You're an Integral part of the Health Care Team! Not.

Last night was my first clinical for my CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) course. The whole reason for doing this probably merits its own post, but its basically so I can get into an RN (Registered Nurse) program. I was hesitant to do the CNA course as soon as I learned that there were required clinicals at a NURSING HOME! I have very intense feelings of anxiety whenever I see the word NURSING HOME. I think of:

A)   My great-grandma Ash who was in a pretty nice nursing home in SLC towards the end of her life. But whenever our visit was over she’d say “But do you have to go???? Please don’t go!” It was fairly heart wrenching. And even though I was 12 years old tops, I felt immense guilt that I had let her down and was failing her in some way.

B)   I think of a “Sub for Santa” project my family did when I was young. During one Christmas season, we went to visit and bring little gifts to 3 residents of a local care center who didn’t get visitors. One of our little residents didn’t speak at all and  had a very serious tremor. I was pretty freaked out, but I remember being really impressed with my dad who took her hands, spoke slowly and tried to communicate with her. My dad really has the kindest heart. Anyway, though I know this project brought joy to some people who really needed it, it also reinforced that NURSING HOMES are sad and scary places.

 

{my beloved iodized stethescope that i "invested" in}

So yesterday 2:00 pm rolled around and I found my self with a faux veneer of bravery marching into the care center. I located my RN supervisor right away and she was really nice. Then she saw my stethoscope and said that I should go lock it and any other valuables up in my trunk, unless I wanted them stolen. Hmmmm, not sketchy at all. Me and the other CNA students got paired with our veteran CNA overlords who we’d be shadowing. Luckily I got paired with a nice 19 year old girl, and not one of the scary, older, potential stethoscope stealers. Then it was time for floor assignments. There were four floors:

A)   Rehab: only 12 patients, all totally there cognitively, and generally in good morale since they are here briefly.

B)   Alzeheimers wing: 18 residents, all with varying degrees of dementia.

C)   The Hilton wing: 12 PRIVATE rooms with carpet and nice furniture.

D)   The Trailer Park Wing: 12 shared rooms of 2-3 residents, no carpet, with 2 rooms of mechanical lift patients. This is the low income and highly physically involved wing.

Of course, I got as my RN supervisor called it: The Trailer Park Wing. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, and we were so busy running around that the 8 hour shift went by quickly. It was really physically demanding.  My quads are super sore this morning from the amount of resident transfers I did. Though both the highlight and lowpoint of the shift was using the mechanical lift to transfer four patients who were 300+lbs. Seriously. It looked like this:

I know this post has already been lengthy enough. But allow me to share my take home messages from my first CNA shift:

1) Being a CNA sucks, big time. But somebody has to do it. The majority of our job involves bathrooming and showering and feeding people. Which is so unglamorous its not even funny, but I saw what happens when it doesn’t get done, and its not pretty.

2) I need to swallow my pride. I can’t even tell you how it would make my blood boil when the LPN’s (who have done a 16 month course at a technical school, all have red hair, and are all evil) would talk down to me. Then I remembered I am JUST A CNA. I need to stop repeating “Oh how the mighty have fallen!” in my head and learn some humility. Even though the LPN’s use incorrect terminology all the time and I really want to correct them. Learn humility, ASAP.

3) Be nice to your kids so they will take care of you when you’re old. There was a huge difference in the rooms and the morale of residents who had children that both visit and participate in their care. If you’re really nice to your kids maybe they’ll do your laundry for you, then the scary maintenance workers wont lose/steal your good stuff.

4) By virtue of number #3, you must actually have kids. Not chocolate labs for Kids.

5) Be grateful for what you’ve got.  After I got home from my shift I went straight to take a shower (for obvious reasons). It sounds cheesy, but as I showered, dressed, and fed myself, all while making my own choices, and in privacy, I realized that I’m lucky. Aging can really take away a lot of things from you. Be glad you’ve got them while you do.

6) DIE YOUNG. I know some will disagree with this, but the 90 year olds I cared for were not living life to the fullest. They largely didn’t know where they were, were scared, and really sad. I would like to publicly declare that past age 60 I want no medical interventions: no chemo, no stints, no bypass surgeries. I think our bodies have a way of knowing when to give out before our minds do.  I hate to get all Lana Del Ray up in here, but “I was born to live fast, die young.”

Never Again. I mean it this time.

Last year, after running the marathon with less than optimal training, I swore that I would never do that again. So as soon as I signed up for this year's marathon I printed off a 16 week training program. And that's as far as I got. I literally did not train at all. But somehow the first weekend in October rolled around, as it is wont to do, and I found myself huddled around a small fire up veyo canyon at 5am, shivering in both coldness and fear at what I had gotten myself into....

{Bonfire are the best. Especially this year - it was COLD! }

The logical thing would have been to simply not pick up my packet and forgo partaking in an activity that I was not in physical condition for and would most certainly destroy me. But I couldn't. I mean, I signed up. And not only was Anna doing it, but our younger and far more athletic sister Katheryn decided to join in on the "fun" for the first time this year.

{veyo hill}

Things started off well. Anna and I ran together the first 6 miles and I was buoyed up by the fact that we could make fun of peoples' bizzare choices together (who runs a marathon without shoes? or pulls 5 inches off the road to squat and poop? or wears a full blown spiderman costume?) and ran at a fairly decent clip. But as soon as we hit the evil veyo hill, she peeled off while I struggled to keep moving at a pace marginally above that of a protected desert tortoises'.

(they make it all too easy to jump in)

I overcame the hill, popped an honestly delicious salted caramel GU, and felt quite good as I ran across the half marathon point. Huzzah! I made it through a half marathon! And then I realized I had used up all my energy and muscle fibers. And there was still ANOTHER 13.1 miles to go. From that point on it was miserable. Around mile 18 I took one of my earphones out and realized that masked by my ridiculously loud Miley Cyrus and Eminem playlist, I was very audibly moaning in pain with each step. It. hurt. so. bad. I was sooooo close to getting in a rescue van.

But the thing that kept me going was the posters my Dad had made. He had spent all this time lovingly handcrafting this motivational poster for me to see at the finish. I had to make it to the finish! (Please note that if I had known that my dad was actually not at the finish - my grandma thought she had broken her hip and needed him - I definitely would have bailed.)

(For the record, my sisters both beat me. But they are way younger. So it doesn't count)

Somehow, I kept jogging (read: slowly shuffling) and made it across the finish line at 4:36. I cried. I hurt. I was embarrassed of my time. I hurt. But mostly I was just so glad it was over.

My mother, who is now a professional at tending to her children with masochistic running tendencies, made us a nice ice bath, then served us pizza as we sat in her jacuzzi tub. Truly, life does not get better than that.

I was a bad person and didn't take any pictures, but it should be noted that Dan, Kiersten and my parents were an excellent support team. Full marathons are truly awful (especially if you do not train.) I think that Anna, Katheryn and I should make a blood oath now, before our soreness dissipates to NEVER DO THIS AGAIN. I MEAN IT THIS TIME!