My last post was about losing my first resident since starting my job in June.
I write about work more than anything else. And I realize that a lot of what I write probably isn't happy & upbeat. I write about poop a lot too. So, yeah, there's that.
But the truth is, I love my job. It was the best career move I could have made for myself.
Yes, there are a lot of icky parts. Yes, sometimes residents swing or try to bite me. Yes, sometimes the residents call my mom a fucking whore. But in the long run, none of that matters. What matters is this: I'm lucky enough to be with them when they need it most; when they don't have anyone else. Believe it or not, I think I benefit from that more than the residents do. It is a gift. Gertie's passing was a perfect example. And there was another, much happier, example tonight.
Rosie turned 100 today. She is not in perfect health, but she still gets around on her own & it's an impressive achievement. The aide that was taking care of her tonight noticed that she kept asking if we had to take her somewhere, she kept refusing to go to bed & she was more dressed up than normal. She was expecting a BIG surprise from her family.
Those A-holes are at the shore...but they sent flowers. So, that makes it ok, right? Wrong.
So Rosie went to bed in tears.
Along with the flowers, her family had a small cake delivered. They asked us to keep it for when they come back . Don't you just hate these fuckers? Can you even stand it?
Well, my shift supervisor decided to hell with them. At 10:45, she gathered every staff member on our floor. Ten of us marched into 100-years-young Rosie's room & sang happy birthday. I haven't seen a smile so big in a long time.
We shared some giggles & some cake. And despite the shitty choices her shitty family made today, Rosie told us she thanks God everyday for the wonderful life she had.
We should all be so lucky looking back from 100.