I Was Terrified of Alzheimer’s – One Nurse’s Journey Back to Compassion

BEGINNINGS – Part 1 of 3

Over 36 years ago, at the tender age of 21, I was a fresh and terribly eager nursing graduate. My first job, my first day – I stepped onto an Alzheimer’s “locked unit.”

The smell hit first – shit, piss, and tomato soup. Primal screeching and screaming bounced off sterile walls. With all my soul, I wanted to cut a rapid retreat – to safety, to sanity. My bank account held me fast. I badly needed the money; my rent was overdue, my student loans colossal, and I was tired of chicken wieners.

The charge nurse gave a welcome aboard tour. It was horrid. Burned into my memory is that of a toothless older man, standing naked, with his leg bound to the bed, masturbating wildly, with his tongue hanging out of his face, absolutely oblivious to any social decorum. My head swam helplessly…grasping for sense. Why is he naked? Why is he allowed to jack off in public? What is going on here?

“Patients” were tied to their beds by their wrists, their ankles, or both. I had never seen anything so inhumane in my life. It was a kick to the gut. I managed nonetheless to ask in my polite, meek little voice – ” Why? Why are they tied up?”

The head nurse sighed and replied (as if I was somewhat of an idiot). “It’s for their safety, so they don’t fall, punch staff, scratch themselves – or even worse (for us) dig into their diapers.”

I would definitely punch anyone who tied me up, given the chance, I thought. The lucky ones were up, strapped into their wheelchairs, staring vacantly out the dirty windows or at the inane game shows on the TV.

And drooling.

Going Nowhere * Harry Cao -Unsplash

Mealtimes were bleak. Chairs with locking front trays put patients firmly in their place. The food was pablum-like, beige and orange, and far too salty. I wouldn’t make my dog eat it, I thought, feeling nauseated. Yet, there we were, helping these “poor souls,” shoveling the slop into their unwelcoming mouths. It was a chore, a drag, soul-killing. A bit dramatic, I know – but warranted.

“The garden” was the pride of the unit – an enclosed slab of concrete with high walls and flowerbeds blooming with plastic neon-colored flowers, all safely out of reach. If you looked straight up, you could see the sky. If you were lucky, a bird would fly by.

It was an unbearable grim place to live- if you could call it living. I said absolutely nothing – because what could I say? I knew absolutely nothing. My confidence was firmly under my shoe. Weirdly enough, it eventually became the new normal. When I walked through the doors, I simply dehumanized these souls.

This way, I could do my job.

It took a heavy toll – I could see my humanity falling away.

Self-loathing and guilt became a familiar companion. The headaches and the dread before each shift became unbearable.

After two miserable years, I finally left. I moved as fast as I could, as far as I could, away from ever having to go onto a locked unit again. Ever.

Angel Balashkey -Unsplash