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.