"That dope is mine..." And Other Things Residents Admit...

It was right after lunch, and I was preparing to do my afternoon bathroom rounds. I approached a resident who still had her lunch tray pulled over her chair. I moved said lunch tray in order to roll her into the bathroom...

Resident: "That dope is mine..."

Me: "Say what now??" *wonders what else she has stashed away in that sweater...*

Resident: "That dope...it's mine..." *points to diet Coke on lunch tray*

Riiiiiiight. Win for archaic southern terminology...Today was one of those nutty days where you just get too much information from some residents.

Resident: "It's been really runny when I shit today..."

Me: "I know this...I've been the one changing your briefs..."

You've had those days before, right? The ones where it just feels like everyone needs to tell you the obvious? Or the intimate details of what's happening regardless of how well they know you? In this case, it doesn't ever bother me. I know my residents very well. Most of them, I know better than their own families do. ((For some, we ARE their family.)) I know them down to things like how Ms. Bobbie likes her make-up laid out on the sink before I get her up and how she will always want her cell phone, her glasses, her billfold, and a pack of peanut butter crackers (opened) sitting next to her in her wheel chair when she gets up in the mornings.

It's because they know they can tell you anything that they feel they need to tell you EVERYTHING.

Resident: *farts so loud you check to make sure the toilet didn't blow up* "I THINK I'M HAVING A BOWEL MOVEMENT!!!!"

Me: *making the bed outside the bathroom* "Really?? Cuz I was just about to go ask the nurse to bring you some prune juice..."

That openness can be quite humorous ((and is pretty much the basis of this blog)), but it's because of this openness that bonds form so quickly. Bonds of mutual trust and love. And with those bonds come privileges. Privileges such as being the only one a certain resident allows to help her dress because, "no one else can do it like you do."

You get to celebrate the little victories...like pushing your resident who was a stroke victim to bathe herself even though one side is almost paralyzed...and then teaching her to stand and use the toilet instead of the bedside commode...and then hearing her say, "That's the first time since my stroke I've actually sat on a toilet...I've wanted to learn, but you're the first one to take the time to believe I could do it and show me how."

These little things keep you going no matter how crappy your life is. Laughing with them, crying with them...just seeing them live...it keeps what's important right in front of your face. It keeps you humble and makes you appreciate every second of your time on this Earth.

It's hard some days, both physically and mentally, but I would never trade my Life With the Residents...