Note: From the eyes of my daughter.

It’s convenient for employees at a nursing home to be able to leave the uncomfortable environment at the end of everyday, but unfortunately, the residents are stuck there. It makes me very very sad, to say the least, that these residents have the misfortune of living there, especially under the care of some very cranky nursing assistants.

Everytime I walk into this nursing home, there’s always the smell of a strong perfume, or the kitchen baking something, probably to disguise the smell of something unpleasant. I turn left down a sleepy hallway whose only source of light is from the windows. They leave squares on the carpet and illuminate the white particles in the air. There are no resident rooms on this hallway. During the weekday, this hall is full of phone rings and office personnel, but today it’s just me.

I turn a corner at the end of the hall. I see residents confined to their wheelchairs. These are the residents who are physically unable to care for themselves. They sit in front of the aviary and watch the birds all the day. It is, for some, the only source of entertainment. They watch the birds as they dream about the days of yore when they could walk and talk to their friends. Now, they are forgotten by the rest of the world. Only a lucky few receive phone calls and visits from their loved ones. It is a common misconception to say that no one cares for the old people in the nursing homes. The nurses and nurse’s assistants do care, but there are so many residents per person, and so much work to do, that finding quality time to spend with each resident is virtually impossible. This isn’t my floor.

I tentatively walk down the hall avoiding eye contact. If they can stop me, I might get sucked into an unfortunate mission. I reach the double doors at the end of the hall. They are locked. The only way in or out is by typing a secret code into the keypad. I type the code and walk through. This is my hall - the behavioral unit.

The behavioral unit is for residents who are mentally incapable of caring for themselves. They suffer from diseases ranging from Alzheimer’s to dementia. These residents don’t dream for the lives they once knew; they live their old lives in their minds. They think it’s still 1986, and the reason why their dog isn’t nearby is because somebody took him out to go pee. Every room is initially the same, and over time, each room has its own signature. I see the pretty pictures in the frames. They were taken 10, 20, and 50 years ago. The persons pictured in them look so healthy and young. They look like someone I’d run into at the the supermarket. I wonder sometimes how they’d react if they knew how they had digressed within a few years’ time.

Aha, there she is,, says a man’s voice.

My heart sinks to my shoes. I absolutely hate his voice, and I’m not at all too fond of the guy it belongs to either.

You’re shadowing me today, he says.

Hi, I mumble.

This man’s name is Tom. His likeness resembles that of a walrus. I could hardly guess his weight, and when asked of his age, his response is,

I’m old enough to be your father.

I’d rather stick tacks under my nails. He is a poor excuse for a Certified Nursing Assistant, and what’s even worse, he is an example I have been assigned to follow.

Let’s go change Harry, he says.

We walk past a room containing a screaming lady.

Should we check on her?, I ask.

She doesn’t know why she’s screaming, he responds,

Nobody just screams for no reason. I am swept away towards Harry’s room, but I still hear the screams reverberating down the hall. Harry’s room is hot and stuffy. It has an atmosphere that screams boredom and loneliness. Whenever I walk into a distressed resident’s room, I always fell drowned with the emotions of whoever’s been there. I look around and see Harry by the closet.

Harry, what are you doing?, yells Tom.

There goes Tom yelling again. It has to be his favorite past-time.

What are you doing? he continues, That is NOT the bathroom! That’s the closet.

Calm down, I protest.

Tom obviously ignores me. His face turns a deep red. A vein starts to pop out of his neck. He raises his chubby hand ready to strike. My heart starts to beat faster.

Stop! Don’t hit him! I’ll clean it up! I yell.

SMACK! It’s too late. I hear Harry’s confused yelp of pain. My heart screams with him. For a moment, I stand there in shock.

That’s it, says a lady’s authoritative voice behind me. I whirl my head around. It is the Charge Nurse.

I’ve warned you several times, Tom. YOU’RE FIRED!

Tom just stands there in shock. His mouth hangs stupidly as he tries to find an excuse. He’s always trying to find excuses. Feeling very out of place, I sneak out. I find refuge in screaming lady’s room.

What’s wrong, I ask.

The lady doesn”t respond. She just keeps on screaming. I notice her water bottle has fallen on the floor. I pick it up and hand it to her. She stops screaming.

Sometimes all these people need are someone who will listen.

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