Everyone belongs to someone, and everyone has a story and a past. These are just a few of the things I have learned so far in my clinical. I’ll admit that I was less than excited when finding out I was assigned to a nursing home. The elderly population has never really been my thing; I find that I have a hard time being patient and understanding with this certain population. However, after meeting and working with my patient, it’s hard not to think of her children and grandchildren, as well as her younger days. She has a ton of pictures scattered around her room and on the walls- a few of her children, many of her grandchildren, a few of her in her younger years, and, much like my grandmother, a ton of random children and pets of people she barely knows (My grandmother had a picture of her "grandmonkey" on her fridge. It was a pet of one of the employees at my Poppy's nursing home) . Browsing through all of her pictures reminded me that she belongs to someone. She is someone’s daughter, mother, grandmother, wife, sister, aunt, and friend. She has a story. You see, me and my sweet patient are not that different. I’m hoping that with all of that in mind, I will grow in patience and respect for the elderly. After all, I would certainly hope that the nursing home employees treated my precious Poppy with respect. I know he may have been hard to deal with, and towards the end I know that he wasn’t always pleasant or good company. But he was a son, a brother, a father, a husband, and an amazing grandfather. He was not always old and dependent. He had a story, a past, and he deserved to be treated with respect, patience, and honor, just like my patient.
*me and my Poppy*
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