Phoned it in, in a positive sense

Yep, that's right, I called Child Protective Services about my ex-coworker Calliope. They do prefer that you be able to give them your name and number, and the names/ages of the children you're calling about, as well as the parents' names and address. Luckily for me (as an abuse reporter, not as a taxpayer) Calliope's family is on "medical assistance" (ie her husband's on disability) so the person I spoke with was able to pull up her address easily. Since I haven't witnessed any direct child abuse, all I could report is that she is clearly a meth addict, and I know for 100% certain that she drives while intoxicated, both with and without her kids in the car.

As the case worker I talked to said, that's not enough for them to go and investigate the family. However, when something else inevitably happens, this will go a long way toward building a case for intervention. No one can be an adequate parent and a meth addict at the same time. I'm just so sorry for those kids that they have to wait for someone else to call it in again. I hope their teachers are being alert for signs of abuse and neglect.

As a reminder, if you have any reason to suspect child abuse or neglect in any kids you encounter, a national number is 1-800-4-A-Child and you can easily find the local numbers with google. If you're wrong, nothing bad will happen. No one goes and snatches kids away for no reason; they don't have the resources for that, for one thing. At worst, they'll do a check-in and find that everything's okay, and the family will be puzzled. At best, they'll do a check-in, find that things are not okay, and those kids will get the help they need.

The current trend with child welfare services is toward "family preservation". The goal is to give malfunctioning families support services (counseling, food stamps, respite care, medical care, etc.) in order to rehabilitate them and get them to be a decent place for their children to live. Even the agency I used to work at (theraputic group home for teen boys with multiple failed foster care placements) provides preservation counseling/coaching. It's pretty cool. Especially with the lack of people who want to foster parent. It's hopefully easier to fix the parents that already exist than to find new ones.

I guess we'll know in a few more years after the next batch of longitudinal studies come out.

In the meantime, screw you, Calliope. I hope your kids have other caring adults in their lives.

Ongoing Grief

A while ago, I wrote about a resident I nicknamed "ScaryLady" on this blog, because she used to beat up all of us caregivers every single night when we tried to put her to bed. I literally had bruises up and down my arms every day for about 2 months straight that were all from her. Now she's on a routine behavioral medication for the first time, and is doing much better. She cooperates with care more, which means she gets more care, rather than just the absolute necessities. I see a different side of her, and it's so nice.

Her daughter is pretty in denial about how far NotScaryAnymoreLady's disease has progressed. I wondered what she thought, hearing about how her Mom needed further medication in order to stop injuring her caregivers. I tried to put myself in her shoes and imagine what that would feel like, but all I got was awkwardness, and I felt self-conscious about my bruises when she was there to visit her Mother. I felt torn between wanting her to know where they came from and being embarrassed that I couldn't somehow stop the behaviors.

Today I felt like I got a bit of a taste of what it's like to have a family member that's acting out like that, and it really has made me sympathetic to my residents' families.

One of my residents is a man I've been taking care of for about 2 years at several of the last places I've worked at. His family moved him into the GreatRep partly because I started working there, and they have been very pleased with the way I've worked with him over time. There was a gap of several months where I didn't see him before he moved in, so my knowledge of him wasn't very up-to-date. I told my coworkers how nice he is, and easy going. And then he moved in, and he wasn't. He refused showers, did a lot of very annoying and rude things, and even sexually harrassed one of my coworkers. I felt terrible, having vouched for him like that, even though everyone reassured me that they understood it's just the disease. Dementia does that to people.

This last week has been hellish. My resident has been escalating in aggression, trying to take advantage sexually of other more impaired residents (like the nonverbal ladies who don't understand what's going on). And when we try to redirect him, he's been increasingly hostile to staff.

This morning at breakfast, I was giving meds to someone who was sitting at the table with that guy, and the guy suddenly looked at me, looked at my chest, and asked me if I was wearing a bra. Ugh. I said "That's not an appropriate question and we aren't going to talk about this subject". He started challenging me "Why not? Are you? I bet you are." I restated that this was NOT OKAY and he needed to stop talking to me that way. And then he asked me if I wanted to fight. And I said no. And then he stood up and told me he was going to punch me. Instinct kicked in and I said authoritatively "No, you are NOT." He sat back down, and I ignored him and finished up my task.

This is a guy that I used to think of as like a second Grandpa. I know his entire extended family, went to his wife's most recent birthday party, and have babysat his great grandkids. And he wanted to punch me in the face, and would likely have sexually assaulted me if circumstances allowed it.

It just hurts so much.

Now there isn't much to be done about him right now. He needs medication changes, and until they can happen, he must have a family member supervising him in our facility at all times. For the safety of our residents and our staff. And me. I think the fact that he did that to me really shocked his family and they're being very helpful.

But I think I got a taste of how awful it is to have your loved one scaring people, scaring you. And it's so bad. I feel so terrible for the family members. Alzheimer's is a really mean disease at times.

Neglect

I see some weird situations in my line of work. Families who get up in arms about every little thing (such as how many fun-sized candy bars in the "for staff" dish are being eaten daily) and families who are almost impossible to get a hold of so we end up improvising mightily to try to get the resident's needs met. Old people who insist on wearing multiple pairs of underwear, or none at all. People who swear up and down that they lost a box of puppies, or that I work for the railway.

But the weirdest and saddest thing I see is neglect.

We got a new resident this weekend at my facility, who apparently was moved in by his private caregiver, to whom he pays the ungodly amount of $4,000 per month. Caregiver dropped him off and then took the weekend off. The marketing director at my facility apparently thought this was okay, even though she did the intake interview (not the director of nursing, which is who should have been given the opportunity to assess him before he moved in) and should have known that he cannot walk unassisted AT ALL. This is her job. To find out if people are a good match for what we can offer them, and to be sure they will be cared for adequately if they move in with us. She didn't do that. She failed, completely, at her job in this case.

So, since he was supposedly independent and his caregiver took off, this poor man spent the night in his armchair, peeing into a cup when he needed to pee. In the morning he tried to get up, and fell. Was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, and was readmitted to our facility and now suddenly needs to be on assistance. So I'm in his room, trying to figure out what stinks of urine (everything) and how I'm going to get this man cleaned up. His daughters have flown in from another state, horrified at the situation. They're in there, and I'm giving them a shopping list (waterproof bed pads, vinegar, briefs, hernia belt, etc.) and directions on how to get to the stores that sell this stuff.

The marketing director, who, along with the criminally neglectful "caregiver", created this mess, comes breezing in and pulls me into the other room to tell me to "call him Sir" rather than Mr. So-and-So, which I was doing. Then, as if to soften that blow, mouths "Don't worry, you're doing a good job" to me.

Oh. Hell. No.

Normally I appreciate hearing thanks or validation about my work. I love it when my residents say "Thank you so much honey" and give me hugs when I tuck them into bed. It makes me a little teary when they say "I'll miss you, doll, come say goodnight if you have a chance before you go home. Drive carefully!". This is a job where I feel I am making a difference every single day. And I love that.

But do I need validation from this woman who created a situation where the Director of Nursing's BEST option was to let this man fall so his family would see he needs help from sane people? No, no, no, I do not.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I fantasized about putting his filthy blankets in her office and suggesting that she wash them for Sir. Or tossing her the most disgusting hernia support belt I've ever seen in my life and watching her catch it with bare hands. Or telling her to brush this man's teeth, which were so discolored at this point, I won't even tell you what it looked like when I finally did get him to let me clean them.

What I do is difficult. And I don't need any fake-ass "compliments" from people who just don't get it, even if they work in eldercare and should know better.

And this poor man's "caregiver"? The family is prosecuting her. So my new resident is being cared for, and the person that neglected him is caught. Now that's a happy ending in my book. Though I may still have to find a way to put something disgusting in the marketing director's office ... and then tell her what a good job she's doing while she cleans it up.