When Home Care Nurses Fail

The title of this blog got your attention, didn't it?
I have a story to tell you.  Several years ago, after my major surgery I was in rough shape.  I ruptured.
Ruptured may be a bit of an understatement. It was so bad that I  heard that Madam Toussaud,  Ripley's Believe  it or Not, and the World Book of World Records were all interested in me.  Rumour has it that I was about to set a record as the world's only pregnant male.

This blog isn't a "How I have suffered" blog. There are far too many of those, "Hold my  hand as I tell my tear jerking story" blogs out there. So, you will have to take it as gospel, when I simply write that I suffered. So much so, that the Ontario Ministry of Health paid for home care nurses visit my home every few days.
These were not the VON nurses who were my first release caregivers who swept into my life when I came home from the hospital. These nurses appeared after the VON's determined that I didn't require daily visits.

As I saw it, my greatest needs were psychological, for I was struggling through this phase of my  journey alone at home. I was lonely and dispirited. I suffered from extreme exhaustion and pain which was kept in balance with medication.

It was a struggle to do simple tasks.I could do a lot, but everything was done slowly.  I would sweep the floor for 2 minutes, rest and return to the job.  I could bathe myself, make my bed, do my laundry - but I couldn't stand for long and I would have to punctuate it all with ongoing rest breaks.

When my first home care visitor came, and asked how she could help me, I asked her, if she would prepare my evening meal for me and put it in the refrigerator. Cooking was not easy for me at the best of times.

"Sorry. I don't cook."

Another home care nurse came into my home, and asked me how she could help me. I responded that the kindest  thing she could do to meet my needs would be to talk to me for a while.

"Would you prepare some nice hot bran muffins for me, and we could put butter on them and have them with tea".

"Sorry, I don't how to prepare bran muffins."

So, as she stood before me, I hobbled across the kitchen, and took a premixed bran muffin package from the cupboard, and a bowl and I said watch me. "Mix with water," "Heat in oven" "Remove".

I realized then that they wanted to see themselves as "Professional Nurses", not maids. The sad thing is that they were putting their personal fight for professional status ahead of my deepest needs.

I suppose, had I told them that I wanted my blood pressure taken from different places on my body....from a cuff on my arm, on my ankle and around my head, they would have eagerly complied.  For all I know, they likely wished they could wrap the blood pressure cuff around my neck.