My Rural Metro “fill ins”

(Clients whom are not regulars).

· Anthony G. on Christmas Day, no less.

Anthony G. is ninety-two years old, has Alzheimer’s disease. Anthony G. lives with his ninety two year old wife and a really fine granddaughter (in flannel pajamas, no less). As I was a new guy and had indicated it would be OK with me to work on Christmas Day, Rural Metro sent me to take care of Anthony G. on Christmas Day. Thank God a nurse was there at the same time as me because it would have been impossible for me, a new guy with NO experience, to take care of Anthony G. As we tried to dress him, he began a swearing tirade the likes I hadn’t heard since I was in the Navy. His wife apologized for him saying, “He never swore his whole life” but from the words I’d heard I believed, perhaps, he wasn’t allowed to swear at home. His most memorable phrase was, “I’ll bite your fingers off you cock sucker”, which he uttered on several occasions as the nurse and I prepared him for Christmas day at home with his family. The nurse left and I shaved Anthony G. and as he sat at his table with his wife feeding him breakfast he said, “I can’t believe they pay you” and he stared into my eyes as if to say “So, what the fuck are you going to do about that?” I never did see Anthony G. again, but it was a memorable Christmas Day at, hey, time and one half (a whole $10.88 an hour).

• Zack G. whose “beloved companion” accused me, and others, of stealing her jewelry.

Zack G. I saw several times, the first, again, around Christmas time as I filled in for the “regulars”. He and I didn’t hit it off at first because I think he was used to his “regular” aide and I was a big change for him. Zack G. lived with his “beloved companion” Barbara whom I thought was his wife but later learned otherwise, and his six-year-old son Zack G. Junior, fathered at sixty-five (that makes Zack G. seventy-one) by the man I came to enjoy who lay dying of lung cancer that had spread to his brain. Zack G. was a sports nut and we talked, as best he could, about sports figures. He told me he thought Mohammed Ali was the best fighter of all time and that “Gates Brown gets around”, a phrase I’ll always use now for just the hell of it when I feel like a laugh and think of Zack G. He told me on several occasions to call the police because he was being held against his will, couldn’t drive his car anymore and hadn’t since April (Easter, he said) and that everyone was taking his “stuff”. The last time I saw him I gave him a bed bath, shaved him (which he wouldn’t let me do the first time, so we had made progress) and didn’t change his diaper (not supposed to call them that) and was, for not telling his “beloved companion” I hadn’t changed him, BECAUSE HE DIDN’T NEED IT, was dismissed from their house. Several weeks earlier I’d been notified by Rural Metro that she, the “Beloved Companion” had filed a police report stating someone had stolen jewelry and the cops had actually come to my house for an interview (routine, I was told) asking, “Would I take a lie detector test” and saying “Don’t leave town”, which I had no intentions of doing. I think it was around late January I began wondering if this Home Health Aid “thing” was worth the effort as I was dismissed from taking care of Zack. G as a result of the report filed by Barbara, his “Beloved Companion” for not changing Mr. Zack. I was sad not to see him again, and saw in the papers that he died January 30^th, 2003 a day after my birthday and nine days since the last time I saw him. To Mr. Zack I’d say, “Gates Brown gets around” and to his beloved companion, Barbara, well, I’d just wish her good luck because she’s going to need it.

• Daniel C. the Mad Hatter.

Daniel C. was, is, almost blind, almost deaf, single and a virgin (he told me so) who lived with his mother until she died two years ago, leaving him to fend for himself with little, to NO skills to do so. He was scooped up into a nursing home situation when his living conditions became so poor it was obvious he needed help. I saw him once, only once, thank God. Daniel C. was, is, seventy-one and lives alone with his little dog in a house that I could only describe as “absolutely full of garbage”. Daniel C. saves EVERYTHING, everything, and when I first walked into his home, around piles of magazines, model railroad parts, plastic bottles and tin cans (his favorites) and years, years worth of papers, mails and who knows what else, I had NO ideas where to even start. I saw him twice, the first time on Saturday afternoon the nurse was there taking information, thank God, leaving me an hour to try and make him something to eat. I hoped she didn’t write on his care plan “generally clean up” because it would take dynamite or a fire, or bulldozer to accomplish that task. I asked Daniel C. “Why all the plastic bottles and cans?” and he said he was going to make them into bird feeders (the plastic bottles) and model train cars (the tin cans) if he could get a good aide that would help him do that. Imagine that? Anyhow, on Sunday morning, bright and early, I picked up coffee, doughnuts and a frozen breakfast for Daniel C. and after convincing him we’d “store” the plastic bottles and tin cans for use later, filled up ten LARGE garbage bags with these future birdfeeders and model train cars, put them into the basement because he wouldn’t hear of throwing them out, and cleared a space on his counter top just big enough to put washed dishes. In this process we, me, I discovered a silver coffee pot and serving tray that I’ll bet was buried beneath all this garbage for three, maybe four years and that Daniel C. said he remembered from when he was as kid. I never did see Daniel C. again but did go past his house on several occasions and each time there were another ten of twenty garbage bags out front so I suppose Daniel C. can now see the floors in his house again. He’ll always be Daniel C. the Mad Hatter to me and a good argument for NOT keeping people at home rather than in nursing homes because everyone doesn’t have the capability, even if they have a home, to live in it with minimal assistance.

It was experiences like these with folks like this that helped me decide to leave the Home Health Aide occupation as my time with Joey D. had expired and Pete the Pirate had died, I couldn’t pick up new clients like these and start again, especially with a new golf season only a sand wedge away. I quit Rural Metro on Friday, February 21^st, 2003 having no regrets and many interesting, to say the least, experiences.