I Understand About Being Frightened

I want to start this post by apologizing to my kids, my ex-wife, and to all those people over the years whom I may have intimidated, and even frightened, by my physical presence and power of voice. Today I got a very clear lesson on what it is to be on the recieving end. I had a run-in with my caregiver, and she responded with rough handling and loud argument. I was afraid. I was afraid she would hurt me; she did, but not enough to complain. I was afraid she would act against me in some manner; she was more petty than anything. Nonetheless I spent my morning in fear, eventually asking her to leave early just so I could feel safe again.

The real problem arose with the care agency, CBI. Once again they screwed up my scheduling. Unfortunately this was after Edith, The Shuffler, had been told she would no longer be taking care of me on Fridays. This was in response to complaints I made about her lack of attentiveness and unwillingness to do exercises. Of course she took this as a rebuke. I don't blame her; it was.

The supervisor asked the agency to provide a new caregiver for Fridays. They did, but then immediately double booked her, effectively delaying my morning from 10:30 AM to 11:30 AM or even later. I said this was unacceptable, especially since the new caregiver would require supervision, and the supervisor was scheduled to arrive at 10:30 AM. Once again the CBI coordinators failed to coordinate. So I asked them to fix it.

They did fix it. They sent Edith.

When Edith arrived things were tentative to say the least. We both tried to avoid the elephant in the room. It seemed to be working all right until I asked her to walk through the new, clean, no-touch catheter technique. Edith has trouble with the concept of a sterile process, so there was some discussion about some of the steps and requirements. Aggressive discussion. Loud voices

After some degree of success, and some degree of failure, in the new catheterization process, Edith hung me in my sling and went to the kitchen, telling me to call if I needed help. This is not a failing, except her response time when I need help leaves something to be desired. I would get faster help calling 911. Nonetheless, when I had had enough unproductive time in the sling, she put me in my commode chair and walked away, telling me to ask if I needed help.

Of course I needed help! I had already told her I would need help in the shower, but she failed to understand that meant staying there with me. She went back to the kitchen. So I did my best on my own, unwilling to ask once again for help I was supposed to be getting in the first place. After I was showered, I did call for help. She opened the bathroom door, stood back, and watched me struggle with my commode chair to get into the bedroom. Then I had to ask her to help me towel dry.

After I was dry, she put me in the sling and on the bed, ready to dress. After putting on my condom catheter, something she always does well, she began to flip me about like I was some sort of rag doll so she could put on my catheter bag, my socks, my underwear and my jeans. There was no injury here, just pain from my rather damaged body. I felt like I was being punished.

Then I got a phone call from Yvonne, the new HCA who was originally scheduled for today, the one who was supposed to be my Friday regular. She said she would be here in 10 minutes; no supervisor, no advance warning. I suspect the non-coordinators in the CBI office had something to do with it. I asked Yvonne to call her supervisor to find out what was happening. She didn't understand; ESL problems. So I got upset and said "Never mind. Do what you are going to do."

I called the supervisor. She tried explaining things. By this time I was so upset and frustrated I just told her, with Edith in the room, that I wanted everybody gone from my apartment. No exercises please. I actually began to cry with the frustration of it all, until I managed to get ahold of myself. Edith was still in the room, knowing that "everybody" meant her too. She had to finish dressing me. It would be polite to say that the next 20 minutes were quiet, perhaps a bit chilly.

This was not a good day. I do understand more about how I must have frightened people in the past. Once again let me say how sorry I am. I get it now.