blue Honda Fit!

 

Shortly before throwing my knapsack into the car, I received the clarifying call from "V"s primary weekday caregiver.  The surgery had gone successfully, and "V was currently en route to the Swing Bed Unit in the Physical Therapy Department at the hospital closest to her home.  The exact same place she had been a year ago when she fractured her other hip... and the exact same place where hardworking staff members assisted "V" in her recovery.  I couldn't help but imagine how happy they would all be to see her again.

 

So Westward it was!  I had absolutely no idea what my duties with "V" would entail as I began my weekly trek across the river and over the foothills to "V"s neck of the woods.  Her daughter-in-law, who had contacted me several times earlier in the week, assured me that the family wanted to keep the caregiving team "in tact", but also acknowledged that the job itself would be "different" for a while.  I was so relieved for everyone involved, not only for myself, but also for the other caregivers, the family members, and most significantly, for "V", who would now have her own little M*A*S*H* unit tending to her recovery from an untimely, but not insurmountable, setback.

 

We will all just go with the flow... the new goal being to have "V" living independently in her own home again by the Christmas Holiday. 

 

Wow!  Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I am so glad that I chose the frenetic field of human services to work in, even if it does sometimes seem like being on a battlefield.  It's the most fulfilling thing I've' ever done, and I am extremely proud to be a member of "V"s caregiving team.

 

 

 

 

You guessed it... the view from "V"s Rehabilitation Center room!  I can still hear Radar O'Reilly's anxious announcement over the M*A*S*H* unit's loudspeaker right now, "Chopper alert!  All available personnel report to the O.R. immediately!  Incoming Wounded!"

 

 

 

This may be my work attire for the next shift with "V", wherever she may be! 

Amazing how it just happened to be sitting right front & center in my drawer of favorite old T-Shirts.