Eula and Cathy

I was in the dining room during breakfast one morning, and it was one of those quiet meals where nobody speaks to each other because they are still half-asleep.  Well, Eula and a lady named Cathy eat at the same table.  Cathy had finished her breakfast and decided it was time to get up out of her chair and grab her walker to leave.  Cathy ALWAYS has a hard time getting up out of her chair and today was no exception. Heave, heave, ho.  Couldn't get up.  Heave, heave, ho.  Nope, she wasn't going anywhere.  Heave, heave, ho. FART FART FART. And she was up. I looked around to see if anyone was looking at her or laughing (yes, old people still laugh when someone farts--if they can still hear.)  But no one had even turned their head in her direction. Eula continued to eat her breakfast and just turned to Cathy with no expression on her face.  Then, in her LOUD Slingblade-like voice, she said "You got the arthritis?" And Cathy replied, "Yep, I got the arthritis." Eula was nodding her head and said loudly, "Yeah you gotta watch that arthritis.  One day you'll be feeling fine and then the next day, it will take you down like the f***ing Titanic." Cathy nodded "Ain't it a bitch?"  And Cathy walked away.  Yep, just another normal breakfast in long term care.

Dorothy

Part of my job is to work with people who have swallowing problems.  It's great in a nursing facility because I can usually get a couple of my patients in the therapy room at lunch and have them eat in there with me, so I'm not running around for an entire hour and can actually do effective therapy.  Well one day, I had 2 patients for swallowing therapy at lunch and my OT had 2 other patients in the therapy room to help them with self-feeding.  All of them were women--thank goodness.  You'll understand later in the story why I'm grateful a man wasn't in there!  A funny little lady named Dorothy was in the room working with my OT--Dorothy had Alzheimer's.  She had a sweet doll-like face to go along with her 200+ lb frame.  But part of Alzheimers in the later stages is that the person isn't able to use facial expressions---they have what we call 'flat affect.' Dorothy never smiled. So here I was feeding one of my patients (I was sitting across the room from Dorothy) and I accidentally dropped gravy on my pants--right below my zipper on the leg of my khaki pants.  I went and got a wet paper towel and starting scrubbing my pants trying to get the gravy off.  Meanwhile, my OT was asking Dorothy a question about her meal--but Dorothy did not respond.  She was a little preoccupied watching me clean my pants.  Actually, staring is more like it. Dorothy finally held up her hand to my OT and said, "I'm sorry--I don't know what you said.  I can't think of anything else because I'm watching this masturbation."  I immediately looked up in shock!  And I tried not to crack up--actually we just ignored her because we honestly did not know what to say.  After I got the gravy off, I had this big wet spot on my pants.  So I grabbed the box fan sitting on the floor next to me and turned it toward me so my pants would dry.  Dorothy looked at the fan and then looked back at me and said frankly, "That's right girl.  You heated it up, now you gotta cool it down."  And that's when I cracked up.

Hank

I had a gentleman who came in our nursing facility with his sodium levels out of whack.  You would never really guess the importance of the right amount of sodium in your system until you saw someone with low sodium.  Let me just tell you, those people have been thrown for a loop.  Well, I did an evaluation and ended up picking Hank up for speech therapy because he was so confused.  One day, I went in his room to get him for therapy and found him laying in his bed butt naked fanning his genitals with his pillow.  I got a little closer, but not too close, you know.  Old men are like baby boys--you never know when their little thingy is going to let loose.  And I DO NOT like to be peed on.  So I got close enough to him for him to hear me and I said, "Hank, I've come to get you for therapy."  He looked at me blankly, and then said, with his upper dentures just flopping around in his mouth, "I don't like broccoli."  I shook my head and said, "No, Hank.  I don't care if you like broccoli... I'm here to get you for therapy."  He pauses from fanning himself, leans his head toward me, and yells at the top of his lungs, "I DO NOT LIKE BROCCOLI!!!!!!!"  So I left his room--And I went to the dietary manager to make sure that broccoli was listed in the dislike column of his meal card, and I left it at that.  Sometimes, that's all you can do, you know?  Just leave well enough alone and make sure the man never gets broccoli again.

Bitsy

This month, we had a funny little socialite named Bitsy come and stay with us for a few weeks.  She had the air of a debutante with the humor of a dirty old man.  She also loved to talk in a faus Southern accent.  And she was also confused as hell.  Well, one day, she walked out of the therapy room bobbing and weaving with her walker and I happened to be walking behind her. She turned to me and asked, "Honnneey, do I look like I'm drunk?"  I casually replied, "Well, I can't promise that you'd pass a sobriety test if you got pulled over." She thought for a minute and said, "Well, is it the walker or is it me?"  I told that that it definitely wasn't the walker's fault, to which she quickly replied, "Damn,  I was hoping it wasn't me."  She paused and turned, saying, "Honey, if I try to break out of this joint, please don't let me drive."