Last year I worked for five months as a certified nursing assistant (CNA). Nursing assistants do dirty work. We deal with all of the messes that the human body can make. However, we are also the ones that spend the most one on one time with patients. We talk with them, dress them, clean them, feed them, and measure their improvement.
One of the most meaningful memories I have comes from when I was Mary's CNA.
Mary was a sad sight. My first impression was of her large stomach, filthy mouth, smelly clothes, and gunky eyes. Mary was wheelchair bound. She did not speak or move her eyes, although people said she loved to sing. Earlier in life, she had been an opera singer. Her opera career publicity photos were displayed in her room. They bore no resemblance to the squashed, empty, lump of a woman who was now confined to her wheelchair.
When she was moved to my hall I had to inspect her condition. It was worse than I thought. Everywhere skin folded (armpits, thighs, belly rolls etc.) was bright red and raw. Her flaking, dry skin had gathered in the sweaty folds in globs of what looked like human cheese. I was disgusted, mad, and full of pity. "No one deserves to be this way!" I thought.
The next morning I gave Mary a shower. I took every pain I could to make her comfortable and to carefully restore her skin to health. Gently I soaped and rinsed her raw skin. I brushed her teeth twice over and flossed them. I wiped her eyes and washed her hair. I tried to talk to her kindly.
Eventually she started to look around and whisper raspy, one-word replies to my questions. Eventually, I told her about my interest in music and asked her if she knew any songs. She and I both knew quite of few of the same songs! While I worked, she and I sang. Her aged voice still showed evidence of her training and vocation. We smiled at one another and by the end of the shower when she was dried, dressed and warm, she was also happy.
One of the most meaningful memories I have comes from when I was Mary's CNA.
Mary was a sad sight. My first impression was of her large stomach, filthy mouth, smelly clothes, and gunky eyes. Mary was wheelchair bound. She did not speak or move her eyes, although people said she loved to sing. Earlier in life, she had been an opera singer. Her opera career publicity photos were displayed in her room. They bore no resemblance to the squashed, empty, lump of a woman who was now confined to her wheelchair.
When she was moved to my hall I had to inspect her condition. It was worse than I thought. Everywhere skin folded (armpits, thighs, belly rolls etc.) was bright red and raw. Her flaking, dry skin had gathered in the sweaty folds in globs of what looked like human cheese. I was disgusted, mad, and full of pity. "No one deserves to be this way!" I thought.
The next morning I gave Mary a shower. I took every pain I could to make her comfortable and to carefully restore her skin to health. Gently I soaped and rinsed her raw skin. I brushed her teeth twice over and flossed them. I wiped her eyes and washed her hair. I tried to talk to her kindly.
Eventually she started to look around and whisper raspy, one-word replies to my questions. Eventually, I told her about my interest in music and asked her if she knew any songs. She and I both knew quite of few of the same songs! While I worked, she and I sang. Her aged voice still showed evidence of her training and vocation. We smiled at one another and by the end of the shower when she was dried, dressed and warm, she was also happy.
Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
Matthew 25:40
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