As the sun began to set with dimming skies on a warm Friday evening, I entered the double doors of the assisted living facility. I approached my little brown medicine cart to lay down my water bottle and backpack before starting my shift. As I began my medication pass, I walked down the almost endless hall, attempting to avoid eye contact with the piercingly bright overhead lights. 

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         “I think I'll go to Jeffrey first. I love checking in with him.” I thought. 

 

         As I entered Jeffrey’s tiny dim-lit room, I was greeted by his kind voice, bright blue eyes, stringy white hair, and a bright smile that could illuminate the world. As I leaned over Jeffrey with a small spoonful of medicine and a cold cup of water, I was met with a scent that was all too familiar. My nostrils were suddenly engulfed by an overwhelming aroma of urine, that penetrated my N95 mask. 

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         I slowly peeled back his pungent crumbling brief, that was drenched and swollen with urine. It was clear to me that he had not been changed in what seemed like days. After cleaning and changing Jeffrey, I was met with his kind and trusting blue eyes. In that moment, I saw more than just an old man suffering from neglect. I saw a brave war veteran. I saw somebody’s father. I saw my father. I returned to my medication cart with a heavy heart, and a perspective-changing memory burned into my brain forever.  

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The sound of footsteps caught my attention, which led me to lock eyes with my subordinate Amy.  

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“How long has it been since you last changed Jeffrey?” I asked.  

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“Um, I just changed him about an hour ago,” she said.  

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“Are you sure? Did you clean his peri area?” I asked.  

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“Yes, I changed him, but I’m not touching his penis!” she exclaimed.  

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“I just changed him. His brief was falling apart so I know that it's been at least 4 hours. You need to do a better job of making sure these people are clean. It is your job to clean their perineal area every time you change them.”  I said.

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Amy scoffed at me. 

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“I am more than happy to help if you are busy. All you need to do is ask, but if I see that again I will be reporting you to management.” I said.  

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         After ending my shift that night, I slowly trudged to my car accompanied by the dark gloomy sky. The sky was completely absent of light as if Mother Nature were there to witness what I had seen. I left the facility feeling defeated. More importantly, I left with an understanding of my calling in life. To provide dignity and respect for those who are vulnerable. Around 66% of caregivers have admitted to committing some form of elder abuse. I promised myself that I would never do the same as those heartless people.