lol, Anne I wonder if their is a humurous poetry book on the market for caretakers? That's something you could consider.

chatty, that's the best poem I've seen about aging. I'm sure all of us can relate.

anne, what fun to go back and read what you'd written so long ago. I have some of my old diaries. I might have to drag them out of the attic.

I can totally relate to the one about you and your patient. Alzheimer's is a ridiculous disease. We've not been able to find any rhyme or reason to the way our loved one acts. There are occasional smiles and kindness, then anger, frustration, paranoia, and more. BUt we never know what the mood will be or why it's the mood of the day. It's pitiful.

Old Age, New Rage

Aging, I do have to admit,
Could make an angel,
Have an outright fit.

I told the head nurse,
At the home yesterday,
Young folks' see the aged,
But look the other way.

As a kid, I paid no attention,
To how the elderly, felt,
Or what they were enduring,
My cold heart wouldn't melt.

Now, youngins' think,
I'm older than dirt,
And my aches and pains,
Go unseen, but really hurt.

The years sped passed,
And I'm learning very fast,
What I didn't understand,
When I was just a lass.

Anne327,
That has to be one of the most difficult jobs in the world.
My friend was a wonderful, wonderful person. But she now feels
helpless, hopeless and so distraught, every now and again,
she takes it out on me. The older generation used to say, "You
always hurt the one you love." At least, you hurt the available person. You're there. So you get the brunt of their negative
feelings. I suppose. I'm speculating but that's how I C it.
Blessings! U R in my thoughts and prayers!

Anne,
I find that these older gals put on a show, when others come
around. I don't know if it's for attention or sympathy or
because they think they're expected to act like a fool.
My friend remembers names of people she knew 4 decades ago.
Names I can't remember, she does. She recalls dates, locations, and spellings better than people I know, not in a nursing home.

But there are times she acts wackier than a loon. I don't buy
into it but I think some folks do. Some of it could be that
her stepdaughters don't want her to return home. And she
thinks if she doesn't act the part, the nursing home administrators will say she doesn't belong there. And she thinks then she'd have nowhere to go.

I enjoyed all your poetry, even though the comedy turned a bit sad. I have always struggled with the senselessness of growing old and having our bodies, and often our minds, revert back to infancy. Everyone loves a baby, but can the same be said for the elderly? People just tolerate our elders, at least here in America. It's great to be living longer, but is there really a point if you cannot maintain the respect you are entitled to or the ability to physically and/or mentally enjoy it?

Sorry if I got morbid; perhaps I should have waited another day to write my thoughts.

About behaviour...I believe people get "more like themselves as they age"traits get stronger.so something the families say may be so.also I think seeing the decline of a parent is lifes reminder of our own aging an passing.Many people hurt the person who does most for them..so a loved family member may have been verbally attacked many times before care is sought.
looking after anyone...baby or adult or elder is hard work and these grown family may be low in stamina..
Having many carers is often a good thing..spreading the expertise.
Care giving as a job is very hard work yet always has been too low paid.

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem.

Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Ireland.

The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health.

A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this “anonymous” poem winging across the Internet.
......................

An Old Lady’s Poem

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?

What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?

A crabby old woman, not very wise,
uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
when you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a stocking or shoe…..

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
with bathing and feeding, the long day to fill….

Is that what you’re thinking?

Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, nurse; you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
as I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten …with a father and mother,
brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty — my heart gives a leap,
remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
who need me to guide and a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
but my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.

At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing young of their own,
and I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman …and nature is cruel;
‘Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,
there is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
and now and again my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
and I’m loving and living life over again.

I think of the years ……all too few, gone too fast,
and accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people, open and see,
not a crabby old woman; look closer …see ME!!

Perhaps due to knowing this poem and using it when teaching I gave the stroke nurse known to our family for a years duration a poem i wrote.This too was used in their publication...so in whichever way we are told about caring it is good to share.

Everyone who is in the caring profession needs a mentor.Many nurses smoked in the past and this was recognised as a tool for their stress..even although they knew full well the consequences.saw the dark lungs after autopsy...

most people are programmed to be mothers hormons and nuturing [censored] etc...and caring ? its often a profession taken up due to availability and the growing need as an aging poulation emerges.Caring is a profit maker for those in the business .
There are many facets and few solutions

MA, this poem, so very true, deserves the recognition it received.