Alzheimer's, Lies, and Fiber Supplements

Greetings from the Gerri Atrik Retirement Community! From the supposed "independent" section of our community, where less and less independent people are being allowed to maintain residence longer and longer without permanent help.

Keep in mind that I am supposed to be an emergency services person. I quit working in a total care setting because my back can't take it and I was mentally burned out on dealing with people who are completely confused and sometimes hostile.

"Pauline" was supposed to move to Assisted Living, but something held the family back. Probably the fact that Alvin N. Chipmunkk is so desirous of revenue that he decided to let Pauline stay so that we can continue to collect 6 Quatloos every time we go to her apartment.

The latest thing is that Pauline doesn't like to take her fiber. She doesn't like the taste. So she lies and says she's taken it. So we're supposed to go up and make it for her. Mix the teaspoon of fiber in four ounces of water. At eleven o clock at night, no less.

So, up I go. Pauline is sitting there watching television. She isn't wearing her oxygen, which she is supposed to be doing.

"Hi Pauline," I say. "I'm here to get you your fiber."

"I already took my fiber," says Pauline.

What am I supposed to do? Accuse the woman of being a liar? Mix up a glass of the fiber, pin her to the floor and pour it down her throat?
"You sure?" I say.
"Yes," she says, suddenly less friendly. Kind of the reaction I expected.

"Well, ok," I say. "How about if you put on your oxygen."

"I'll do it when I go to bed," she said slightly snappishly. "You don't have to worry about everything so much."

9 times out of 10 when I go up to check on Pauline at 2 in the morning, she is NOT wearing her oxygen and the concentrator is turned off. I wake her up and have her put on the oxygen.

This woman is either in the middle stages of Alzheimer's or has some other kind of dementia issue. She is not appropriate to an independent living situation without a personal aide.

I can't force her to take the damn fiber if she doesn't want to, and even if she is experiencing dementia, it isn't my place to be condescending to her and treat her like a bad child. I documented the experience, including everything she said. That's all I can do.

It's frustrating, but so is looking for a job. I just keep telling myself that everything changes. Hopefully not for the worse.

Working Sick

Thankfully I don't have to help Albert tonight, because I really feel like hell. I'm having stomach cramps on top of menstrual misery, and you really wanted to know that, and I don't care.

For some reason, during the three days that I was gone, this addled man discovered that he should push his emergency alert every time he needs to pee, and he was needing to pee a lot. My co-worker complained (and rightfully) that it is very time consuming to have to go to his apartment every 45 minutes to an hour. So finally the family got enough of a clue to hire a night caregiver--at least for tonight and Sunday night. I'm not sure why Saturday night is cursed, and I'm not sure what it's going to take for the administration, the family, or both to get a clue. Probably this man falling and hitting his head on something.

Every time we visit a person's room for a bathroom assist, they are charged $18. I am sure that the department wants to collect that revenue. But come now. The guidelines specifically state that a person be able to help themselves, and if they can no longer help themselves, that they hire a private caregiver or move to the assisted living area.

This is never enforced until the situation becomes impossible.

And this is what happens when individuals such as Alvin N. Chipmunkk are left in charge. They are completely clueless as to the realities of the situation. They are MBA's who have never worked "in the trenches." They try to do what looks good on paper. And Heaven forbid they should ask the "grunts" what the score is. We have to complain vehemently and often to get anything done.

No surprises there.

But Doesn't Independent Mean You Can Do It Yourself??

The department in which I work is called "Independent Care." I am supposed to be here for emergency situations and to take care of paperwork and sundry tasks. So how the hell come I've been doing scheduled bathroom assists for one resident for three months now and for another one for the past two weeks??

Methinks its because Alvin N. Chipmunkk and his cronies like the extra Quatloos they get for our providing this service. We charge the resident 180,000 Quatloos (Thats $18 U.S. Currency) for making sure they get on and off the can without falling on their can. So instead of insisting that residents such as "Albert" and "Joanna" either get a 24-hour caregiver or move to assisted living, they continue collecting this fee every time the Resident Assistant visits.

Albert and Joanna are neat people. I'm just tired.

Life Among The Ancients

The Cheesemeister has been feeling a little burned out in her job caring for the elderly these days. This is where I can carp about being a caregiver, remind myself of those things that are good about it, joke about Alvin N. Chipmunkk and the other administrative types, and nobody has to know except for you and me.