Don’t get me wrong, I loved interacting with the patients, but I hated feeling as though I was stealing what little dignity they had. Being a CNA, you’re supposed to preserve a person’s dignity, but the rules the state mandates just don’t allow that.
The doctors and nurses will tell you that they aren’t even aware anymore. They will say things like, “She doesn’t understand where she is, how would she understand dignity?” Or, “He thinks he is still at home, his wife is alive, and they have a son on the way, do you really think he knows what you’re doing?”
No, maybe they don’t know what I’m doing in that moment, maybe they don’t have a clear understanding of the word “dignity” but looking into their eyes, I saw so much more than just the pain, and the confusion.
The only thing I was allowed to know about my patients is what I had to do to take care of them; the kinds of food they were supposed to eat, the type of socks they were supposed to wear, if they had any physical deformities, or disabilities. I was to know if they needed assistance in walking, or if they were an independent person, just needing checked up on from time to time. I hardly got to know their names. The only way I got to hear their stories, is if I sat down with them, and talked with them like they were a human being. That is the part of the job I loved. The interaction. In those moments I realized I wanted to have a career that involved some form of psychology. I wanted to hear their stories like history lessons I was reading off the pages of a schoolbook. I wanted to soak in their heritage, their experience, their love and their loss. I wanted to know EVERYTHING outside of their sickness. How can you help someone, if you don’t know them?
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