The ambulance just arrived and I’m preparing my speech. Not really a speech, just a typical report to EMS on how Eleanor is doing. She just had a stroke and I found her in bed. My heart is racing as five firefighters stare at me writing my words down. I’m only 19, so I feel as if every word I say sounds dumb to them. They jot stuff down, take Eleanor to the hospital, and I’m back in the hallways running towards bed alarms and pendants making sure everyone else is okay. Just a typical day at my work; welcome to being a CNA.
I'm not going to lie, I dread going to work a lot of the time. I'm devoting close to nine hours of my day and/or night to taking care of everyone but myself. I'm walking close to four miles all while trying to maintain good posture so my back doesn't hurt even worse than it already does. By the end of it all, I’m exhausted and wish I had a personal masseuse.
I work at an assisted living in town and I wouldn’t say this is your average job. When people hear the words "assisted living" they automatically assume I bake cookies and plant flowers with people as old as their grandmas. Wrong. I wake up at five in the morning to go in and take care of people who can't take care of themselves. People who can't even verbalize what they're thinking, people who can't remember their own family members, and people who are dying.
Imagine getting older and realizing you're the not the same person you were before. All of a sudden you're irritated because you can't remember where the power button for your TV remote is. Or maybe you can't put your shoes on and tie them? You are slowly losing your independence and don't know how to cope.
That's where I come in. I'm here to help you no matter what you need. You need me to spend ten minutes making your bed so it looks perfect? I will. You need me to feed your birds in the dead of winter with snow on the ground? I will. I will be here at your service, no matter what it is.
Of course, I deal with harder things than making beds and feeding birds. I deal with combative residents, upset families, residents with hallucinations, death, medical personnel, lifting heavy people, bodily fluids every place you can think of, medications, etc. Somedays I want to quit because of the extra little things that build up over time. Or when someone passes and I need to go to the bathroom to let out my tears. I’m only human and sometimes I need a break.
But at the end of my shift, I find myself bummed out I have to leave. The one reason for this is simply because of my residents. Each one of them completely different from the others and holding a spot in my heart reserved just for them. I have the most interesting conversations, deepest laughs, and biggest smiles with my people. I want to be the person to make them feel comfortable and safe. The person to hold their hand for hours when they're scared. And quite frankly, I know I am. I know I do my job well and I've built relationships with a lot of elderly people. I have such respect for them that I think they deserve nothing but the best sort of care. So while other kids my age are working at fast food chains and even collecting a higher wage than me, at least I can walk away with the love and knowledge from the people at my assisted living building.
