Self-Restraint

Given the nature of my work as a nursing assistant, I am continuously placed in (and placing others in) what under normal circumstance would be very awkward situations. Sure, they're still awkward- but you get over it quicker when it's a matter of necessity. I've also developed a calm, confident, comfortable, considerate, and undaunted can-do demeanor (CCCCUCDD) to assume when necessary to put my residents at ease. This invovles enormous self-restraint at times when stifling a wide range of very natural responses to unideal situations.

A few examples of my work-situations that require unusually high levels of self-restraint:

• Not being embarrassed by complete nudity, bodily functions, or the most pitifully unfortunate modes of existence.
• Not wrinkling my nose or gasping when I turn away due to the obscenely foul odors originating from the resident I'm cleaning's body.
• Not cringing when someone accidentally urinates on me.
• Not rolling my eyes or getting exasperated when an evil old lady verbally abuses me and threatens to have me fired for letting her pillow fall to the floor ("..and get covered in bacteria!") when she kicked it.
• Not showing my disgust and rage when an ornery old man deliberately knocks his bed pan over and says to me, "Now get down on your hands and knees and clean it up."
• Not showing that I'm startled or caught off-guard when I first realize that the person I'm undressing is in fact unbeknownced to me an amputee.
• Not panicking (or freezing) when I walk into a room to discover that the reason why my resident (with thighs the thickness of wrists who cannot walk on her own) is not in her bed is because she's lying face down in a pool of her own blood out of sight on the other side of the bed.
• Not tearing up in desperation when my recently deceased resident's eyes WILL NOT stay shut.

Individually they're doable. But add them all together in one night and it can be REALLY HARD to stay in control of yourself. Honestly, that's HOW I stay in control of myself-- by reminding myself that at least I can modify my behaviors, and that's not necessarily the case with all of my residents. And the craziest thing at this point is that there are a number of things I'm presently restraining myself from sharing because they're just too horrible to share, even without identifying the person in question. I guess some things are better off never mentioned again. I hate to say it, but sometimes I'm actually relieved that certain people have dementia-- because they won't have to be ashamed of themselves for what they just did later. It must be really hard to get old. But I gotta say, it's not exactly easy caring for the elderly either.

But that being said, the particular type of restraint I routinely have to exercise that I would like to discuss here is:

• Not laughing insensitively at old people, no matter how funny what they said might have been.

Granted, sometimes it's okay and GOOD to laugh things off, especially if they were awkward to begin with, but most of the time it would be oh-so-unhelpful and just plain insensitive. ***

Now maybe I'm too easily (or even wrongly) amused, but here are a few of tonight's work experiences that challenged my ability to restrain my laughter:

"THE CATFIGHT"

So I was in a shared residents room responding to one of their call lights. Two women lived in this room. As I was determining what the woman who put on her call light (Woman A) needed, her roommate (Woman B) piped up. It all happened so fast. The conversation that took place between them went something like this:
WB: Heeeeyyyy!! (screeching) Shut up already, I'm tryin' ta sleep!
WA: Shutcherr trap, you old HAG!
WB: I'M a hag?? Have you SEEN yourself? Can't a person get some SLEEP without you flappin'?
WA: YOU TALK IN YOUR SLEEP THE WHOLE DAMN NIGHT. You think I want to hear you blab to your dead husband about some damn drapes? Now MIND YOUR G-DAMN BUSINESS.
WB: *drops the F and N Bombs*
In the middle of WB's last comment I gathered up my jaw and quickly intervened. Okay. Maybe it's not so funny to you guys, but if you HEARD how sugary sweet and innocent each of these ladies are individually and how in a flash-bang they went to cranky old lady versions of the Hulk-- Wow. That and I've never heard anyone actually called a hag, in earnest, to their face. It was hard not to laugh-- It was so sudden!

"THE DEMENTORS"

Crap. This one is also going to seem so insensitive. "Dementor" is the term that I fondly use to refer to people with obvious dementia when I'm far far away from work or school-- in fact, this is the first time I've used it other than when speaking to my mother over a cup of coffee in the privacy of her kitchen, or for the sake of making my little sister's ill at ease in the same location. Somehow wrong seems more right over a cup of coffee with mom. I've also tried out the terms "dementoids" or "dementards" but those just didn't have the right feel. I usually only use it when they unwittingly terrorize me. Yes, I'm a terrible person picking on the weak and helpless. Get over it.

So like I was saying. This is actually a two-fer because the set up for both of these isolated situations was the same. So I'll just start with the first. I was in a particular dementor's room changing her particularly poopy adult brief (giant diaper). We were making small talk. But here's the thing about dementors. Sometimes they can make perfect sense, but much of the time they just sound like they do. This particular woman was at least using words (as opposed to garbled sounds with only the appropriate tone of voice), but they were not concrete words and didn't make any sense whatsoever- just stringing them together left and right. When she began it seemed like she was talking about the diaper changing, but her tone of voice more fit a conversation where she was commiserating with an acquaintance over the childish rebellions of a distant relative's son, or perhaps how unsatisfactory the preparation of last night's chicken was. My response in these situations, particulary given that I work nights and everyone's groggy, is to play along so as to avoid causing them unnecessary anxiety or distress when they realize their inability to communicate effectively. Again, mind you, I must stress that she's saying words but they are NOT MAKING ANY SENSE. I have no clue what she's talking about at this point. So I throw in a "Isn't that terrible!" or "what a shame," or a "you must be so proud!" or even a "tsk tsk"... whatever sort of ambiguous, noncommital response seems to play into the tone of voice, and body language, she's using. If I'm feeling cocky I'll even ask ambiguous questions in response, even though neither of us it really talking about anything at all.

So we were harmlessly chatting away about God-knows-what, the dementor and I, and as I turned her on her side to continue cleaning up all the BM, she get's really quiet. And then, mid-wipe, again, WHILE I'M WIPING HER BOTTOM, she quietly says, "It's rather tempting, isn't it." It was SO.HARD. not to laugh!!! I REALLY want to know what on earth was going on in her head at that point! Does it get any more randomly bizarre and awkward than that?? No, lady. I cannot think of a single situation where the poop on your bottom could EVER.POSSIBLY. be tempting. My goodness.

But maybe it does get more awkward. In a very similar situation with a different dementor, I was ALSO wiping her bottom (though there was absolutely no verbal communication on her part preceding this), when her gravelly voice inquires, "How does my butt look?" Uhhhhhhh. Tricky. My oh-so-professional response was, "Hmm... Healthy!" I mean c'mon- how the heck am I supposed to answer that one!!

"THE LITTLE PIG"

This one actually was the funniest. And the most awkward (funny how that works). A little context. It can at times be awkward for a man to have a woman doing intimate, personal cares for them (and vice versa even more so, but that's outside of my scope). Generally speaking, most men don't seem to have much of a problem with it, and are pretty comfortable being naked (or get to be quickly) in front of people. One of the things I've noticed, however, is that while my WWII vets seem to be the most comfortable with actually being naked or exposed, they're also the most uncomfortable with it-- because they're worried about scandal for the sake of the women doing cares on them. Common variations I've heard are, "You're too young to have to look at this!" (response: "Not looking!-- just washing!") or "You poor thing, this job must be TERRIFYING for you!" (granted, he WAS rather formidable). And nearly exclusively I've heard these sorts of concerns coming from WWII veterans. Most non-vets act (and maybe they even are) oblivious to any sort of awkwardness that could arise from such situations.

Tonight's WWII vet variation took the cake, though. I heard distressed sounds coming from this vet's room as I was walking down the hall, so I went in to ask if he was alright. He shyly admitted that he was not in fact alright. So I asked what was the matter. He hemmed and hawed a bit, and then came out with, "Well...er.. ah.. is there actually a man that could help me?" Which there was not. So I explained that there weren't any men working that night, and asked if perhaps there was something I could do to help? His response was, "well... yes. I suppose so-- If you're strong enough." So I turned on the bedside lamp and the problem was clearly illuminated. He'd futzed with his adult brief and consequently peed all over himself in the bed. Nothing too difficult or that uncommon, really.

So I started getting supplies together to change his clothes, bedding, and clean him up nice. But while I'm preparing he was getting a little anxious about the whole thing (he is, by the way, a borderline dementor). For some reason he seemed to have it in his head that I didn't know the difference between men and women and would be traumatized by what lies hidden beneath his cheery-patterned PJ's. So naturally, when I asked him if he's okay (seeing his mounting anxiety), he tries to gently warn me by saying, "Now, ah... you see... well... there's a little pig in my bed!"
Me: (pleasantly) A little pig, huh? (not understanding what he means, but assuming he'll keep talking.)
V: Well... not exactly in my bed, actually... it's more... here... *very generally indicating groin region with a wave of his hand*
Me: Ohh... I see... (internally having a brain-chuckle while wondering if he's blaming the "little pig" for the mess in his bed, and not quite clear on why he's bringing it up)
V:(cutting me off, not yet convinced that I do see and very concerned as my preparations are nearly complete-- girls can't possibly know about men) No, you see... it's not a REAL little pig! ... it's more like.. (grasping).. like the kind that's cooked and ready to eat!! ... *pause*... (HORRIFIED, realizing his attempt at circumlocuting the crass illusion to his "sausage" was even more crass than saying it could have been)... err!.. I mean!... I just don't want you to be frightened is all!!!

It was really hard not to laugh. He was so incredibly distressed that he was going to scandalize me. So sweet, however clumsy. I have to admit, I have a serious soft spot for oldey veterans...

Anyways... this got to be a lot longer than I intended. Good for you if you read the whole thing!

*** Note: At this point I feel inclined to warn you that I am not a very sensitive person when it comes to matters of humor. I stand by the level of care I provide to my residents. And while I do make jokes at their expense sometimes (as you can see), I have never ONCE made any sort of comment at a residents expense at work, not even to a coworker. My humor in no way compromises the level of care I provide.