repost ~ Third Time is a Charm....

This was my absolutely very first class that had clinicals in it and it still remains today, my most favorite experience.  It too would need a little rework.  AND Ceena....I will rework my psych article too.  But maybe this one would be a good one to submit as well.  After this I promise to leave y'all alone.

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We went to the same facility as the last two times, the exception being, we were on the rehab side of the house. Quite honestly, it really resembled the resident side of the house.....which is good....because some rooms had a very roomy feel. I did see how the medical model came more into play as the residents on the rehab side needed more intense care. I was excited about being able to do a tube feeding....unfortunately for me that will have to wait because I had a patient that required my full attention.

Despite the fact that this weekend was much different and honestly, I don't feel that my head to toe assessment was as complete as last time....I have to say that I believe that I did a really good thing this week.

The day started as usually at the bum crack of dawn. I have to wake at 4:30am to get to Shorty DooWop's house at 5:30 so we can make the long drive to "Timbuktuville" by 6:30am. Shorty might get lost and/or fall asleep so she brings me.....I don' need no steenkin' Mapquest and I talk quite a lot....in two languages....so I can double the conversation.... (un)fortunately for Shorty. But the conversation is good......(yesterday's topic.....Marc Anthony, Latino Men, and the women who love them.... ....so no one except Girl 3 (our unlucky passenger) fell asleep.

We were all set. We got our partners and our patients. Shorty had to switch our English to Spanglish  our Spanglish to Swede. Barbara N. (arriving in a different car) got to  be the one to get beat up this week. I got somewhere in between.

Going in, I knew I had a challenge on my hands. I did not even have to see her to know. I asked some CNAs about who I had....and they laughed at me. On my way, I got the look people get when they are marching to the gallows. But I think I have this skill that... fortunately... not a lot of folks have had to develop.

I remember growing up getting disapproving looks for one reason or another. I always bristled and hurt inside when I could see that moment in a person's eyes that said....."this girl isn't worth my time". I believe it is for that reason that I can look at someone for longer, no matter how they present, and see a person inside. Because in my case....I always knew there was someone who had worth... no matter how small...inside of me.

I could see my patient and tell that she was agitated from 25 feet away. Her arms were flailing and she kept calling out a person's name. We will call this name "Mr. Man". She cried...."Mr. Man...please help me....Mr. Man...Mr. Man". I will call my patient "My Darling" for the purposes of this story.

So I took a deep breath and therefore I went. I introduced myself but that meant about as much to her as nothing, and it was disheartening, but I didn't take it personally...so I did something that might catch her attention. I took one of her hands in mine.....and she noticed me.

She noticed me in ways I had not been noticed in sometime. She held my hands. She grabbed my shirt and everyone almost got a free show. She got a hold of my hair.....which was in a top knot so she got a good place to grab a hold. I was baptised in breakfast. And truthfully, I was a little scared. But something inside had me holding on to My Darling. And something inside her had her calling out for Mr. Man, help, help, Mr. Man, please can you help me get Mr. Man.

Have you ever heard the stories about how you should always be respectful and explain things to people even if they are not "with you " or in a coma. I always took it to heart. I might actually take it to the extreme. When dissecting my poor piggy in A&P, I patted him on the head and explained to him too. I felt so bad....so everytime I put his cold little dissected body away, I would thank him for teaching me for which I would get teased one day.....but hey that's me. So I really never had to be told to respect folks, it has always been in me to do that....to an extreme. Never knew why really.

I found out why this day with My Darling.....because somewhere along that morning...outside of our interaction....I....We...heard: "She always says Mr. Mann. Mr. Mann comes to see her and she still says Mr. Mann. And she doesn't even know he here." While this is being said, my cheeks are turning pink because I am embarassed, not for me but for her. I know it wasn't intended to be mean but it sounded paternalistic. And she opened her eyes. And I looked in her eyes and she looked in mine. My first thought is she has my eyes. The same color. And she stopped that thought with....."I can't help it" And she went on about Mr. Man. And I went back to thinking about her and the same color was there only my thoughts got a little brighter. I asked her did she know me. does she remember me. Because I want to help you. And she says....Yes....Mr. Man....I would like that very much. Can you get Mr. Man? For me, that was my "Helen Keller/Celie/Nettie" moment. That's what it felt like to a small degree. We weren't exactly running to the well and saying water. We did not run to the piece of wax paper on the window and say "window". But it sure did feel like that.....because as I was starting to despair and switch from empathetic to sympathetic (a bad place to be I think)...she found me, I found her, or God found us....I don't know which...maybe all three.

I could go on about what went on for the rest of the day...but I kinda want to keep that to ourselves. But I wanted to share that the day did not end with that moment. Not only did God give me the gift of My Darling....but he gave me the gift of Sholana. My dear friend who you all know I love dearly...but I love her even more this day because I never have to explain to her why I do some of the things I do. We may not be of the same mind....I would love to have her mind....but we are surely of the same kind of heart. She believes me when I tell her I see things inside. And she got to witness the greatest, most coolest, most definitive proof that I could not have been wrong about My Darling being in there somewhere....

They say that the sound of your own name is sweet to your ears. Mr. Mann must have been up to his eyes in sweetness when it comes to My Darling. But all that sweetness could not compare to when I told my Darling, I am here...do you know that I am here? Do you remember who I am? And My Darling says to me....

Yes. Yes I do. Heather. H - e - a - t - h - e -r. Heather.

I have to tell you. That was better than being Queen of My Universe.

The Queen came to town this week. Yes, the Queen of England...it is true. She never did come to see me. I was busy anyway. She had Ensure. I take my tea hot. We had delightful conversations. Mainly about Mr. Man.

My Darling used to be an artist. Her favorite thing used to be writing journals. We just got busy this weekend making stories of our own and making our own scenes.

Top that Queenie.