I watch through the doorway as the humped-over woman in the wheelchair grips the arm of another wheelchair-bound woman. They are facing each other, wheel to wheel, but they are not looking at each other. She holds the other woman's arm tightly for several seconds, almost a minute, pressing hard enough, it seems, to leave bruises. The skin on the arm hangs down in white flabby wrinkles. The arm's owner makes grunting noises, but says nothing. When the first woman finally lets go, the other woman wheels herself backwards and away. There is no comment from the attendants at the desk, and none at all from the two women.
My guess is that the one woman got in the other woman's personal space. There may even have been some wheelchair bumper car action. I had been knitting and looking occasionally at my client as he dozed, so I missed the beginning. And, it's not for me to do anything: these are not my clients.
This particular assignment is both easy and difficult. Easy because I don't have much to do, and difficult for the same reason. Since I began working as a weekend caregiver for a national organization, my assignments have been regular 3-hour stints, and none have required the training I went through in April. I have not transferred people using the belt, I have neither bathed nor diapered anyone, I have not wiped any butts. I've only done a few household tasks (emptying the trash, making a meal, washing a dish or two, brushing a cat.). Mainly, I've kept someone company or driven someone to an appointment. My main KSAs have been the ability to drive, a flexible attitude, and a nice smile.
My current client spends most of his time dozing. Once in awhile he opens his eyes, looks at me with a puzzled and direct blue-eyed gaze and says, "What are you making?" or "Do you like this place" (he doesn't, he feels "captured"), or "You're a good girl." I smile and answer ("a hat, yes, thank you") and he closes his eyes, wipes his mouth sideways on his pillow, and falls back into his doze. Yesterday when I left I asked if he needed anything else and he said "Only you." This made me feel good and depressed me, in pretty equal measure.
The economics of caregiving are interesting. I get paid $9.25/hour for unskilled work (aka companionship) and another buck if I have to do any Personal Care (aka, wipe a butt.) I think the company charges around $20/hour for my services. Trained nurses get more, and so they should.
Not all my clients are in their own homes, which I would think is the main purpose of my job: to keep them out of the nursing homes. But, some of them need the assistive care, and they want to know someone will visit them regularly. Family usually cannot do that, so enter the paid caregiver.
Who pays for this? Not all my clients are wealthy, and health insurance only pays a certain amount for skilled nursing. My role is not easy to define, and thus not easy to evaluate in financial terms. In Victorian England I would be the poor relation or the paid companion, and I would not be respected much. Financially, I'm still not respected much. In many ways, I consider it a volunteer gig, like the Dove Lewis Therapy animals visiting the hospitals and libraries and assisted living facilities. Only, I think I'd rather be visited by a dog than a knitting 57-year-old.
These people have pasts, they have the present, but it seems they have no future. Any conversation, especially with the Alzheimer's and dementia patients, does not cover the future, and it doesn't deal in numbers either (how long have you been here, how old are you, how long were you married to her?). For some odd reason, 5 is the magic number. I remember E used to say her mother died 5 years ago. It's a number that conveys a reasonable amount of time, but doesn't put it too far back, because otherwise, why would we be talking about it? At least, after some pondering, that is what I've finally decided is going on in their brains. I can't fault them: in many ways 5 is my magic number too.
I took this gig because I wanted to see if I like caregiving, per se, or if I just liked E and the Co-op. Well, I do like caregiving, in the same way I like my library job: I'm good at it, and it makes people's lives better. It's a community service. Unlike my library job, though, it does not utilize my brain or my creativity. It just utilizes my time. As I sit and watch my client, I don't think. I'm just marking time until the 3 hours have passed. Then I go back to G's condo, fill out the online record-keeping for my boss, and settle down with my iPad.
It's not a bad use of my time, but it's definitely not a long-term solution to my search for a meaningful existence.
I had a caregiver role when my father was failing. I visited him every afternoon, just to be there. I didn't do many practical things, except re-arrange pillows and encourage or help him eat, or maybe get an aide when he needed something only they could provide. It wasn't particularly draining, although he was my father, but it did weigh on me a bit.
ReplyDeleteIt's rather peaceful, in a way, to know that just your presence is useful to someone.