Confessions of a Nursing Home Worker (Part I)

I worked there for four years as a dietary aide.  I worked in the kitchen.  I was per diem, and I was somewhat of a jack of all trades in the dietary department.  Most people had a particular job or regular assignment.  I did it all.  Mostly, because I was so easily bored.  I enjoyed shifting around, doing everyone’s job. Some things, I remember them so vividly.  But I’ve blocked a lot of memories.  They seem distant, almost like they never happened.

My gift is that I can laugh at anything.  And the darker something is, the easier it is for me to mock it.  My humor… my shield.  But there were so many moments in at the nursing home that were just plain funny.

I don’t have many good things to say about the nursing Home I worked at.  But I can say, that during the holidays, the Home and the workers did try to step up their game for the residents that didn’t have family to take them out.  Thanksgiving was a big one.  The kitchen cooked up all of your Thanksgiving favorites, and it wasn’t even terrible tasting (though watching the elderly eat is horrifying… if you want to lose weight, just start watching the old eat. It’s fucking gross).  One Thanksgiving, one of the residents said to me, “what do they do with the turkey hearts?  It seems like such a waste.  There are so many people who need hearts, why not give them a turkey heart?”  Oh boy.  Where do I begin with this one?

The coffee shop in the nursing Home had a long glass window facing the hall.  I often worked in the coffee shop, where I made banging grilled cheese.  Residents and staff members alike would get excited when I worked the coffee shop, because of my delicious grilled cheeses.  People die in the nursing Home (surprise!).  When this happened, they would pass the coffee shop with the body bag, so I would get a phone call from the front desk and they’d ask me to create a distraction so the patrons of my coffee shop wouldn’t see a body bag being rolled down the hall.

Um… what sort of distraction would you like me to do?  I can make some amazing grilled cheeses.  That’s all I got.  I didn’t do anything.  They were all oblivious anyway.  The only person who would notice a body bag getting pushed through the hall was me.   If they hadn’t called, I probably wouldn’t have noticed either.  It may sound cruel, but someone dying was often more of a relief than a tragedy.  Most of the residents weren’t doing well, and death was a sweet reward.

The coffee shop had it’s regulars.  Some, I loved, some I couldn’t stand.  I recall an old woman in a wheel chair slowly approaching my counter.  When she finally got there, she pointed at me.

“Coffee, ma’am?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Tea?”

She nodded.

Oh, great.  I’m playing charades.

“Sugar?” I asked.

She nodded.

“One packet.”

She shook.

“Two?”

Nod.

“Milk?”

Nod.

“Okay, here ya go.”

“Thank you,” she said, perfectly clear.

I got in trouble sometimes for breaking residents diets.  There was a man who loved hot dogs.  For whatever reason, it was against the diet the dietician made for him, and the nurses told him he couldn’t have one.  There were people on liquid diets, and “chokers,” as long as they weren’t on a liquid diet or a choker, and they were half lucid, I gave them whatever they wanted.  I gave him a hot dog.  He was so happy.  He told me it reminded him of going to ball games with his dad when he was a kid.  It made his whole day (I gave him a second one too).  I, then, got in trouble for allowing him to break his diet.  What’s the big deal?  You’re going to buy him an extra shitty day in this place?  Let him have the hot dog.

There were many moments like this.  I would give residents candy and ice cream. If I liked them, they pretty much got whatever they wanted from me.  It brought them such a ridiculous amount of happiness.  They would call me an “angel,” and try to give me hugs and kisses (which I avoided.  The elderly gross me out, I did not like to be touched by them).  Don’t thank me, I’m just a prick that doesn’t care for the rules, and shares your passion for ice cream.  Surprisingly, I never did get in trouble for my behavior.  But I wasn’t stupid about it.  I wasn’t going to give someone something that would kill them instantly.  Most people agreed with me, but everyone was really paranoid about losing their job, and I just didn’t give a shit.

Every laugh you shared with a resident, every act of compassion would only be followed by heart break.  There was one resident, I’ll call her Susie.  I would bring her ice cream.  She would always compliment me on my skin.  She was a beacon of light there.  She had many friends and was beloved by the staff.  She was always optimistic.  Every time I worked, I looked forward to seeing her.  Then, the day came where I came into work and found out she was dead.  I knew this would happen.  This is what happens in this hell hole.  I needed a moment.  I went to bathroom.  I kicked the garbage can.  I cursed.  Then I sat on the toilet, my head in my hands and cried.  Five stages of grieving in five minutes.  I dried my tears.  Back to work.  This is why you don’t bond with the residents.  ‘Tis better to have loved than lost?  Fuck that.