Growing Old

For years I had an extreme fear of aging. Not cosmetic aging; bring it on laugh lines and crow's feet. I am talking about the type of aging that steals your memories, your cognition and your independence. The thief that slowly takes your ability to communicate with others and your ability to care for yourself. It started when I got my first job in a nursing home in Brookfield. This particular nursing home fit the scary stereotype of being understaffed with underpaid employees. As an 17 year old CNA I was in charge of the cares of 16 severely demented patients. These patients had late stage Alzheimers and Parkinson's disease and they were unable to care for themselves in the most simple of ways. They were terrified and angry. Occasionally you came across the demented person who went the other way- towards a blissful acceptance and indifference, but this was rare. Every morning I got these 16 people toileted, dressed and fed. It was a constant battle with confusion- people had no idea who I was and why I was trying to help them. I was bit, spit on, kicked, and called names. And then on other days I was loved and thanked, and given hugs and kisses. I never knew what was coming. But through it all I felt a heartbreaking sorrow for my patients. I felt their loneliness. I took on their sadness and tried to console them in every way possible. I became emotionally involved in their lives and perhaps this is when the fear began to take root.

I would never place blame on families that need to put their loved ones in nursing homes because I understand what it takes to care for an needy elderly person with complicated health history. I know that it is a full time 24 hour job which is hard both physically and emotionally. I know it is virtually impossible for some people to commit to a job like this.

Still, I began to have nightmares of bed alarms going off, and of people crying out in long empty corridors.

Now, 6 years after my first job as a CNA, I was asked to do nursing home rounds with a Nurse Practicioner. Last night before my big debut in geriatrics I confronted my fears again, but this time my role would be different. I walked into the NH this morning and was met with a familiar feeling, a familiar smell of disinfectant. But today was different, this nursing home was well staffed with caring competent nurses and CNA's. It had about 40 patients in total and each nurse was very familiar with their particular needs. It was amazing to see the difference. There were still patients in pain and patients dying, but the nurses were able to sit by their beds and hold their hands. I walked into a room where a lady was crying and shouting "get it off of me! Get it off!". As I tried to help her, a nurse who knew her history walked over and began to calmly talk to her. She held her hand and pulled up a chair. She asked the troubled patient, "do you want me to sit here with you and hold your hand?" and through gasps of tears the patient calmly answered "yes, that would be nice." That was the end of her crying.