I like to think of myself as a really laid back person; I’m a simple girl who rolls with the punches and is easy to please. However, like everyone else, I have my quirks. Over the past 31 years, I’ve naturally developed habits and preferences. Nothing unreasonable – I like to sleep in on weekends, I keep my thermostat at ~76 degrees, I hate eating breakfast, and underwear makes me claustrophobic. Obviously I’m flexible, but if I had to go an extended period of time out of my quirk comfort zone, I’d probably start to crack.
This past week, I had three of my evening shift employees come to me with concerns about a resident. Her usual caregiver had been struggling at bedtime, as this nonna (who I’ll call “S”) refused to join her and head up to her apartment from our lobby. Her teammates tried to help, thinking maybe it was that she simply didn’t care for aide but would be more willing with someone else. No such luck, though, and they were both stumped and upset: “How can we leave at 11 without putting her to bed?” While I appreciate their concern and eagerness, I, too, was confused – who’s to say she has to be asleep before they leave? & why? What’s the harm in letting her hang on the couch until she’s ready to head up? There are caregivers in the community around the clock – what’s the rush?
In most senior care settings, sleep and wake times are typically driven by staff. Sure, we ask about preferences, but caregivers have schedules to keep and tasks to complete. Residents are expected to conform to the needs of the community, which means not only that their needs may not be adequately met (or in a timely manner), but also that the setting itself may be a source of distress. As a result, like in the case of S, care is rejected and “behaviors” displayed.
S is headstrong, to say the least. If she’s not happy, she’ll let you f’ing know, and she won’t forget you made her mad. Dementia has a sneaky way of not causing troublesome behaviors, but preventing people from expressing the source of their anguish. Sometimes, it’s as simple as not being tired or a disruption in routine. If one’s reaction seems irrational, put yourself in their shoes: if someone woke me up too early, dressed me in granny panties under my outfit, and forced me to eat breakfast in a chilly dining room, I’d be cranky and uncomfortable. I’d suck it up for a while, I’m sure, but not forever. If, on top of that, no one was honoring my preferences or understanding my requests for change, I would, without shame, pull those undies off and push my plate away.
Situations like the one experienced by my night-owl-nonna arise all the time, and we as caregivers have a few options as to how we can respond: we can fight until someone surrenders, chalk it up to symptoms of the disease and (gasp!) medicate/sedate, or change our own approach. We can step into their world and adjust accordingly. Our front door locks at 9PM and there are caregivers staffed through the night; there’s no reason that S can’t hang until she’s sleepy (or that I can’t sleep in until I’m hungry).