Up-dates...shall we start with insults?

Hmm, well, I think I need to up-date this thing more often, cos now I have to remember what has actually happened in the past that may well have been worth noting down at some point.
I know a good topic to start with actually......insults.
Work and being insulted go together hand in hand when it comes to this particular Nursing Home job.
Here's a personally-experienced example - one of the residents has to go to the hair dressers one afternoon. This client doesn't like the hairdressers, but she has to go else she'll end up looking neglected with Ozzy Ozborne-style hair. This is cool for some, but nae appropriate for an eighty-something year old. So I go in to her room and tell her she has to go downstairs (her room was on the top floor) to get her "scalp examined". Calmly and quietly she agrees and tries to get herself up out of her chair. I go to help her, and instantly she sits back down again, claiming she can't do it. The ensuing conversation went a bit like this:
"Now Mildred*, you can get up, you were almost there. Look, I'll help you."
"Send them up to me," she said sharply.
"They can't come up the stairs, you have to go to them."
"Why can't they? Why should I?"
"Because...because they have all their equipment and stuff. And it'll be good for you to get out of your room for a while. Surely you don't want to be cooped up in your room all day?"
Mildred sniffs indignantly and watches the telly from over my shoulder. I already know I'm not in her good books, but she's definitely nae in mine now. The hairdresser was getting impatient as it was - Mildred's antics were only further holding up the proceedings.
"There's some good stuff on the t.v," she continued in a rather ignorant tone.
"Listen Mildred, you have to come downstairs for now, but after lunch myself or one of the other carers will take you back up to your room. Is that ok?"
"I do like this programme."
"Mildred?"
"I'm not listening."
So I turned round and switched the t.v off. This was followed by:
"I know why you did that! To make you feel BIG!!"
I didn't say anything during the verbal on-slaught that was flung at me, but on this remark I did think, "hardly, when I can turn a t.v on or off any time I want."
Eventually the continuous stream of insults ended with a stroppy "Get out of my room, go on, get out!!" She then raised her fist to me and I knew it was time to back off.
So I did what I was told and bumped into the head nurse of the floor, who promptly asked, "What happened?"
My reply?
"Mildred, that's what happened."
I then left for my lunch break half an hour late.

Of course, this was only the beginning.

Later on I was in charge of the lounge area, and was having quite good fun playing a quiz game with the old biddies present there. They seemed to be having fun too, and everything was just hunky-dorey...
...that is, until Mildred appeared in the door way. Amazingly, someone had coaxed her out of her room. Either that, or had used brute force.
But there she was, as calm and collected as any decent elderly lady. And she was smiling as she walked in.
I smile back at her; "Come on in Mildred, there's a seat on the sofa here for you if you want."
So she sits down and makes herself comfortable.
See, the beauty of most argumentative situations involving elderly people and carers is that the residents usually have some form of dementia, and any previous tense moments are forgotten by at least one side of the argument.
Mildred, like most residents, has dementia, and quite a bad case. She is forgetful, and often very aggressive with it. It wouldn't be the first time that she's whacked a carer across the face before.
Anyway, returning to the lounge. I asked a question based on religion - the answer being Islam - and the answers I got from the clients were close, but nae close enough.
"Iran?" One said.
"No, that's a country," I thought.
"Iraq?" Said another.
"That's where you belong!!" Sounded a harsh, familiar voice.
I turned to Mildred and stared.
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's where you belong - right out of the way in Iraq!"
Em, ok then, I thought , and looked around the room. A few clients gasped at the remark and tutted.
"I hardly think that's...appropriate, Mildred," I said sternly.
But Mildred just sniffed disapprovingly and looked the other way. Clearly her dementia hadn't blocked out our previous tiff in her room.
Thankfully I was saved when another carer came in and announced that it was 4 o'clock and I could go home.
I escaped with a cheerful good bye and no doubt a killer of a look from Mildred.

Of course, there's not just one culprit in the Home. Because there are a few of the residents who have pretty bad dementia, childish insults are relatively common. However I often find that it's the residents who aren't affected by dementia, yet still need help because of physically not being capable to help themselves, that can really bite your head off. These clients tend to be the proud sort who hate to give in to us carers and our do-goodiness.

For example, Betty, who is bed bound but pretty much all there mentally. She can't feed herself, she has no teeth and so is barely understandable, and depends on us to move her every couple of hours because she's too weak to mover herself into a comfortable position. Now for a moment, put yourself in her position - how frustrating it must be to have a sharp-witted mind and not be able to put a point across because no one will understand what you're saying. The only way you can make yourself totally clear is to unleash anger when you're nae happy with something. Imagine not being able to get yourself comfortable, and having to wait on a carer to come and do it for you; a carer who who know only because they come and wash you every day because you can't do that yourself either. They come every meal time too to spoon-feed you, and you so want to do it yourself so sometimes you try to grab the spoon out of the carer's hand. Then you get angry and frustrated, and when they try to change your nightie you claw at them and yell every profanity under the sun at them in the hopes that they'll just bugger off and leave you alone.

It's sore and hurtful for a carer to face this at first, but then you realise that the insults you get are nothing personal; it's just a vent of anger at who ever happens to be there at the time.
Some insults, like "you belong in Iraq, you do," are funny and the sort you can tell to your pals the next time you're out for a meal and end up blethering about work. Then there are the insults that are really brutal, but actually say "just back off a bit, cos I'm nae liking this."
The sad truth is that, as a carer, we have our duties to do, and this does mean invading people's personal bubbles, whether they like it or not. We don't particularly like it, but someones got to do it.

So work, as ever, is an entertaining, interesting, eventful, emotional roller-coaster ride. Some things just never change.

*All names in italics are false names to hide identities. I like keeping my blog anonymous, cos then no-one can go for my throat if I mistakenly write something inaccurate or offensive about someone. It's a C.Y.A procedure - Cover Your Arse. That's something the Red Cross has taught me, although obviously for different situations, mainly PRFs**....anyhoo, I digress.

**PRFs = Patient Report Forms for those who didn't know.