dangerous and possibly life-threatening for Sylvia. If you can’t get a sitter, call her family and have someone come in. Her hip’s much better and she should go home today or tomorrow at the latest.”
Marion’s face reddened. “You’re not helping us, Doctor. This isn’t the first time either. I’m reporting this to nursing administration.”
“Do whatever you think best, Marion. I’ve been treating the elderly for a little while, and I know what’s best for them.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will, nurse. Goodnight.”
Marion Krupp, now in her mid fifties, was a grouch. Appearance matching personality, she looked like a linebacker in drag. A few senior nurses at Brier had worked with her years ago when she was a practical nurse and equally cranky. After she completed her Associate in Arts degree, she obtained her RN license and continued to work at Brier.
She was an equal opportunity malcontent. Few took Marion’s griping personally. She applied her animus to patients, staff, her husband but not to Abigail, her only child. Abby, age eight, was Marion’s oasis in the desert of her discontent and could do no wrong.
When Marion’s complaining had escalated into vitriolic attack, she found herself before Judy Hoffman, the Director of Nursing.
“You’re a good nurse, Marion, but you’re so angry.”
“I know. I’ll do better.”
“What’s going on?”
“We go way back, Judy. Each year, being a nurse is more difficult and frustrating. I guess I haven’t mellowed over the years.”
Judy laughed. “I’m not asking for mellowness, Marion, but a little civility would go a long way. When doctors, patients and others on the staff make note of your grim disposition, we have a problem.”
“I’ll do better, I promise.”
“We have resources available from counseling to anger management programs. Think about it before this escalates out of control.”
“I will.”
Several staffers had known Marion from early childhood. She grew up in Berkeley near the Oakland border. Even with a neglectful mother and an alcoholic father, Marion, to the casual observer, appeared to have a normal happy childhood.
All that changed when her mother died unexpectedly shortly before Marion entered Berkeley High School. She retreated into a shell, refusing the help of friends, relatives, or counselors.
Lola, now awake, turned to Jacob. “What was that?”
“Just another nurse, too lazy or too overworked to sit with an old lady for a minute. Drug them; that’s the way out for too many of them these days.”
“Put yourself in their place, Old Man. You know how inadequate staffing is at even a good hospital like Brier.”
“I’m sorry, Sweetie. To sedate or tranquilize a confused old lady only increases the chances that she’ll never go home. I won’t do it.”
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble with the nurses.”
“It won’t be the first time.”
Jacob’s brain had a built-in time clock. His eyes popped open regularly at 5:30 a.m., except if something had disturbed his sleep pattern overnight as it had last night. This morning, Lola shook him at 6:15. “Get moving, Old Man. Time’s a wastin.” One look at the clock and Jacob sprung out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
After they finished breakfast, Lola pointed at the calendar. “Don’t forget Saturday. It’s Donald’s birthday.”
“Not again.”
“I can’t believe we have a son eligible for Medicare. Think how old that makes us.”
Jacob smiled. “Can I sedate myself?”
“I can’t believe that our three have produced ten.”
“I’d substitute quality for quantity.”
“You’re so full of shit, Jacob. You love your grandchildren.”
“I love them when they’re asleep. What are you up to today?”
“I’m working at the clinic.”
The Berkeley Women’s Mental Health Clinic had the support of the city’s Department of Health. Lola, a practicing psychotherapist during their early days in
Marion’s face reddened. “You’re not helping us, Doctor. This isn’t the first time either. I’m reporting this to nursing administration.”
“Do whatever you think best, Marion. I’ve been treating the elderly for a little while, and I know what’s best for them.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will, nurse. Goodnight.”
Marion Krupp, now in her mid fifties, was a grouch. Appearance matching personality, she looked like a linebacker in drag. A few senior nurses at Brier had worked with her years ago when she was a practical nurse and equally cranky. After she completed her Associate in Arts degree, she obtained her RN license and continued to work at Brier.
She was an equal opportunity malcontent. Few took Marion’s griping personally. She applied her animus to patients, staff, her husband but not to Abigail, her only child. Abby, age eight, was Marion’s oasis in the desert of her discontent and could do no wrong.
When Marion’s complaining had escalated into vitriolic attack, she found herself before Judy Hoffman, the Director of Nursing.
“You’re a good nurse, Marion, but you’re so angry.”
“I know. I’ll do better.”
“What’s going on?”
“We go way back, Judy. Each year, being a nurse is more difficult and frustrating. I guess I haven’t mellowed over the years.”
Judy laughed. “I’m not asking for mellowness, Marion, but a little civility would go a long way. When doctors, patients and others on the staff make note of your grim disposition, we have a problem.”
“I’ll do better, I promise.”
“We have resources available from counseling to anger management programs. Think about it before this escalates out of control.”
“I will.”
Several staffers had known Marion from early childhood. She grew up in Berkeley near the Oakland border. Even with a neglectful mother and an alcoholic father, Marion, to the casual observer, appeared to have a normal happy childhood.
All that changed when her mother died unexpectedly shortly before Marion entered Berkeley High School. She retreated into a shell, refusing the help of friends, relatives, or counselors.
Lola, now awake, turned to Jacob. “What was that?”
“Just another nurse, too lazy or too overworked to sit with an old lady for a minute. Drug them; that’s the way out for too many of them these days.”
“Put yourself in their place, Old Man. You know how inadequate staffing is at even a good hospital like Brier.”
“I’m sorry, Sweetie. To sedate or tranquilize a confused old lady only increases the chances that she’ll never go home. I won’t do it.”
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble with the nurses.”
“It won’t be the first time.”
Jacob’s brain had a built-in time clock. His eyes popped open regularly at 5:30 a.m., except if something had disturbed his sleep pattern overnight as it had last night. This morning, Lola shook him at 6:15. “Get moving, Old Man. Time’s a wastin.” One look at the clock and Jacob sprung out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
After they finished breakfast, Lola pointed at the calendar. “Don’t forget Saturday. It’s Donald’s birthday.”
“Not again.”
“I can’t believe we have a son eligible for Medicare. Think how old that makes us.”
Jacob smiled. “Can I sedate myself?”
“I can’t believe that our three have produced ten.”
“I’d substitute quality for quantity.”
“You’re so full of shit, Jacob. You love your grandchildren.”
“I love them when they’re asleep. What are you up to today?”
“I’m working at the clinic.”
The Berkeley Women’s Mental Health Clinic had the support of the city’s Department of Health. Lola, a practicing psychotherapist during their early days in
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