I took the call that came into the health care agency I work for that day in April. The
caller was seeking a nurse to check glucose readings and administer insulin shots twice daily
at the home of a post-stroke woman living alone. I introduced myself as the nursing supervisor
and explained that our agency only provides 24-hour live-in home health aides. A few hours

later, the same frustrated caller asked if I could recommend another agency or nurse. I asked
where the patient lived and found her to be only 5 miles from my home. Before I knew it, I was
agreeing to help. What had I gotten myself into?

When I arrived at Mrs. Brown's home, her son Charles introduced me to his mother,
who liked to be called Elaine. The first impression of my new patient was how young she
appeared. She was only 70 years old, had a stylish hairdo and wore makeup. I detected sadness
behind her lovely blue eyes, which I learned the reasons for as time progressed. Glancing
around the house I saw proof of her former artistic talent. Every room was adorned with
hand-painted crafts and silk floral designs she created. Family photos and memorabilia
depicted exotic travel and special moments with the love of her life, her deceased husband.

She muttered a few incoherent words and I looked at Charles for translation. He
explained that the stroke had left her with expressive aphasia, which meant her speech often
came out wrong but that sometimes she spoke crystal clear. She was pointing to the chair. "You
would like me to sit down?" I asked her. She nodded yes. I immediately relaxed thinking
communication wouldn't be all that difficult since she understood what was being said to her.

During the weeks that followed, Elaine went through weeks of speech therapy with very
little improvement. There were daily episodes of Elaine losing control and yelling in
frustration over not being understood when she said things like, "I can't o'day doctor dog."
My incorrect guesses at her ramblings caused her to yell louder and get more upset. It was a
game of charades with me always losing. I was frustrated and she was enraged. She, would
actually be he, and vice versa. Everyone she referred to was named Charlie. I feared that
her screaming and level of impatience might cause another stroke.

I was going to tell Charles that I couldn't continue dealing with this stubborn out-of-control woman, but my heart went out to her having to endure life in a world I could only imagine.

• 1
• 2
• next page >>

---

Add your voice

Know something about Learning through caring for others?
We want to hear your view. Write now!