On the Other Side of the Bed

No one should feel alone while being “cared for.”

I have spent most of my life on the side of the bed where you are dressed, standing, and in control. I have always preferred it that way.

Even on the worst days, I was still upright. Still dressed. Still able to decide what happened to my own body.

The people I care for cannot.

Recently, at a resident council meeting, a woman in her nineties, seated in her wheelchair, spoke up.

She was calm.

Completely aware.

She described what it feels like when aides come in to do her personal care.

This is what she said:

“It’s a problem when you try to tell a CNA something, but they’re talking to each other. About their weekend. Their clothes. Their plans.

And you’re lying there uncovered, cold, and waiting.

They should be talking to me, not to each other.

Sometimes they talk so much I don’t get cleaned where I’m sore, because they won’t stop long enough to listen. I try to get their attention. They ignore me.

It’s like I’m not even a person.

I could be a pizza being slid into a box at Domino’s.

And when two aides come in speaking another language, and that’s all they speak, I feel shut out.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t know if they’re talking about me.

People are touching your body, and you feel invisible.

Like you don’t matter.

Like you’re not even a person.”

She was still herself.

Still thinking.

Still aware.

But in that bed, she felt like an object.

Something to be handled.

Not someone to be respected.

If you do this work every day, it becomes routine.

You learn to move quickly.

You learn not to think too much.

That is how detachment starts.

But for the person in the bed,

It is never routine.

It is always vulnerable.

Personal.

Exposed.

They are trusting you with their dignity on days when they have very little left.

When you talk over them, ignore them, or treat their body like a task, you teach them that they do not matter.

You say their voice is irrelevant.

This work is not just about getting someone clean.

It is about how you treat a human being when they have the least power.

Talk to them.

Explain what you are doing.

Pause long enough to listen.

Look at their face.

Say their name.

Acknowledge that they are still here.

If you cannot do this work without ignoring or dehumanizing the person in the bed, this may not be the right work for you.

Because one day, you may be on the other side of that bed.

And when you are, you will remember her words.

To protect resident privacy, identifying details in this story have been changed. The situations described reflect real issues encountered in long-term care.