Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Good Morning!

By Sherri Macdonald, Local 305 member

How does your morning start? My work day starts at 6 a.m. getting your loved ones up.

My first lady is so contracted and resistive. The only time she wants out of bed is when she crawls out in the middle of the night. Thank goodness for bed alarms because the bed doesn’t have side rails, which are considered “restraints.” Better that your loved one falls on the floor—it’s safer, they say.

By now, two call bells are going off. One is for a bedpan—the fourth time this night. The poor lady. Her bowels are collapsing causing her the feeling that she needs to do a bowel movement. But as us PSWs know, she doesn’t go. We still put her on the toilet every hour of the day. She gets upset if we tell her that she was just on.

The other bell is for a lady who is over 100 years old who got herself out of bed. Again, thank goodness for bed alarms! She stands in her nightgown in the hallway looking around for her children. I tell her they are safe and come up with a story that calms her. I bring her back to bed after she does a little void and tuck her in until it’s time to get her up for breakfast.

It’s only 6:20 a.m. In my section, I have 26 seniors—all with different diagnoses. Some speak different languages. Some are younger and some are very old.

My partner is coming in at 6:30—time to figure out our game plan. Who needs a bath? Who gets woken up by the night PSWs, the nurse, the float person, or restorative care? Who has had responsive behaviours, suppositories, falls, a change in medication, or is resistive to care?

At this time in the morning, most of your loved ones do not want to get up. They all seem resistive. But the clock is ticking, and we need everyone up and in the dining room by 8:30 a.m.

We talk to your loved ones and tell them stories about our day. We smile and try to be as focussed on that one person as we can be.

I’m changing the brief of one resident and dressing her bottom half, telling her what I’m doing. All the while, other bells are ringing. Some residents wander in. Some are yelling. Some don’t know where they are. Some just want to leave and go home to a familiar time in their life.

I ring the staff bell. My partner comes and helps me transfer my resident to her wheelchair. I say I will be right back as I go help my partner transfer her resident to a wheelchair.

As I’m going back to my resident, I answer a call bell for another resident. I put him on the toilet.

I wash my hands and return to finish dressing her top half, brush her teeth, wash her hands and face, put her glasses on, and bring her to “the front” where at least 20 residents are sitting around staring at a nurse handing out medication.

It’s only 7 a.m. They will sit there until we start bringing them into the dining room at 8, where they sit some more waiting for breakfast.

My partner and I woke up, dressed, washed, and changed each one of our 13 residents, made their bed, took out their garbage, and took them to the dining room—all in 2 hours. That’s about 10 minutes per resident.

All the while, we’ve been swore at, told they pay us good money but we are terrible workers. Some residents threaten to hit us. Some actually do!

We are answering call bells as quickly as we can while portering residents to the dining room. All the while, we’re charting our cares. Everything gets recorded, from bowels to behaviours—one resident likes to lay down on the floor at least 50 times a day or more.

It’s 8:35 a.m. Most of the residents are in the dining room. A few could not be charmed to come down. But we tried our best!

This is a typical morning here in the home where I work. It was a good morning!

I’m telling you about my morning not to complain about my career choice but to help you understand what I do. I have been a caregiver for over a decade. I have worked in retirement homes, home care, and hospice.

I love my job! Along with my fellow caregivers, I know every day that when I go in I’m the best person to look after my residents. I care, I understand, I have compassion. I look at my seniors as my other family.

Being a PSW in long term care is not a career for everyone. Some days are joyful and some days are frustrating. Some days, I cry with residents. Some days, I cry for residents. And some days, I just cry!

But some days, I get kisses and am told I’ve made their day brighter. I get laughter, smiles, and love.

Yes, my morning is different than yours. But you don’t have this many loving seniors caring for you like I do!

This article originally appeared in the March 2019 Guide.

Good Morning!

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