like the dude with the rock pushing it up the hill in hell
So today at work I had a massive, massive out of spoons error.
Most of you know that I work with dementia patients, which is a nice way of saying that I am the person who gets up at four am and arrives at the place where your grandmother with no idea what year it is lives at six am to get her up, take her to the bathroom, dress her, make sure she eats, and helps her live her life day to day as well as can be expected. Usually I feel at least like I’m doing something necessary for someone, which fulfills a basic human need, and also allows me to buy food, pay rent, have internet access, and sometimes buy yarn and awful movies.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes there’s a day like today.
Two people had blowouts (what's a blowout? you ask. Here's a hint: it is a lot of poo, all over) and two people spent most of their days calling me names and attempting with some success to punch me in the face. Activities didn't show up until 20 minutes before I was supposed to have everybody changed and ready for the next shift. (One of the caregivers stays in the rec room until the actual Activities staff shows up after breakfast and lunch to take charge of them, while everybody else runs around frantically herding people to the bathroom / naps / whatever.) We've been chronically short staffed for a month and a half, and on Sunday and Monday I've been more or less carrying the shift. Not doing all the work, although sometimes it feels like it, just being the one to come help with transfers or find out where things are, or help people if their actual caregiver couldn’t be found.
I stood waiting for Activities to get in, and I thought about how much work I had left to do and how much time I had left to do it, and how tired I was and how it would never end. How I was going to get up the next morning and do it all over again, because it had to be done, and for people who didn’t remember me from one day to the next, who would never get better, and who would die, not in the dim ‘someday’ but within the year, or the next.
Then I started to cry. I cried though three coworkers trying to calm me down. I sat down and sobbed I was so tired and I was never going to get done with my work. I was still crying when my boss agreed to give me tomorrow off if she could. (The look on her face was like, Oh shit it is the ‘burnout’.)
...then I went and changed one of the people who'd been trying to punch me in the face, because what are you going to do? it's not like they wanted to do it. (Well. Obviously they DID but it doesn't count if they legitimately don't understand what they're doing. One might as well be angry at an animal for defending itself. Or gravity for dropping things.) She was fine by then anyway. "Oh, it's you," she said, thinking about smiling.
"Yup," I said. "Let's get you clean before I leave, my dear."
*rubs face*
tl;dr next time you see a caregiver person offer them a hug, or at least a beer; they could probably use it.
Anyway, Boss covered my shift (I don’t cry ever, I think she freaked out a little) so I have tomorrow off, and on Sunday I’ll be back at work again, reminding people that hitting someone for cleaning shit off them is not socially acceptable, hugging them as required, and coaxing them to eat. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Someone's got to do it.
Dunno what I'm going to do tomorrow though -- well okay we're all going to Dawn's house and watching Sherlock. The plan is nominally to drink every time it's kind of gay, but as three people have pointed out so far, that is a one-way ticket to a hospital and a stomach pump. I was thinking of seeing Captain America tomorrow (Kitty had to bail last Saturday) but I'll probably go Friday after I get my hair whacked into shape. And it seems so restful. An extra day to lie around with tea, Pokemon and Big Bang.
Most of you know that I work with dementia patients, which is a nice way of saying that I am the person who gets up at four am and arrives at the place where your grandmother with no idea what year it is lives at six am to get her up, take her to the bathroom, dress her, make sure she eats, and helps her live her life day to day as well as can be expected. Usually I feel at least like I’m doing something necessary for someone, which fulfills a basic human need, and also allows me to buy food, pay rent, have internet access, and sometimes buy yarn and awful movies.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes there’s a day like today.
Two people had blowouts (what's a blowout? you ask. Here's a hint: it is a lot of poo, all over) and two people spent most of their days calling me names and attempting with some success to punch me in the face. Activities didn't show up until 20 minutes before I was supposed to have everybody changed and ready for the next shift. (One of the caregivers stays in the rec room until the actual Activities staff shows up after breakfast and lunch to take charge of them, while everybody else runs around frantically herding people to the bathroom / naps / whatever.) We've been chronically short staffed for a month and a half, and on Sunday and Monday I've been more or less carrying the shift. Not doing all the work, although sometimes it feels like it, just being the one to come help with transfers or find out where things are, or help people if their actual caregiver couldn’t be found.
I stood waiting for Activities to get in, and I thought about how much work I had left to do and how much time I had left to do it, and how tired I was and how it would never end. How I was going to get up the next morning and do it all over again, because it had to be done, and for people who didn’t remember me from one day to the next, who would never get better, and who would die, not in the dim ‘someday’ but within the year, or the next.
Then I started to cry. I cried though three coworkers trying to calm me down. I sat down and sobbed I was so tired and I was never going to get done with my work. I was still crying when my boss agreed to give me tomorrow off if she could. (The look on her face was like, Oh shit it is the ‘burnout’.)
...then I went and changed one of the people who'd been trying to punch me in the face, because what are you going to do? it's not like they wanted to do it. (Well. Obviously they DID but it doesn't count if they legitimately don't understand what they're doing. One might as well be angry at an animal for defending itself. Or gravity for dropping things.) She was fine by then anyway. "Oh, it's you," she said, thinking about smiling.
"Yup," I said. "Let's get you clean before I leave, my dear."
*rubs face*
tl;dr next time you see a caregiver person offer them a hug, or at least a beer; they could probably use it.
Anyway, Boss covered my shift (I don’t cry ever, I think she freaked out a little) so I have tomorrow off, and on Sunday I’ll be back at work again, reminding people that hitting someone for cleaning shit off them is not socially acceptable, hugging them as required, and coaxing them to eat. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Someone's got to do it.
Dunno what I'm going to do tomorrow though -- well okay we're all going to Dawn's house and watching Sherlock. The plan is nominally to drink every time it's kind of gay, but as three people have pointed out so far, that is a one-way ticket to a hospital and a stomach pump. I was thinking of seeing Captain America tomorrow (Kitty had to bail last Saturday) but I'll probably go Friday after I get my hair whacked into shape. And it seems so restful. An extra day to lie around with tea, Pokemon and Big Bang.