Geriatric Messiness

It seems to me that taking care of the elderly and sick is one of the hardest jobs on the planet.  Especially for the certified nurses assistants (CNA) who bare the brunt of the physically difficult part of the job.  It's back braking work of turning and cleaning and head to toe caring for those who can no longer do these things for themselves.  If you know a CNA but very, very nice to them.

It's also heartbreaking work.  It's not pretty watching illness and death up close.  Aside from the physical messiness of it all, there is also the emotional mess.  And the abuse.  News flash:  not all patients are good and kind.  I'd even say a shocking number of them are not.  It's not hard to understand why.  We are not at our best when we are ill or in pain, when we have lost physical abilities or independence.  There are those who are aggravated or aggressive due to confusion or dementia.  And let's face it, some people are just plain mean.  And meanness does not seem to soften with age, too often, just the opposite.  And then there's also the emotional mess of losing one more patient that was likable.  That was lovable.

I find myself working geriatrics again.  I say "again" because I started my career ions ago in nursing homes.  I don't know, maybe for about 13 years before I went on to other things.  I always loved working with this population.  Coming back to this work after decades is kinda like watching a review of my life.  But instead of a movie, I'm living it.  And I'm reminded so poignantly of what this work entails.  The beauty and the pain of growing old.   I'm writing with tears cascading down my face and I don't even know why.  So many emotions of nursing experiences.  We geriatric care givers see that grueling slice of life that not many see.  That not many want to see.  But I call it hollowed ground.  I do.  There is something so profound about helping someone through their death transition.  Or helping them get through every day of living a life they don't want to be living - for what ever reason.  Maybe I'm crying because I am now decades closer to my geriatric years.  I don't know.  I just know I'm in this work situation for a reason.  I'm gathering something.  I'm remembering parts of my life.  I think I'm preparing for something.  This work isn't always fun or even bearable.  But it's deeply meaningful and I'm grateful for that.