A lot is misunderstood about long-term care centres in Québec. The thing is, no one really knows what goes on behind those closed doors unless you work there because you see everything that goes, or that doesn't go, into the care of the people that live there. When politicians come to visit these centres because yet another scan has risen about the residents being fed mashed potatoes made from powder, or someone being left in a diaper for over 16 hours, every employee makes sure to put their best foot forward. So the governing members of society end up leaving with their rose-coloured glasses thinking everything is well. But then everything always goes back to the way it was.
I was in my second clinical rotation in a geriatric unit. I was assigned a resident who had had a stroke many years ago, she was unable to communicate or understand me when I was speaking to her.
When I was reading through her chart, I saw that the healthcare team was concerned about her weight loss. And honestly, I was pretty curious about it myself: she was getting her meal trays, she wasn't on any diuretics, her health was relatively stable, she had no real reason to be losing weight... One morning, I was walking through the hall after helping my fellow nursing students with some bed baths, and I walked past my patient's room, where a staff member was taking away her meal tray: she had barely eaten anything. When I asked the employee about it, he told me she never eats anything at meals. And I thought to myself: it's no wonder why she's losing weight.
The next morning, I was going to help her eat. I never really saw any other employee do it, so I figured because I have the privilege of only have a couple of patients to take care of, I should make the most of it and help her. It took two hours to help her eat. I knew she was losing weight, and I knew she needed to gain it back. It was a challenging couple of hours of rotating between dishes for every bite, testing out different combinations of toast and butter, toast and jam, toast with butter and jam, toast with peanut butter, just plain toast, etc., and having a sip of juice before switching up the dishes to try out next, but sometimes she wanted coffee instead. I was analyzing everything: what she liked, what she didn't like, what she wanted to eat more of, what she wanted to eat next, etc. Until I was assigned a different patient a few weeks later, I spent two hours every morning to feed her. And she ate almost everything every time. She started gaining back the weight she lost.
It was the first time in my nursing studies that I could finally say I helped someone. Even if the patient could never tell me, I could see by the improvement in her health status that she was getting better. It was long and arduous, but so worth it. I had the privilege of doing something right, of helping someone, of advocating for someone that is unable to themselves. I was able to do it because I had the time, something that long-term care centre employees often don't have enough of.
I poured my heart and soul into that clinical rotation. I did everything I could to make even just one person's day a little brighter. That's what nursing is. It's taking the time with the patient. It's advocating for them. It's delving into the nooks and crannies of the healthcare system to find gaps and fill them. It's searching for ways to deliver the best care possible. Because everyone deserves the best care possible, regardless of who they are, where they are from or how old they are.