Finding Life in the Land of Alzheimer’s – Excerpt
Here at Maplewood I am a caregiver, an RA like the other RAs, with a magnetic name tag clipped to my uniform shirt, with a walkie-talkie and a green half-apron stuffed with latex gloves. My job, for eight hours, is to care for people who can no longer care for themselves, who may no longer be themselves. My job is to be the good daughter.
At the end of the shift, sitting in my car in the parking lot, I take a moment to record in my reporter’s notebook what we did, the three of us. This is what one of us will have to do – as in me – when the real work schedule begins next week:
11 people woken up, cleaned and dressed
5 loads of laundry washed, dried, folded and put in residents’ rooms
11 people served breakfast
3 people hand fed
kitchen cleaned