A Story

When I was in Job Corps, I had to do a work study for my Medical Assisting program. I got sent (the instructor made the "choice" of where to 'work' for me) to a nursing home to work in the office and help with serving snacks and lunch.

I enjoyed the office work, where I mostly filed and helped to fill out forms to be sent to Medicare for reimbursement. I liked the office manager, who was friendly and let me have all the hot tea [the loose leaf stuff. Not the bagged up kind, although if it's made of fresh herbs...I consider it good.] that I wanted.

But I remember feeling different when I worked out on the floor, setting out plates of food. It's weird to be surrounded--at the same time, mind--by so much hope, faith and despair. Some old people were withdrawn and others were giddy and happy to see a young person out and about.

It's hard seeing fragile people, knowing that their time here is limited. I wanted to reach out to the people that never seemed to have a visitor and tell them that ONE person cared about them, even if that person really didn't know them. I wanted to say that they didn't have to feel alone, that someone wanted to hear their stories, no matter how crazy the stories were. I guess I just wanted them to feel special, because they looked so desperate for any human contact. I smiled and did what I could to brighten the residents' day before heading back to the office.

A few people passed on during the month I was required to stay and it hurt, though I wasn't exactly their friend. I still cared. I dare to care, even though it generally ends up badly for me. I don't mind because it means I am human and alive.

Oh, and if you see Anon E. Mouse on your site, it's me. I decided it was silly of me to stop reading blogs that I like.