Skilled nursing facilities aren’t the top of anyone’s list for creative interventions, or vast personal improvement, or challenging work dynamics, or interesting patient cases…they’re really the leftovers of the profession, because they’re the leftovers of rehab. The patients who were too elderly, too debilitated, or too slow-progressing to stay in inpatient rehab. Too sick to get better in acute care. Too weak or too lacking in local support to live at home with home health services. They’re often lonely, and dull, and repetitive.
None of that means that people don’t get better. They aren’t useless. People make great gains. People sometimes just need time, and time is something that there’s a lot of in a SNF. And while it’s not where I want to be forever, it’s perfect for right now. And every time I go in to work I find myself looking for new creative challenges…pushing myself to be better…seeking a challenge…loving the patients that I have.
If people in a skilled nursing facility aren’t “the least of these”, then I don’t know who is. I am loving my people, my Jesus, every day.
Today Jesus was an elderly Latina woman with gnarled hands, virtually no vision left, mild dementia, general debility. She had only been in the facility for a matter of hours. She was frightened and alone—her family had to go home for the night, and she had forgotten why they left her. She was writing herself unintelligible notes on a napkin. She wrote my name when I told it to her. I brought her some paper so she could keep writing notes if she wanted to.
Today Jesus wanted to take a shower. She hadn’t been allowed to at the hospital. She had various lines in her veins for various medications. She had difficulty with mobility and couldn’t get herself into the shower. I told her we had all the time in the world. We inched our way into the shower. We painstakingly managed to get her undressed. I taped plastic bags over all the tubing and lines. I found her some nice shampoo and conditioner instead of the hospital-grade 3-in-1 soap pump installed on the wall. The warm water was too hot for her skin and she asked me to turn it down.
Patients who’ve been there for days, weeks, they’re used to aides—aides who have to shower dozens of patients, who have strict time limits to adhere to. I am a therapist. I answer to myself; my lateness only inconveniences me, not the other patients. She didn’t know that most of my patients think they need to scrub themselves down in a matter of 5 minutes. I didn’t have to coax her into taking her time.
She luxuriated in lukewarm water for nearly an hour. I didn’t mind. I mopped up the water she was spraying on the floor because she couldn’t see where it was going. I didn’t mind.
I washed Jesus’ feet today in the dingy beige shower of the skilled nursing facility where I just took a job because we need to save money as fast as we can, and I thought, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.