tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14737465522774036632024-02-20T06:10:43.417-05:00the alfer lifecarriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.comBlogger182125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-61774873227526274772012-06-13T15:37:00.001-04:002012-06-13T15:37:48.068-04:00Candy ManA resident just popped in for a visit with a bag of candy, leaving four pieces on my desk. I thanked and said something about having a sweet tooth.<br />
<br />
"You have a sweet tooth, huh?" he asked, grinning. As I nooded, his grin turned into a full mouth gaping smile that reminded me of last year's jack-o-lantern after the knife slipped and I had to cut his teeth off. "Well I don't!" he roared. <br />
<br />
I love elders.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-27364129261972137272011-02-09T11:36:00.000-05:002011-02-09T11:36:28.941-05:00It's TrueYou really do learn something new every day.<br />
<br />
An 80-something year old man at the New Place just said his wife needed an appointment to see the "wig picker." HUH?<br />
<br />
Apparently he was referring to one of our staff doctors, as a quick google search showed me that "wig picker" is a slang term used in reference to a psychiatrist or psychologist. How is it possible I've never heard this??<br />
<br />
Wig picker!!! HAHAHAHA! I am laughing even as I type it.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-69944654382895278392011-01-13T16:46:00.002-05:002011-01-14T14:05:53.353-05:00Clever KarmaI try to remain in a constant state of not only self-awareness, but also self-improvement, so I get a lot of daily motivation/ponderings/thoughts for which I have at some time or another signed up to receive via email. Many times when I have been struggling with something specific I will get the same message from multiple sources…or even more often (which I only realize later) I’m in a state of non-admission regarding a growth opportunity and the messages are persistent enough that I finally face it and stretch. <br />
<br />
<br />
Lately I’ve had several thoughts of the day or messages regarding karma, which has given me reason to ponder its essence more fully and realize a definition identifiable in application to my life and where I am right now (and I don’t mean “where I am” as in sitting at the computer in Indiana, but rather where I am in my spiritual and personal growth.)<br />
<br />
I’ve always had this nebulous notion of karma in a very general sense, such as when someone cuts me off on the highway and then I see them pulled over by a state trooper two miles later, I think “Ha! Karma!” And then there is my mind-association to the word karma itself, because as an all-things-Beatles junkie, I rarely can read or hear the word without John Lennon singing in my head.<br />
<br />
So I’ve been thinking more about karma and what it means, how it is present in my life and why I should be in more awareness of it. I’m pretty sure this is why it slapped me right in the face yesterday afternoon. After all, that which is like unto itself is drawn.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
I’ve spent the last couple of weeks reflecting on being a better me. That coupled with my recent reading of the book <u>29 Gifts</u> has put me in a state of consciousness in which I try to keep an attitude of gratitude while looking for opportunities to express that gratitude through something giving and selfless (cue the choir of angels).<br />
<br />
My act of generosity this day was to clean off the car parked beside me when I left work (it has been snowing bucket loads here this week). I went about this chore cheerfully and happily, and was feeling pretty good about my “secret gift” to this unknown recipient. That is, until I cleared the snow away enough to see the license plate and realize that I had just spent 15 minutes cleaning snow off the vehicle of an asshole. (choir of angels come to SCREEEEECHing halt).<br />
<br />
I spent some time on the drive home mentally listing all the reasons in the world this person did NOT deserve a random act of kindness. Obviously, this thought pattern negated the entire exercise of giving.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
As I pulled into my hometown, I had come to terms with my unpleasant thought process and knew that I should do something to make amends with (God, the Universe, Karma, Myself, the Asshole) for turning something that should have been so positive into a not-so-nice litany of unkind thoughts directed at the asshole. Enter Karma.<br />
<br />
She was dressed warmly (it was still snowing) and carrying a backpack. We were both stopped by a train which had stopped on the tracks, but I was in my toasty warm Jeep and she was on foot in the cold. The train stopped and I could tell she was thinking about jumping it. Aha! My amends-making opportunity! I quickly rolled down the window and asked if she wanted a ride around the train because I was going to drive around it myself. “That would be great if you don’t mind,” she said somehow already seated beside me. “No problem,” said virtuous me. “I didn’t want to wait anymore, either.”<br />
<br />
She commences into a breathless oration (can it still be considered an oration when the grammar is deplorable?) “Well, who knows how long you’d have to wait. Those engineers just stop on the tracks to talk anyway and don’t give a rip about anybody else trying to get someplace. You know that’s why that kid died last summer don’t you? Because the ambulance couldn’t get around the train! Why they’re allowed to do that I’ll never know. I’ve called the law on ‘em but it don’t do no good, they just sit there anyway and all I need to do is get to class. Can you believe they didn’t cancel class? That school only cancels if the county is a state of emergency. They don’t care one bit about us trying to figure out how to get there in crappy weather.”<br />
<br />
I took a deep breath, not really knowing what to say to that litany of unkind words but thinking we needed a serious energy shift, I asked “What are you studying?”<br />
<br />
“Ha. Well, I was studying Criminal Justice, but that was before I come to know there ain’t no justice in this country anyway. There ain’t no justice when a man can hold a gun to a baby’s head to git drugs and money from its mom and then not even get life. No way. I decided to change to Psychology, then I guess I can at least figure out why the guy held the gun to the baby’s head, because there ain’t nothing else you could do about it.”<br />
<br />
My head was ready to explode and I was at a total loss of words, which was ok…because Karma wasn’t done yet. “Woa! You can’t turn right on red here! There’s cameras up there in them lights, the cops will come and find you if turn here. You don’t want the law around here coming for you, I can tell you that.”<br />
<br />
Gratefully, we arrived at the school and I pulled in to drop her off. Her litany of unkind words continued all the way to the door…where she jumped out of the car without even saying thank you.<br />
<br />
Karma, simply put, is the process of cause and effect.<br />
<br />
I did some slapping…and got one back. Instant Karma indeed.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-30530185927537024042010-12-13T11:18:00.000-05:002010-12-13T11:18:45.239-05:00News from the Ridge<a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/Mrs%20Sunbather">Mrs. Sunbather's</a> husband died last week. They had been married for over 60 years and she is very, very sad, so I stopped by to visit and express my condolences.<br />
<br />
The first thing I noticed when she answered the door is that it smelled smoky. The second thing I noticed after I walked in the door is that my eyes were watering and my throat was scratchy. The longer I sat there, the worse it got. I knew she didn't smoke and was starting to worry something might actually be on fire. Finally I asked, "Mrs. Sunbather, do you smell smoke?"<br />
<br />
She looked at me a minute and confessed. "It's me. I decided I wanted a cigarette today so I bought some a little bit ago." <br />
<br />
"Did it make you feel better?" <br />
<br />
"No. That's why I smoked the whole pack."<br />
<br />
88 years old and able to hotbox an entire pack of cigarettes in just a couple of hours. Impressive, to say the least!carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-27742352286366540462010-12-02T19:03:00.000-05:002010-12-02T19:03:44.092-05:00My New FriendIt appears the New Place might just have a similar cast of characters as my beloved Rock Ridge. I'm still meeting people every day and most the time I have forgotten the person's name within the hour. Not today, though.<br />
<br />
"I'm Bob," this ancient person said to me as he extended a hand more gnarled than an old sea captain. "Bob! Well, I shouldn't forget that," I replied.<br />
<br />
"You won't if you put an extra O in it," he deviously grinned.<br />
<br />
Indeed I won't. Ever.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-638599053892413062010-11-23T10:48:00.002-05:002010-11-23T10:51:42.573-05:00Just Like Old Times<span style="font-size: large;">I'm</span><span style="font-size: small;"> at the New Place and just had the opportunity to meet a new resident who will be moving in after Thanksgiving. I greeted her and introduced myself, to which she responded: "My GOD you have big eyes!" I love it.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
(Do I ???)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHcU2HwQCvKGNH6sgbSGyr_CnNvIBylMZ-9ILAiwkWaOeJLF7VbWzkEgH5cKEoMIKAl0j0ucVG_uLmS4CRmqvlbjG5xLSJxhrQksDuRNVy370kdM4GkuzPG93RilPveIpmASG5MMtUsU/s1600/eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHcU2HwQCvKGNH6sgbSGyr_CnNvIBylMZ-9ILAiwkWaOeJLF7VbWzkEgH5cKEoMIKAl0j0ucVG_uLmS4CRmqvlbjG5xLSJxhrQksDuRNVy370kdM4GkuzPG93RilPveIpmASG5MMtUsU/s400/eyes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-40437140358656561122010-11-12T14:03:00.001-05:002010-11-12T14:07:26.957-05:00Life Changes Like the WeatherChange is hard. Feeling feelings is <em>hard</em>. I am tuned into such a damned <em>happy</em> frequency at like 110% of the time, that I hardly know what to do with myself when I'm sad. Or mad. Or anything besides <em>happy. </em>I've discovered, though, that <em>happy</em> can be a state of living...instead of a <em>feeling</em>...and it can most certainly co-exist with sad or mad or anything else. It's possible to be sad but at the same time know you have a very happy life, right?<br />
<br />
Yeah, it was a tough summer.<br />
<br />
I never mentioned on the blog that my Grammie lived at Rock Ridge for five of the years I worked there. Every morning, I walked straight into the dining room where she was eating breakfast and gave her a hug and a kiss and had a quick good morning chat. Not to start her day...but to start mine. I popped into her apartment throughout the day to see how she was, make sure she didn't need anything, have her listen to my troubles. Sometimes she would even tell me how to solve work related issues without even knowing it. There isn't a grand enough word to describe this graceful, beautiful lady.<br />
<br />
Grammie died on August 10, just 2 months and six days shy of turning 96. <br />
<br />
On August 20, I worked my last day at Rock Ridge after eight years.<br />
<br />
The two events, in reality, were unrelated. But in the big the-universe-always-aligns-things-perfectly picture, it is divine. Rock Ridge was bought on June 1. By June 3, I knew it wasn't going to be a good value match. There are a lot of people with different philosphies on caring for our elders, and while I won't claim that other people are wrong and I am right, I simply can't work for a company who doesn't have the same philosophy as me. I put a lot of love and energy and life into being an administrator of an assisted living. I am not a robot or a clone, and neither are the 52 people who live there. They are mothers, fathers, brothers, aunts, friends, <em>people</em>. They have had heartache and joys. They have lived full and valuable lives. They are not "heads in beds." (I heard this term used by the new company as my heart simultaneously decided that I no longer belonged there.) They are PEOPLE. <br />
<br />
While my heart knew that I no longer could work at Rock Ridge and endorse what it was now representing, it also knew that as long as Grammie was there I could never leave. The details are arduous, but suffice it to say the timing of everything was so impeccable, that in my eyes at least, it cannot be disputed that life works out just the way it's supposed to. <br />
<br />
This in no way means that it wasn't hard or that it didn't hurt. That it STILL doesn't hurt. Not just losing Grammie--which hurts even more than I could have imagined--but I also lost my daily interaction with all the folks at Rock Ridge. No more daily doses of <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2010/02/overheard.html">overheard</a> conversations from my office, the shared <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2010/01/wednesday-wisdom.html">wisdom</a>, the <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2008/07/fork-you.html">dining room</a> <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2008/08/sticks-and-stones.html">drama</a>, and no more daily doses of...<a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/gladys">Gladys</a>. (Gladys is still there and I visit her every week. She is doing great, though she broke her front tooth and looks like a 92-year-old hillbilly with red hair. It's adorable, but she is terribly self-conscious and is getting it fixed next week.) The anguish that has hung over me since Rock Ridge was sold and Grammie died is starting to lessen. I finally felt like writing about it. This is progress, but I still miss them so much.<br />
<br />
I started a new job at a humongous continuing care retirement community (CCRC) in a neighboring town on September 7th. On September 25, I finally ran my sub-5 marathon at the Roadrunner Marathon in Akron, Ohio. I talked to Grammie for the last four miles... and cried my eyes out at the finish.<br />
<br />
Change is hard. No matter how much you think you are open to change or try to embrace it...it is still hard, because with all change you experience a loss. Maybe it's the loss of a comfortable routine or maybe it's a person or maybe it's 52 people. Doesn't matter. A loss is a loss, and it's OK to be sad about that...but we must also remember there is always so much to be happy about, too.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-1878121069062028972010-06-15T06:53:00.001-04:002010-06-15T06:58:19.941-04:00Worth the RiskI haven't had time to take the blog down yet, but I'm glad. Some things are worth risking discovery by the corporate compliance officer.<br />
<br />
Sunday morning, WorkerBee went to the apartment of an 86-year-old male resident to assist him with his morning medication. He came to the door naked, holding a pillow in front of himself. The WorkerBee, on task, was not deterred and continued to enter the apartment to do the medication. That's when she saw the naked lady.<br />
<br />
It turns out this woman was a "church friend" and she was "visiting" our resident for the weekend. WorkerBee was pretty freaked out. She stammered out something like "those aren't the kind of church friends <strong><em>I</em></strong> have," and called to report the "incident." <br />
<br />
Incident? I don't think so. I say rock on, old people. Rock. On.<br />
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<br />
p.s. We're up to 16,000 votes!! Please take a few seconds to <a href="http://myown.oprah.com/audition/index.html?request=video_details&response_id=3636&promo_id=1">click the vote button</a> as many times as possible. The folks at the Ridge thank you! carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-89121850692465128612010-06-04T13:03:00.000-04:002010-06-04T13:03:42.866-04:00Shameless PleaHello to anyone out there who still reads, and my regrets to you for not being able to share lately the daily humor and awesomeness that is my job. Two things.<br />
<br />
Rock Ridge has been sold to a new owner. I have had little time to even breathe, let alone post. Bigger company, more corporate...so my guess is this blog will have to disappear for awhile...so if anyone (Big Bro? You out there?) can tell me how to do that without losing all my past posts, I would be grateful.<br />
<br />
Second---below is a message I've sent to all my professional contacts. I'm asking for anyone out there with the means (Facebook, email, blogs, pony express, whatever) to share the link and help us get votes. Anyone who has read this blog for any amount of time knows how passionate I am about this topic. It's much bigger than me...I'm just trying to create an awareness. I'm shooting for the moon and going to the top....who better than Oprah to help a girl out, right? Without further ado...<br />
<br />
Greetings!<br />
<br />
It has long been my passion to preserve the wisdom of our elderly, so I took a leap and would like for you to help. My co-workers, a few residents, and I have made a video in an attempt to create an awareness about aging (Oprah has never had a show about elderhood!) Please help us spread the word and gather votes. There is no limit to the number of times you can vote! <br />
<a href="http://myown.oprah.com/audition/index.html?request=video_details&response_id=3636&promo_id=1">http://myown.oprah.com/audition/index.html?request=video_details&response_id=3636&promo_id=1</a><br />
<br />
Thank you for helping us spread the joys of elderhood!carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-36199589340299364322010-05-21T16:39:00.000-04:002010-05-21T16:39:19.411-04:00Carrie, Defender of the OldI've been really preoccupied lately with this notion that this nation needs some sort of Elder Advocacy program. Kind of like CASA, only for old people. They could be their advocate for lots of things...like dealing with the cable company (this makes our residents crazy) or helping them get out of jury duty, but most importantly, they could advocate their healthcare.<br />
<br />
Just this week we've had two residents go to the hospital with some type of chemical restraint used because of "behaviors exhibited" by the resident. In one case, the resident had a UTI (this makes old people act crazy), had fallen, and was given MORPHINE for the fall-related pain. She threw her breakfast tray at the nurse. Um, who wouldn't act crazy if they are 94 years old, on strong antibiotics, in as strange place and on freaking morphine??? Instead of considering any of that, the nurse called the doctor and got an order for a psychotropic med for "behaviors." All without the resident's permission...because they deemed her unable to think rationally. I'm pissed just writing about it.<br />
<br />
Second example. Another resident is also in the hospital because of a fall. She has dementia. She is in unfamiliar surroundings and she was frightened. She kept pushing her call light. (apparently a lot...but who cares??) The nurse called the doctor and got an order for Xanax for her <em>nervousness</em>. When her daughter visited, the resident's eyes were glassed over and she was DROOLING! No one had even notified (or ASKED) the daughter, who is the medical POA about the Xanax! Incredible!!!<br />
<br />
Since there is no Elder Advocacy Program (yet), I made one up. Today, I advocated. I did not make any friends at the hospital, and I'll probably never get another referral from them. But my old people are safe, warm, loved, and off unnecessary mind-altering drugs.<br />
<br />
The End.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-62671975720385206412010-03-05T11:30:00.000-05:002010-03-05T11:30:13.897-05:00Friday FunnyWhile a crying resident isn't too out of the ordinary around here, a hysterical one is. That's what we had on our hands last night. True hysteria. This is a fairly new resident, who up until last night has been a peach and is always oriented with a sharp mind. <br />
<br />
She was sobbing and blubbering. Questions made her cry harder. A compassionate arm around her shoulders made the blubbering worse. Finally, FINALLY, we were able to get down to the nature of the problem.<br />
<br />
"I, I, I have u-u-uranium p-p-poisoning!" (imagine Ralphie saying "soap poisoning" here and you'll have a pretty good picture of the dramatics going into this.)<br />
<br />
"Uranium poisoning??" we asked incredulously.<br />
<br />
"Yes, and it makes me lose my mind!" <br />
<br />
"How do you know you have Uranium poisoning?"<br />
<br />
"B-b-b-because my p-p-pee is neon yellow," she explained.<br />
<br />
"Do you mean a <em>Urinary Tract Infection?"</em><br />
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Yup. That's what she meant alright. <br />
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I just love this place.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-17453503216423130692010-02-26T09:46:00.002-05:002010-02-26T10:34:36.955-05:00Photo Friday<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwH1CrmWiGqDYwgy-XDDDf_-65EyNw3El6jHprmE35JKNYBf01wrAlzBF1xYlbFbQGLKm0RkrXbye-J68_phXKcDmyj343UTYSZcs9GIMC5mfmeExe23jcnfLcnWrEYbrUzfDyP3rD-A/s1600-h/DSCF0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwH1CrmWiGqDYwgy-XDDDf_-65EyNw3El6jHprmE35JKNYBf01wrAlzBF1xYlbFbQGLKm0RkrXbye-J68_phXKcDmyj343UTYSZcs9GIMC5mfmeExe23jcnfLcnWrEYbrUzfDyP3rD-A/s320/DSCF0072.JPG" /></a></div>Happy last day of olympic-induced sleep deprivation! I've been too darn tired to write anything with all the skis, skates, and hockey pucks sucking every last second of my time these past two weeks. <br />
Anyway! <br />
<br />
It's been a very long time since I had a photo Friday, plus I wanted an excuse to post this adorable picture of Joseph. He's awesome. Even though he has dementia and often doesn't know where he is or why, he told me a story recently about getting shot in World War II and his subsequent year-long stay in a German hospital. In great detail, I might add. He's an amazing person and the conversation reminded me how important it is that we listen to our elder's stories. <br />
<br />
There is a proverb that says "every time an old person dies, a library burns to the ground." That couldn't be more true. Our old people have seen and experienced so many things that most of us cannot even fathom. If you have an old person in your life...engage them in a conversation. Ask them about something from their past. Really listen to them. Not only will you make their day, but you'll learn something, too.<br />
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p.s. Record your conversations. It's the cheapest priceless keepsake you could ever have.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-37560691665750288012010-02-18T16:10:00.002-05:002010-02-18T16:15:55.466-05:00Um, Really?Since I typically write about job humor, I don't think I've ever discussed the fact that I have an absurd knack for finding myself in strange situations. It's true, and happens far more often than is even reasonable to believe. I'm talking about weird things like finding myself in someone else's bed & breakfast bathroom with a 60ish year old woman who is wearing only a bra. Or the time I went running with a peer and asked her if she had a boyfriend after she has courteously asked me about my husband. Apparently I was the only one in the world who didn't know she was gay, not that I care, but that whole boyfriend question? Yeah, awkward. Another time a young woman came to my office (when I worked at a hospital), sharing the woes of her life while trying to leave her baby with me while she went to work. Oh! Then there was the time I was working out and some lady I had never met started exercising beside me. She didn't even introduce herself, but proceeded to tell me that she was recently divorced and that she had put up with a lot of things from that jerk, but as soon as he started looking at their 12-year-old daughter naked she packed up and got out. <br />
<br />
I've decided I must have one of those faces that makes people want to vomit their life's story on me. Just now a visiting nurse stopped in my office to say hello. I've met her one other time for maybe one minute. I made the mistake of asking "how are you?" Here is her answer...the abridged edition.<br />
<br />
<em>"You know, I'm actually really great although I've been really watching my blood pressure because it's been elevated. I'm the only woman in my family not on high blood pressure medication, and I just want to figure out a way to control it without the pharmaceuticals. Hormones might have something to do with it, but thank God I should be over with that soon! I'm on month five of no period, but of course you have to go an entire year before they'll consider you post-menopausal. God, I can't wait. Back in the 80s I had such terrible PMS, and you know that was before PMS was medically recognized, and when it finally was I felt so validated! Finally I had an answer to why I had tried to kill myself so many times. But that last time when I was pregnant and almost killed my baby, I told God, if you give me a healthy baby I'll never try to kill myself again. But then I got stuck in peri-menopause, which is like PMS only it's worse and lasts longer, so I nearly renigged. I was only having 4-5 good days out of every month, but thankfully I got sober and that program has been tremendous in helping me cope and now I just can't wait to have the whole hormone mess behind me. That and losing about 40 pounds just might keep me off the hypertension drugs!"</em><br />
<br />
Yup. I must have one of those faces, alright.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-68302467991810191442010-02-03T17:10:00.001-05:002010-02-03T18:32:20.255-05:00OverheardI love afternoons at Rock Ridge. A group of residents (lovingly referred to as The Peanut Gallery—what else?) assembles outside my office for some conversation and fellowship. I try hard to stay focused on my work…really I do…but sometimes the conversation is simply too much to ignore. Take today for instance. <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/lois">Lois</a> (<a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2009/11/mid-week-treat.html">of the mismatched socks</a>) was doing a little griping about the fact there aren’t enough “good” people living here. <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/gladys">Gladys</a> jumped right in and corrected her. “Oh no, we have plenty of good people here. Everyone has mostly good in them! It’s just that sometimes things in life happen and they don’t want to push that part out.” Gladys has such a great life philosophy, even if her wording is a little questionable. <br />
<br />
From there, the conversation turned to wine.( Lois thinks that we should serve wine with dinner). She told Gladys how much she would enjoy drinking a glass of wine from time to time if only someone would join her. Gladys said she never much of a wine drinker, but she did like “a little taste of other things from time to time.” (Of course by now, I’ve given up all attempts of work and am straining to hear better.) Lois said “I never like to drink that hard stuff unless I’m home and have a man with me who likes the same thing.” HAHAHAHAHA!!! Gladys immediately starts laughing. Lois is flustered and protests “that didn’t really come out right,” to which Gladys quickly replied “No, it never does in those situations!” I’m convinced she is the quickest witted Alzheimer’s patient who ever existed.<br />
<br />
The topic changed again--which it does quite often when you have two people with Alzheimer’s chatting--and Lois proclaimed the best thing about being her age is “knowing Jesus better.” Apparently still not forgetting the earlier part of the conversation, Gladys piped right in with a hearty laugh and “I’m guessing Jesus doesn’t know you nearly as well as we do!”<br />
<br />
It is baffling that Gladys could spout her wit like that, but just prior to that she told the exact same story four times…and Lois listened to it four times… as though it were the only time she’d ever heard it. They were both so fully present in that conversation at that instant… I almost forgot they have Alzheimer’s. <br />
<br />
During a moment like that, the work can certainly wait.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-30183912999906276712010-01-28T13:37:00.001-05:002010-01-28T13:39:23.139-05:00From the Suggestion Box<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRZtsVcbhmBnnMUIWv3X01S6fJnwGLFRWbu8vxAnRJLx4bT0WT6s59WezxdMPgLIX_sPOC5JZipMADu8sPV3MqjD2WHmpzhGHU-5ArUd3AWW5BBjhou7Fh1uQo9KEWQuu8rhJHF9BO18/s1600-h/DSCF0077.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431861859664759938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRZtsVcbhmBnnMUIWv3X01S6fJnwGLFRWbu8vxAnRJLx4bT0WT6s59WezxdMPgLIX_sPOC5JZipMADu8sPV3MqjD2WHmpzhGHU-5ArUd3AWW5BBjhou7Fh1uQo9KEWQuu8rhJHF9BO18/s320/DSCF0077.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-42988190315982641382010-01-27T15:23:00.004-05:002010-01-27T15:50:31.223-05:00Wednesday WisdomI visited a resident and began the conversation by breaking my own rule of never asking a resident "How are you?" *<br /><br />"Well, I've been sick" 92-year-old Catherine replied with the all-too-standard answer (and the main reason you should never ask an old person this forbidden question).<br /><br />"Oh? What's the matter?" I asked, already too far gone to turn back now.<br /><br />Catherine leaned in toward me as if she wanted to share a secret and whispered loudly: "Let's put it this way. You should never trust a fart."<br /><br />Indeed not.<br /><br /><br /><br /><em>*This rule has been in existence since February 2, 2005, which is the day a cantankerous resident turned 100 years old. I made the mistake of asking her the forbidden question and she snappily replied "I'm 100 years old. How in the hell do you think I am?"</em>carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-80006088051238633342010-01-14T20:18:00.006-05:002010-01-14T21:12:53.079-05:00The Reason I've Been AbsentI wonder why it is the things we enjoy the most are the first things we let go when life gets hard or busy. Shouldn't it be the other way around? When life is stressful or hard or whatever, we should do MORE of what we enjoy to counteract the bad stuff. I wish it worked that way...because if it did, I would have been reading, writing, running, going to yoga, or any other number of things these past two months. Instead? Nada.<br /><br />I spent several weeks with an incredible amount of anxiety about the future of Rock Ridge. Not <em>my</em> future there, but Rock Ridge's future. I have an unfortunate talent for worrying about other people...so I spent days upon days worrying about every single resident, their families, my staff, and their families. I didn't run. I didn't write. I didn't read anything inspirational. I didn't pray. I just walked around with a heavy heart and a sad countenance.<br /><br />I am beyond delighted that The Deal That Would Have Changed Everything didn't happen, but I'm also wiser for having had the experience. (I originally wrote that I'm disappointed in myself...but decided that anytime learning takes place we are better for it, so wiser is a better word) This new wisdom means that should I ever find myself in this position again, I will certainly do things differently.<br /><br />This time: I can't even begin to think about how much energy I wasted worrying and stressing about things that were absolutely and completely beyond any control.<br /><br />Next time (although I'm hoping there never is a next time): I will spend that energy on the things I can control. Like loving the residents. Hugging them. Enjoying them. Being happy myself so that I can contribute to their happiness and joy. (or going for a run when I need it most!)<br /><br />This time: A change seemed inevitable, therefore I stopped being really good at my job. I let staff get away with things I normally wouldn't. I didn't do reports. I let things slide. My heart simply wasn't in it. What a disservice to my residents and staff. What a disservice to myself!<br /><br />Next time: I will act as if. I will act as if nothing is changing...until it really does. I will act as if everything is as important today as it was yesterday. I will act as if I am the best person for my job, and will not allow the feelings of helplessness and uncertainty for the future set the agenda for my day.<br /><br />This time: I might have actually forgotten for a few days why I do the work I do and that I'm a positive, happy person by nature.<br /><br />Not just next time, but every day for the rest of my tenure as the director of Rock Ridge: I will ALWAYS remember why I go to work every day and I will never forget who I am...just because of some Deal That Would Change Everything. No matter how much something changes...I'm still me...and I still really love old people.<br /><br />The End.<br /><br /><em>Note to Jeff: Thank you for your message. You were the prod I needed.</em>carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-24181641313490671462009-12-01T11:19:00.007-05:002009-12-01T14:18:54.991-05:00Is it really December already?I wish I had more time to share the daily goodies that come my way, but <em>man</em> this place is nuts. I'm also providing administrative support to a sister property who lost their director, so all my little post-it notes of things I want to remember to write about will have to continue to wait for another day. Until then, though, here's a little piece of hilarious conversation that took place outside my office door on Tuesday of last week.<br /><br />Lois (of the <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2009/11/mid-week-treat.html">mismatched socks</a>): "Gladys, is Thanksgiving tomorrow?"<br /><br /><a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/gladys">Gladys:</a> "Well, I don't know. Is it this week?"<br /><br />Lois: "Joseph, do you know if Thanksgiving is tomorrow?"<br /><br /><a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/i%20heart%20joseph">Joseph</a>: <em>laughs</em> "Huh. Well. I guess I don't know."<br /><br />Lois: <em>to Little Miss Chatterbox</em> "How about you? Do you know if Thanksgiving is tomorrow?"<br /><br /><a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/little%20miss%20chatterbox">LMCB</a>: "You know, that's a funny thing, Thanksgiving. I said to my daughter on the phone this morning that Thanksgiving should be coming up, and then she told me when it was. I wonder if we'll have turkey here? Everyone always thinks you have to have turkey on Thanksgiving, but I think why should it always be turkey? We could have something besides turkey. And stuffing! All that bread? Why should people serve that every Thanksgiving. Really. But anyway she told me when Thanksgiving was, but I don't think I can remember."<br /><br />Lois: <em>still not giving up</em> "Maude? Do <em>you</em> know if Thanksgiving is tomorrow?"<br /><br /><a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/search/label/maude">Maude</a>, who is 99 and performing <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2009/08/tgif.html">true to her usual form</a>, put an end to the entire conversation by replying "How in the hell should I know?"<br /><br />I love old people.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-16776590710768977112009-11-18T10:44:00.007-05:002009-12-01T11:38:45.546-05:00Mid Week TreatI caught this group of happy people yukking it up yesterday afternoon outside my office. They were laughing so much I had to go see what all the commotion was about. Can you tell what was so funny by looking at the picture? <div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405473463437497090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3FldQAVknU9uShkDofhPBa_6E42uCFrHkPovo_9oWHwrw-bDG1dK8jsoa65umpL9WOReuYgkQz-pKGMvQX_kjvxPa7FFTvfYISyJDjSu6QN28JKXTtQRi2HWZzr32JaHQ7hd7Oe2pjIk/s320/DSCF0231.JPG" border="0" /></div><div></div><div>Joseph and Gladys were laughing at Lois (far right) because she was wearing one knee high panty hose and one black sock with her sandals. On accident, of course. Lois laughed right along with them. It was hilarious. Assistant then told them how I showed up to work one day wearing two different shoes (true story). They thought that was even funnier. I thought Gladys was going to pass out she was laughing so hard. Listening to three people with dementia laugh like there's no tomorrow is very high on the list of reasons I love this job.</div><div></div><div>As we were laughing, Little Miss Chatterbox wandered upon the scene interested in what the commotion was all about. She was, of course, wearing her <a href="http://alferlife.blogspot.com/2009/07/she-keeps-talking-and-talking-and.html">lab coat </a>(see, I don't make this stuff up!) , though I think it has been hemmed...which makes me wonder....who in the world would have hemmed a lab coat for an 89-year-old assisted living resident to gad about in?!? </div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405473466079973874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5rpHeMSuNsH6JRnhDiqVyifVL1558xRfDEPTlp4Eeg9myKnEWtZmLPGne3GpXKADEbc7vSrPPSrc2RL9Vnl0NA0cwiyxKzXKP5Uk8JKafoRocXSLmeShFVA0cOEmXeYEET_ylJ2lnIg/s320/DSCF0232.JPG" border="0" /></div><br /><p></p><p>Happy Hump Day. It's been a fun week at the Ridge!</p><p></p><p>p.s. Speaking of Hump Day... when Assistant woke Joseph up the other morning he groggily looked at her and asked "Can you have kids?" She told him that no, she already had kids. "Then can I stick it in?" he very politely asked. HAHAHAHA! </p>carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-346825544336430822009-11-16T14:59:00.005-05:002009-11-16T15:07:04.505-05:00That Damn NaomiGladys just came to the office to report that Naomi had stolen her roll of toilet paper. "Isn't that just terrible?" she asked. "Stealing toilet paper! I declare, that's about as low as a person can get."<br /><br />"Yes, stealing toilet paper <em>is</em> terrible, " I concurred, "but how do you know Naomi did it?"<br /><br />Gladys didn't even hesitate before replying: "Well, maybe she didn't! I think you need to make a list of everyone with diarrhea and then you'll know who took it!"<br /><br />Sounds like a good job for Assistant.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-12498992746569382542009-11-06T13:18:00.005-05:002009-11-06T14:24:28.683-05:00Zurich, Part One (and Photo Friday!)I left Indianapolis on Monday, October 19th after being delayed for about an hour from our original departure time. We then sat on the tarmac for another 40 minutes before taking off. (Which I think totally sucks....why didn't they just leave us comfortably sitting at the gate?) Come to find out, we left Indianapolis late, sat on the tarmac for 40 minutes, and then circled Newark for 40 more minutes because apparently the vice-president was at the airport. I understand the need for security and all that....but how can one guy be responsible for me nearly missing an international connection when I had a 3½ hour lay-over built into my intinerary? BUT, why complain? All's well that ends well! I didn't miss my connection, I met up with my awesome Boss and we boarded the plane to Zurich about ten minutes later.<br /><br />The woman sitting beside me on the Indianapolis to Newark leg was on her way to Romania, where she had been living for the past five years. She was an IU graduate who had majored in opera, when she decided she wanted a new life and relocated to Romania to work for an organization who helps orphans. Four years ago, she fell in love with an orphaned baby boy and is now going through the process to adopt him. In order to adopt a child in Romania, you have to first establish residency...which means you must live and work solely in that country for 60 months. That's SIXTY, not six. People have such amazing stories...and here is the "turn lemons into lemonade" segment of this speech...I would have never known this woman's story if we hadn't circled Newark for 40 minutes.<br /><br />To say I felt like a pile of poo when we landed in Zurich is an understatement. I couldn't sleep on the flight, partially because I was excited but mostly because the guy across the aisle from me had the worst set of adenoids I've ever heard and I spent most of the nine hour flight fighting my gag reflex everytime he snored in a big loogie.<br /><br />Upon making it to the hotel, taking a shower and drinking eleventy cups of coffee, I started coming around , so we took off on a walk down Bahnhofstrasse. Bahnhofstrasse is touted as one of the world's most exlusive and expensive shopping avenues. I just liked looking at all the watches and expensive chocolates! And I'm not sure it's all <em>that</em> exclusive, anyway....a quarter pounder by any other name is still....a quarter pounder.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401068864754735282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOyhmGZMbKJH2k7o4zOdOYi5NclKdu5dJd4r7wvpjVGZQXZjVQSbHMVPyW-6xyk3XiE7ToYZqj4PMTY-g9tCPIQMyV10Be8zBgoSRc-cWJgv0SN79REaPuXpcnJId5xY131CBQCJ5NKw/s320/Oct+09005.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p>Later that night, we met up with our group for the first time for an outing on the <em>fondueshiffe</em>, or Fondue Boat. Uh, YUM. Seriously, what could be better than an entire dinner of cheese and bread? I was a happy, albeit tired, Hoosier girl.<br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401070004951798834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWKWiDb-JFGgsXebM_rDjo28kxJ_6Ikbh1WfAWv3K7k4tFhjqYUht6tSrHXL6EU5TLRu1xprHVI20oNX5aua6GuEQNky9ptyhQRje4EAk4-IB-oVKvEEhqZ2WoWFMgFvMVVyalGak9PU/s320/Oct+09018.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401070008216467234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAkvdaS8TX8k4R_O5UN90OFWII0rqb6mQYA9KDZSn7X7f1b0klV9G2mQ-e6WjZap7PWyo51zlT25IXHLGw0rmqyWgPFhiOqHYXEV0l41OVY1cHbTid8nxjWG-2lmINsqCVXwbzL6IgfgU/s320/Oct+09021.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p>After taking the tram back to our hotel we were invited by two of our new Austrian friends for a "sleeping drink." At this point, I could have slept standing up, and I knew that a drink of any sort would be my total undoing...but how do you say no to one 6'4" Austrian woman and another Austrian woman who rolls her own cigarettes, both of whom you just met? Yeah, you don't! So the "sleeping drink" was actually grappa, and it was served by a German-speaking Indian man at a Thai restaurant. Think about that! Isn't that funny? Or was it just funny to me because I had been up for two days? Well, regardless, this German-Indian-Thai-guy poured us all grappa and everyone raised their glasses saying <em>prost</em> and I took my first sip. WOWZA!!! I didn't know it was legal to serve diesel fuel as an alcoholic beverage in Switzerland.</p><p>Even as bad as it tasted, I somehow managed to finish the "sleeping drink." </p><p>And then, before I even knew what was happening....I fell asleep at the table.</p><p></p><p>Happy Weekending!</p><p></p><p></p>carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-38111944178413300452009-11-03T13:21:00.002-05:002009-11-03T13:33:05.112-05:00AliveBecause I have descended from a long line of Irish/Italian Catholic guilt, and I don't want to feel guilty about my <a href="http://mostlyrunningbull.blogspot.com/">big bro </a>worrying about me, here's a a quick and generic post. I'm here and well. Except for a bad case of bronchitis, compliments of sharing airspace with 200 hacking, sniffling, sneezing people on the way home from Zurich.<br /><br />The experience in Switzerland was incredible. I have much to write about, but first I must uncover my desk from ten days worth of neglect.<br /><br />I will be back. Tschuss!carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-25249330243274998522009-10-08T11:56:00.006-04:002009-10-08T12:24:22.110-04:00Living in a DreamIt's been nearly a month since I posted, which seems impossible. That's how utterly busy life has been. So busy that an entire month has passed in what seems like two days. I'm out of all my regular routines and I feel almost like I'm living in someone else's life. Like a dream, I guess. It's weird.<br /><br />But awesome.<br /><br />An overview:<br /><strong>Home. </strong>My parents had a mini-disaster at their house three weeks ago. They were away for a long weekend and came home to find a pipe had broken in the bathroom, which resulted in a pretty tremendous mess. The bathroom was a total loss, and the basement...well everything in it was thrown away...including the furnace, washer, and dryer. Due to the extent of the damage they are unable to stay at the house, and are (wait for it)<br /><br /><br />Living with me and Hubby!<br /><br />Haha! I know that sounds like some people's version of hell on earth, but for me this has actually been really fun! I love drinking coffee with my mom in the mornings. I love coming home late from work to the smell of her potato soup (that only tastes right when SHE makes it), I love that someone else will empty the dishwasher, and mostly I love the fact that I'm lucky enough to still have both my parents and am able to let them shack up with me. So far the only downsides are: No naked house walking, toilet seats being left up (cut that out, Mom!) and staying up too late because we talk too much. Not bad at all, I'd say.<br /><br /><strong>Work</strong>. This place is crazy busy!! We are at the highest occupancy we have ever been and people are calling and stopping by nearly every day for information and tours. It's amazing and I love it, but I've worked waaaaaay too many hours lately. Which is why I'm not going to feel bad about being away for ten days while I'm in Zurich.<br /><br />Yup, that says ZURICH! WHEEEEEE! I'm going to Switzerland!!! I've been invited to attend an International Symposium on Validation Therapy for people with Alzheimer's. This is an incredible opportunity to meet some world re-knowned people in my industry. Actually, this is such an incredible opportunity that I don't even have my head all the way around it yet. It's unbelievable.<br /><br />Again, like a dream. Sometimes, when you're busy minding your own business and taking care of your old people, something really great happens. According to Gladys, anyway. :)carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-37599855814467696152009-09-11T14:07:00.011-04:002009-09-11T15:27:18.461-04:00Nuggets from the RidgeJoseph told Assistant that she could "hold <em>it</em> for a minute" when she assisted him to the bathroom. Very thoughtful, no?<br />~~<br />Gladys fell. She didn't break any bones, but she is very sore. She doesn't remember falling, doesn't remember getting x-rays, and she doesn't remember that she hurts until she tries to move. It's awful. Every time she tries to get up or move we have to remind her what happened, which usually causes her to be very upset that she doesn't remember something as serious as a fall. It's a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">vicious</span> circle. But, true to her personality, she still has a great attitude. She was lamenting about what was going to happen to her and that she was "no good to anyone," when I told her she didn't need to worry about any of that and to just <em>sit there and look pretty</em>. Without hesitation she looks at me so seriously and says, "Well, you'll have to find me a fake face if you expect me to do that!" Have I ever mentioned that I love her?<br />~~<br />Because she is so sore, the staff have been helping Gladys get ready for bed at night. One evening as Gladys sat on the toilet, Assistant was gathering her night clothes. "Do you need clean underwear?" Assistant asked.<br />"I don't know. I'll have to check," Gladys replied as she bent over and took a deep sniff at the crotch of her pulled down panties*. "Nope. Guess not!"<br />~~<br />I was helping take orders during lunch. A fairly new resident, who is not only confused but also grumpy (and ready to die, as he repeatedly reminds us) was being somewhat <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">cantankerous</span>. He is also hard of hearing. Because I was speaking to him in a calming voice, I had to lean in close to his face so he could hear me. He looked me in the eye and said very loudly, "I don't know what you're saying to me, but if you get any closer I'm going to kiss you."<br />~~<br /><br />Ya can't beat old people for a smile!<br />Happy Weekending!<br /><br />*Gladys doesn't wear underwear. She wears panties...usually pink silk. She rocks.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1473746552277403663.post-38922642982496239992009-09-09T11:21:00.010-04:002009-09-10T11:41:49.405-04:00There's a reason Sir MixaLot didn't sing about liking BARE buttsWe've lost a couple of employees these past two weeks, and although their leaving has been an overall positive thing for our team, it still presents a difficulty in covering shifts until someone new can be trained. In the interim, Assistant and I have been chipping in with meal service and resident care. While I am proud to be the type of administrator who would never ask a WorkerBee to do something I wouldn't do myself, I've decided during the challenge of the past two weeks that just because I <em>will</em> do something, doesn't mean I <em>want</em> to do it.<br /><br />I can serve lunch every day for a year and really not mind it one bit. But helping someone pull their pants down and putting my hands on their bare hips to guide their exposed derriere to the john? Standing in the bathroom until they've finished "producing" (as one sweetheart resident would say) only to hand them toilet paper, help them get up off the john, and pull their pants back up? Or even worse, helping them into a dry Depends? Yeah. Not loving it.<br /><br />The thing is, though, that it is worse for the residents! Being in the role of caregiver changes the dynamic of my relationship with the them. I'm the person they come to with concerns or ideas for the betterment of Rock Ridge. I'm the person to whom they can express their opinions and feel like they are having an intelligent and productive problem-solving conversation. We talk about things that make them feel like they still have value as a human being. It makes them feel important and useful. When they hold their Resident Council Meetings and ask me to give the Administrative Report, not one of them wants to watch me talk and have to think "<em>she's seen my naked butt."</em> I hate that for them. <br /><br />And being totally truthful here, I hate it for me.<br /><br />Because I now know exactly what my ass is going to look like in 60 years.<br /><br />Yeah. Not loving it.carriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03238862689732970406noreply@blogger.com3