Memories

Here are a few memories from the time I worked at the Care Home for about 2 months last summer:

#1. The man in Room 40 had Stage 1 diabetes. He was bedridden and as a result, had the most awful ulcer on the heel of his right foot. The smell is unforgettable - once you've smelt rotting flesh, you never ever forget it. Even now when I walk into the room of a resident who has a bedsore I can tell without being told. The first time I walked into his room I was nearly sick - you may think I am overreacting and was offensive to the poor man but I am honestly not and i was not. I have a very strong stomach and have been brought up well - it was just an instinctive reaction to the smell which assaulted me as I entered his room. The GP came about 3 weeks after I arrived to have a look at it before deciding that he should be taken to hospital. I caught a glimpse as he took the dressing off; it was green and grey. Gangrene was setting in, if it hadn't already. He didn't return from the hospital.

#2. Hilda was a looker when she was young - the photographs on the walls show a dark-haired woman with pouty full lips and a stunning figure. She looked as if she may have had some Romany blood in her, so dark was her hair and so exotic her looks. The woman wriggling around in the bed beside me as I tried to comb the knots from her wiry salt and pepper hair beared very little resemblance to the woman in the photos. Her skin, once smooth and golden, was wrinkled and liver-spotted, crabbed with age. Her lovely figure had gone to leave a skinny frame covered in muscle from her constant moving. Her nails are yellowed and long; she wouldn't let me cut them. Hilda had severe dementia, too severe for a residential home where we couldn't always keep an eye on her when she was in her chair or bed. She took a tumble once or twice, luckily not out of bed as far as I know. Her constant shouting and chattering annoyed the other residents. But her eyes, the eyes which were dark and gentle in the photographs, were still glowing; it somehow made the hits and kicks a little less painful. I'll always remember her eyes.

#3. Marjorie had had numerous strokes and was a result was twisted and cramped up. She snapped her jaw together constantly. Feeding her was a nightmare as one false move meant she clamped the teaspoon between her gums (her front teeth on the top and bottom were gone) and blood began to pour. It took good timing and a lot of perseverence to ensure you didn't hurt her. One time I misjudged where the teaspoon was and blood went everywhere. As I looked at Marjorie's face I could see the pain there but also her inability to express it. I said I was very sorry and went to get the Duty Nurse who said it would heal quickly and not to worry. After that I was wary of feeding Marjorie in case she was fearful of me or I hurt her again. But a few days later I had to feed her as we had an admission and all the more experienced HCAs and SHCAs were tied up weighing them and so on. It was a surprise to find that when I chattered whilst feeding her, she responded to my rhetorical question about opening the window with a loud, somewhat uncontrolled but definitely coherent 'Yes'. I had been told that there is often still a 'person' inside of a stroke victim but this was the first time I had been shown it. It made me rather ashamed of my attitude before and since then I have tried to talk with victims of this horrible affliction or put music or the radio on for them to listen to.

#4. June had and still has a voice which makes me giggle, rude and unprofessional as that is. It reminds me of Pinky and Perky mixed with the Crazy Frog. I never really found it particulalry amusing until Kay and I had to bath her one day. June hates having a bath, having her hair washed and especially hates having her nails cut - she has quite severe dementia and is bedridden as well as confused. On the day in question she was causing a right fuss, squeaking and shouting at us as we soaped and rinsed her. Then I had to wash her hair - I told her I was going to do lather her hair when suddenly water began flying everywhere as June managed to pull the shower attachment from Kay's hand and began swinging it around her head like a lasso. Any attempt to get close to her meant getting drenched or a bash on the head. Her high squeaky yelps of 'No! No! No!' merely added to the scene of Kay and I ducking and diving as we tried to grab the showerhead. The cherry on top came when Matron, who was in her office with the door shut came to see what all the ruckus was about and was greeted when she entered the bathroom with a huge shriek of horror from June and shower of water in the face. She might have dementia but she is a good aim, our June... The memory of this makes me giggle whenever I heard her voice.

More memories to come at a later date!

'Til next time,
Vienna xxx