Cyril has an early-onset vascular dementia. One consequence is that his mobility has been continually deteriorating, and he’s now in a wheelchair. I wind up working a night shift with a nursing assistant from the nurse bank. She says she used to work with Cyril years ago.
Nursing Assistant: “He seems much better now.”
Me: “You think so? Everyone else seems to think he’s getting worse.”
Nursing Assistant: “Well, yes. He used to be constantly getting up and walking around, and we had to keep a close eye on him. Now we don’t have to, so that’s much better.”
*facepalm*
6 comments
December 1, 2007 at 9:38 am
beakie
It’s all so terribly depressing, isn’t it?
December 1, 2007 at 1:31 pm
zarathustra
Indeed. I did make a point of giving her a withering look, though.
December 1, 2007 at 3:04 pm
Whitecoatman
So, using this logic, the ultimate improvement would be death.
December 1, 2007 at 4:30 pm
zarathustra
If by “improvement” we mean “not bothering the staff”, I think that would be the case, yes.
December 2, 2007 at 1:59 pm
Mr Ian
But death is sooooo much paperwork. We prefer to term them ‘living impaired’ until the day shift arrive.
December 4, 2007 at 1:08 pm
TheShrink
This makes me oscillate between feeling incandescent with rage and just wanting to weep.
Surely, surely folk working in mental health, putting themselves in their patients’ shoes and thinking what’s in their best interests, can’t trot out such shameful views, nowadays?
Meh, it’s not April 1st, I guess it ain’t a joke, is it