Notes from The Shrine, 11.8.2024: The Prime Directive

Rough go of it in the lunch room today. All these times I’ve seen Helen’s daughter Pat pass out drinks to the residents. I did not realize she had been asked, more than once, not to do so.

There has been—continues to be—a shortage or an understaffing of help in the lunch room. Brad is here today but was not serving the coffee, lemonade, and water like he used to. Did he ask not to, so he could have a full lunch hour to himself? Hey, fine, it’s not his fault. I don’t put this on him. Likewise I used to see Social Worker Natalie, Kim, Joy El, Ann—any number of other staff members serve the drinks when the residents were brought in and seated in the lunch room, usually around noon.

Their absence now is noticeable. There is a void. Instead, it will eventually be a CNA serving the drinks, or maybe it will be Brad or someone else but not until 12:30. Is this a protest of sorts? Two sides digging in, neither side believing it should be their job to do.

I notice now, too, that Pat has not been in the lunch room recently. Maybe I have just missed her, the days I’ve been here not matching the days she has been.

What happened today began when resident Helen asked a CNA I did not recognize—a tall young woman—for a drink or just for a cup. The CNA brusquely informed Helen that, “Hello! That is not my job. Someone who is supposed to do that will have to get you your drinks. Just have some patience.”

This was at 12:20 or 12:25. Lunch seems to come out later and later. It’s the creep. You don’t want to be coming to a nursing home long enough to notice it, to measure it, to feel it.

I’m sitting there with my dad and Lester when the CNA so gracelessly and unnecessarily upbraids Helen. So I get up and get Helen a cup. Then I get Joyce her coffee with a cream and two sugars, which is just how she likes it. I’ve been in the lunch room often enough to know what longer-time residents will order. Then I get something for Donna, and then I get something for Lester. And, yes, I’m feeling pretty special, feeling pretty good about myself. Stepping in to save the day. Who else wants a lemonade? I’ll serve all the drinks today, why not?

Well, this CNA wheels another resident in, sees what I’m doing, and starts in on me. “Umm, hello? What are you doing? Do you know if any of them have any allergies, or is on a thickened liquids diet?” Meaning, I shouldn’t be serving drinks to the residents, not because it might make her or any other staff look bad but because I might get somebody hurt.

Heck, this wasn’t the first time I had served a few cups of coffee in the lunch room. Last week OG CNA Chiquita saw me get Donna a cup of coffee and didn’t say anything. I thought nothing of it at the time. All I was thinking was that I could get my idle ass up and make myself useful, if no one else was going to do it. I had never seen this CNA before and if any resident was on a special diet I would have been in a much better position to know about it than she would have been.

OG CNA LaDosha wheeled someone in a moment after the testy exchange and I asked her what the heck was going on. I said, “I’ve seen Pat serve drinks in this lunch room many times.”

“And she’s not supposed to,” said LaDosha. “She’s been asked not to, more than once.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I’m not trying to rock the boat.”

It brought to mind the Prime Directive from Star Trek. When you’re exploring alien worlds, you have to refrain from interfering. Even if something terrible is about to happen, your charge is to stay out of it. Even if it’s something as simple and innocuous as serving a cup of coffee. I’ve been in that lunch room twice a week for nine freaking months. Maybe this CNA works nights and that’s why I don’t recognize her but once she started bringing out the trays she didn’t seem to know which tray was supposed to go to which person. The trays come with slips of paper that have the residents’ names on them. I could have told her who was who but what the hell do I know?

Granted, I am not familiar with every single resident. And, true, there was today a brand new resident in the lunch room. But in all the times I’ve had lunch in the Dammert dining room the only restriction I can ever remember being mentioned was back in February or March when one of the nurses wanted to measure Father Volk’s insulin and was miffed that Brad had already served him coffee along with however many sugars Father Volk likes to have mixed in.

In the midst of all of this, when there wasn’t any staff in the lunch room and while the residents were waiting for the trays to arrive, Lester tried to get up out of his chair so he could walk back to his room to go to the bathroom. There was no way this was going to happen but he was bound and determined. He was going to get out of that chair. So, despite the recent warning to keep my nose out of everyone’s business, I wheeled Lester out of the lunch room and took him down the hall and told someone that he was repeatedly trying to get out of his chair and was about to fall, so here you go, I’m not going to sit there and watch him fall.

Lester has no short-term memory left and he mumbles but it’s good practice to try and understand what he is saying, because what he says still does make sense. Today he asked me if I was still in college. Like Lillian keeps asking if I’m still in school. Do I really look that young?