Empathy

It was another day in the Long Term Care Facility. I just got done with two meetings. I was going to eat my Ceasar Salad Wrap and drink some Sprite in solitude, when there was a gente knock on the door. “Come in,” I said cheerily, attempting to infuse my voice with a little light heartedness and mask some of my annoyance. It was Mr C, an older Gentleman, handsome, tall and well spoken, thin and a little frail. He was pushing his walker gently, peering behind the slightly open door. I waved him to come in completely, pushing my Ceasar wrap aside. My forehead wrinkled as I tried to recall Mr C…Mr C never complained, never came to my office, always waved tiredly at me whenever I left for the day. He had something to say, and whatever it was, I knew I had to give him my full attention.

Miz Anke,” he said, squezzing the brakes of his rolling walker. “I just wanted to speak up for some of the others”. I motioned for him to sit down in one of my oversized sofa-chairs. He waved both aside and sat down in the seat of his rolling walker. “I know they won’t come and speak with you,” he said softly; “because they can’t.” I swiveled my chair to face him. “But this here-” he waved his long thin arm up and out- “is all we have. This is home”. I didnt feel it was my time to speak yet, so I squezzed my lips tight, indicating my silence. He continued “some of the workers here-not all, some-act like they are in it just for the money”. He looked intently at me, pausing, waiting to see if I would feed him some line, explain things away, give some glib excuse. I leaned back in my chair and folded my hands in my lap. “The way they talk, the way they rush through here, the tone of their voice”, he stated. “Some talk to us loudly, slowly, like we are deaf”, he pointed at his ear. “Treating us like children-talking down to us, mouthing out the words”. I nodded for him to go on. “I’ve heard them speak out here in the common area of what they are going to do for one of us, loudly, for everyone to hear”. I lowered my eyes as he leaned forward and quietly said “Speaking of how it stank, to use the air freshener.” I met his gaze as he steadily looked at me “can you believe it?” he asked, leaning back.

And yes, I could. For what was for him and the other Residents a home, was just another day at the office for us. What was a private space, reall was just another assignment. What should be only known to the Resident, usually became public knowledge, something we discussed in Morning Meeting: How much they weighed, the color of their urine, how brown and big-or small-a bowel movement was. How senile they were, whose kids visited, who they showed alove interest in. My heart sank.

“Miz Anke”, he said, measuring his words. I leaned forward, “Can you believe that yesterday when I asked for my pills because they were over 2 hours late, I got told to go back to my room?” I was increadulous, “What?” I snapped. Who would tell a grown man to ‘go to his room’? I couldn’t believe it-who would say such a thing? My emotions were probably on full display on my face, because Mr C slowly got up from the seat of his walker and held onto his breaks, hesitating to release them. He looked at me, “I don’t want to get anyone into trouble” he said earnestly “but I’ve got to say: most of these workers lack empathy”. He released his breaks and slowly began to head toward the door. “Mr C, I called out behind him, standing up from my plush high backed leather chair”. He stopped, slowly turned around to look at me, a questioning look on his face. “I hear you, you are right” I said softly. “We must do better. When we started it was because in our hearts we wanted to help. We wanted to make a difference. We wanted to make a difficult and sad situation less so…and somehow we ended up…here”. Mr C nodded, and smiled. “We will see, Miz Anke, we will see.”

It cannot just be a job. Everyday I, and everyone I work with, need to strive to make a difference