It's hard to grow old

My grandma once said, "It's hard to get old." She must have been in her late 80s or early 90s at that point. In many ways she was very healthy for her age but her body was slowing down. My aunt encouraged her by saying, "Well, if you don't get old, you die young."

This week I've thought of Grandma's comment several times as I've listened to my patients and seen a couple of them cry. It's hard to have to wear Depends, to have legs that can't counted on to hold you up, to have a disconnect between your brain and your muscles, to not be able to bend over to pick up something you dropped, to realize you aren't going to regain abilities that were lost, or to not be able to dress yourself. It's hard to miss your spouse and wonder why you are the one who is left here alone after so many years together. It's hard to wait for family to come see you; even though you know they are busy, you still feel lonely. It's hard to feel like you don't have the energy to plan to be with family for Thanksgiving. It's really hard when your kids don't let you go straight home from the hospital but insist you get some therapy in a nursing home and you fear it's a ploy to keep you there.  It's hard to feel like you've lost control over so many of the basic things of life.

"All I want to do is go home." 
"I came here to get better, not to die."  
"Why am I still here?"

Three weeks into my new job, I still sometimes feel like I don't know what I'm doing. But my biggest challenge this week was knowing how to respond to some of my patients' emotional pain. I'm old enough to know that most words sound empty and trite. A listening ear, a touch on the shoulder or a hand held, and a few questions are probably the best thing I have to offer. Yet in my role as a therapist, I do need to say something and, from my experiences this week, I need to do a better job explaining the purpose of therapy up front and make sure my patients feel like they have a say in what we are doing.

Settling In

I started my new job last Monday. The first day was paperwork (and signing my names more times than I've done in a long time.) I came home with some policy manuals to read when I can't sleep at night. ;-) The other staff seem truly glad that I'm there since I am in a position previously filled by traveling therapists. By Tuesday afternoon my head was swimming with the difference between Medicare part A and part B, the right diagnosis with the right name with the right face, the details of the computer documentation... The traveling OT was very helpful the first several days but Wednesday afternoon I was on my own. Needless to say I was exhausted by the time I got home each evening. By Friday afternoon I felt more comfortable and managed to finish all my work for the week. It took me longer than 40 hours, but at least I can begin this week without feeling like I'm behind.

Saturday morning I moved into my new apartment. Most of my things were already packed up (and a few boxes haven't been touched since my arrival from France 4 years ago). Dad had most of my boxes in the garage by the time I got home Friday evening. Together we taped up the last ones and I packed the last couple of suitcases. Thanks to the help of Dan, Chad, and Carter we got everything loaded into the trailer, van, and my car. Thankfully unloading didn't seem as bad as I thought considering the spiral staircase that goes up to my 2nd floor apartment. Jeremy arrived to help make the last trips up the steps. Chad told me not buy a piano before I moved out if I wanted his help. This has the largest kitchen I've ever lived in. There is plenty of room for my minimal dishes, pots, pans, and other utensils. We did find the plates but the legs for my box spring have yet to appear. I guess that happens when things were packed up about 11 months ago. After Mom and Dad left, I put my feet up and enjoyed the colors in the western sky as the sun set and just relaxed. There are still boxes to unpack, but they can wait until another day.