There are too many people in this room...
My first hint that I wouldn't get a good night's sleep was the first night when I woke up to someone standing over me. Making sure I was breathing? I don't know. Then I woke up to someone pouring me ice water at 3am. And finally when AM vitals were taken.
Vitals consisted of having your blood pressure, temp, and pulse taken. It's always hard to be forcefully awakened at 6am, but in March, it wasn't even light out at that time yet. So when the aides came in, the first thing they did was snap on two thousand watt lights (guaranteed to be focused right on my eyeballs) and then yank my arm out to wrap a blood pressure cuff around it. Inevitably, I was told, "Your blood pressure is a little high." YA THINK?
Later on I bit the bullet and ordered a laptop. This assured not getting to sleep (I was already in bed) until 2am. So I'd snuggle down and just be drifting off when in would come an aide.
The aides were pretty decent about knocking before coming into the room. They'd knock first and then just come on in. No standing around on ceremony. I learned to wash up at the bathroom sink by having one foot on the toilet, one knee on the wheelchair, and hanging my body over the sink. This did not allow the bathroom door to be closed and I can't count how many aides knocked, then came on in, saw me crouched there NAKED and then thought nothing of having a long conversation with me.
The knocking at my door had my appreciation at first. My mom never knocked at my door when I was a teenager. Instead, she did her best to emulate the DEA on a drug raid by throwing her shoulder against the door and running into my room.
Then I became sensitive to the knocking and every knock and bump, even when not at my door, had me sitting straight up, sometimes awake, sometimes not. Usually at night, I was somewhere in between. There was one time when I did totally wake up, though.
When I drift off to sleep, I like to sleep on my back with my legs stretched out and my arms folded across my stomach. Another weird habit I have is yanking all the bedsheets and covers out and wrapping them around my body. I've been told I look a lot like a mummy when I do this.
One night I was just barely asleep in this position when the aide with the ice water came in. I heard him tiptoe out but then I heard him tiptoe back in. "I think she's dead," I heard him whisper to someone he brought back with him.
I snapped my eyes open and sat straight up, asking who was dead. The aide and the night nurse both jumped ten feet back and the aide threw the pitcher of ice water up into the air.
I got to spend the next half hour watching the poor aide wiping up water with two thousand watt lights on. Lucky me. But I did notice that from then on, if I wanted water at 3am, I had to ring the bell and ask for it.
The person who took vitals at 6am was only the snowball of an avalanche of people who were in and out of my room during the day. There were so many people going in and out that I swore they were having a relay race and as soon as one of them left, they handed the baton to someone else waiting outside.
After the aide took my vitals, another one came in to offer me part of my medication and two stool softeners. I declined those the first morning and every morning thereafter for two months and every morning they were offered again.
Then I had someone come in tell me what time I should come to physical therapy. I was doing both physical and occupational therapy while at the nursing home, but it was hard to tell which was which if the sessions ran together.
Then someone would bring breakfast and I'd eat it or not, then an aide would bring in the daily events notice, after that the breakfast dishes were picked up, and I rolled myself to PT.
Back in my room, I'd just get settled watching something on TV and someone else would come in to pick up my wash, leave my wash, or tell me when occupational therapy was going to be. During the early days I also had a social worker and the financial officer of the nursing home also stopping in. Then someone would bring lunch and I'd eat it or not. After that, someone would pick up the lunch dishes and I'd roll off to OT.
Back in my room, I'd try to nap while someone came in to mop the floor, empty the garbage can, or clean the bathroom. At least, they said they were cleaning the bathroom. But I never saw my washcloths or towels moved, more toilet paper added to the shelf, or the garbage emptied. They also had the worst habit of leaving the light on which ran the fan which was so loud I'd have to get out of bed when they left and turn it off. This was about the time someone would go around offering milkshakes, spiritual advice, or an offer to join a singalong, and they were very apologetic for waking me up from my attempted nap.
Vitals were taken in the afternoon and an hour later supper was served and I'd eat it or not. Then supper dishes were picked up. Then I was brought the rest of my medications. Then I was offered snacks. And finally, evening vitals were done.
I'd have friends visiting me and I swear, the best time for them to come was when I was eating supper. Otherwise we couldn't talk for two minutes without being interrupted. Coming to visit at supper was also a necessity when I twisted my friend's arm and had her bring me in food and medications I needed. I was born an out and out rebel and I found out at the ripe old age of 65, I hadn't changed a bit.
Vitals consisted of having your blood pressure, temp, and pulse taken. It's always hard to be forcefully awakened at 6am, but in March, it wasn't even light out at that time yet. So when the aides came in, the first thing they did was snap on two thousand watt lights (guaranteed to be focused right on my eyeballs) and then yank my arm out to wrap a blood pressure cuff around it. Inevitably, I was told, "Your blood pressure is a little high." YA THINK?
Later on I bit the bullet and ordered a laptop. This assured not getting to sleep (I was already in bed) until 2am. So I'd snuggle down and just be drifting off when in would come an aide.
The aides were pretty decent about knocking before coming into the room. They'd knock first and then just come on in. No standing around on ceremony. I learned to wash up at the bathroom sink by having one foot on the toilet, one knee on the wheelchair, and hanging my body over the sink. This did not allow the bathroom door to be closed and I can't count how many aides knocked, then came on in, saw me crouched there NAKED and then thought nothing of having a long conversation with me.
The knocking at my door had my appreciation at first. My mom never knocked at my door when I was a teenager. Instead, she did her best to emulate the DEA on a drug raid by throwing her shoulder against the door and running into my room.
Then I became sensitive to the knocking and every knock and bump, even when not at my door, had me sitting straight up, sometimes awake, sometimes not. Usually at night, I was somewhere in between. There was one time when I did totally wake up, though.
When I drift off to sleep, I like to sleep on my back with my legs stretched out and my arms folded across my stomach. Another weird habit I have is yanking all the bedsheets and covers out and wrapping them around my body. I've been told I look a lot like a mummy when I do this.
One night I was just barely asleep in this position when the aide with the ice water came in. I heard him tiptoe out but then I heard him tiptoe back in. "I think she's dead," I heard him whisper to someone he brought back with him.
I snapped my eyes open and sat straight up, asking who was dead. The aide and the night nurse both jumped ten feet back and the aide threw the pitcher of ice water up into the air.
I got to spend the next half hour watching the poor aide wiping up water with two thousand watt lights on. Lucky me. But I did notice that from then on, if I wanted water at 3am, I had to ring the bell and ask for it.
The person who took vitals at 6am was only the snowball of an avalanche of people who were in and out of my room during the day. There were so many people going in and out that I swore they were having a relay race and as soon as one of them left, they handed the baton to someone else waiting outside.
After the aide took my vitals, another one came in to offer me part of my medication and two stool softeners. I declined those the first morning and every morning thereafter for two months and every morning they were offered again.
Then I had someone come in tell me what time I should come to physical therapy. I was doing both physical and occupational therapy while at the nursing home, but it was hard to tell which was which if the sessions ran together.
Then someone would bring breakfast and I'd eat it or not, then an aide would bring in the daily events notice, after that the breakfast dishes were picked up, and I rolled myself to PT.
Back in my room, I'd just get settled watching something on TV and someone else would come in to pick up my wash, leave my wash, or tell me when occupational therapy was going to be. During the early days I also had a social worker and the financial officer of the nursing home also stopping in. Then someone would bring lunch and I'd eat it or not. After that, someone would pick up the lunch dishes and I'd roll off to OT.
Back in my room, I'd try to nap while someone came in to mop the floor, empty the garbage can, or clean the bathroom. At least, they said they were cleaning the bathroom. But I never saw my washcloths or towels moved, more toilet paper added to the shelf, or the garbage emptied. They also had the worst habit of leaving the light on which ran the fan which was so loud I'd have to get out of bed when they left and turn it off. This was about the time someone would go around offering milkshakes, spiritual advice, or an offer to join a singalong, and they were very apologetic for waking me up from my attempted nap.
Vitals were taken in the afternoon and an hour later supper was served and I'd eat it or not. Then supper dishes were picked up. Then I was brought the rest of my medications. Then I was offered snacks. And finally, evening vitals were done.
I'd have friends visiting me and I swear, the best time for them to come was when I was eating supper. Otherwise we couldn't talk for two minutes without being interrupted. Coming to visit at supper was also a necessity when I twisted my friend's arm and had her bring me in food and medications I needed. I was born an out and out rebel and I found out at the ripe old age of 65, I hadn't changed a bit.
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