Stories From the Night Shift

I used to think the night shift was boring. I used to, but I have been corrected. This summer, between Trips and Teacher's Prep and the First Day of School, I managed to squeeze in a month or two of night shifts at the care home where I worked. I have worked every shift and in every hall in that facility, but have never been more entertained than I was from the hours of 10:00 p.m to 6:00 a.m. Some of my favorite stories of working in elder care come from the night shift. I want to share some of them with you.

And one more thing before we begin:

I'll never tell you their names, so don't even bother to ask.

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ONE: An Unwanted Guest

It was 2:30 in the morning. Two o’clock rounds had just been completed, and I sank back into my chair to catch up on some charting. My coworker had gone into the kitchen in search of some sustenance, when suddenly, I heard a scream coming from down the hall. 

I didn’t need to guess who it was coming from. Still, not knowing why she was screaming, I bolted from my chair and sprinted down the hall. Had she fallen out of bed? Was she in pain? When I arrived at her bed-- which she thankfully still on top of-- her covers were a tangled mess and her eyes were wide with fear. 

“There is something under the bed!” she panted before I had a chance to ask what was wrong. So convinced was she that I myself was almost afraid to look. But, it's my job to check under the beds and in the closets for monsters and things that aren't there. In their minds, they are there. So, I whipped out my flashlight and proceeded to conduct my search of the underside of her bed. 

“There is nothing there,” I assured, taking her hand. “I checked.”

“Yes there is!” she demanded. She had a death grip on my hand. “There is something there, and… and it’s holding my hand!” Her eyes grew wider with fear.

I couldn’t hold in my laughter at that. I informed her that it was actually ME who was holding her hand. Unsatisfied, and still convinced that she was right, she decided that there was a dog under the bed and that she could hear it rustling. I could only hope there was a dog under the bed. I love dogs. Again, the flashlight came out, and I proceeded to narrate my search of the world beneath the bed. To my dismay, I found no dogs.

“Hmmmm…” I said aloud. “I see springs here; there’s wires here— to make your bed move, you see; this is part of your sheet. No, I don’t think there is anything down here tonight.” 

Emerging from my inspection, I knelt beside her bed. “Now that there's nothing under your bed, do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” I suggested hopefully. 

“No,” she said. “I am too scared of that thing under my bed.” 

“Would it help if I sat right here beside you, and kept you company until you fall asleep?” I asked. She thought that might work, and so I took vigil in the chair at the head of her bed.

All was silent in the room. Once or twice, I heard sleepy sighs coming from the bed beside me. Suddenly, the sighs were replaced by the most chipper voice I have ever heard at three o'clock in the morning:

“Are you having a good day today?”

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TWO: A Man's Work is Never Done

Someone had gotten out of bed again. Not being able to walk by himself, this prompted me to once again spring from my chair and dash into his room. He was halfway to his closet when I arrived. 

“Hi!” I said, not feeling as enthused as I sounded. “What are we doing?” 

“Well, young lady, corn harvest is coming, and I need to get my corn header cleaned and ready! The combine needs to be worked on, and I need parts from the store!” 

Ah now, this posed a problem for me. A mind wrapped in Dementia's cruel fingers needs to be appeased, and I wasn’t sure how to wiggle our way out of this one. After a brief brainstorm I said, “Well, I was just on the farm today, and the corn is still green! It is August, after all, and the corn is late this year, what with the spring hail storms and all. Remember, we had to re-plant all those circles? We still have some time before we need to be getting excited.” (I had been listening to the farmers, and told no lies.)

He thought on it for a moment, then remembered. I pointed to the ceiling. “And, it’s raining right now. We’ll get the combine stuck if we even try to take it out of the shop right now. We’d better right that down on our list to do in the morning.” He thought we'd better add John Deere to the list too. We'd go there in the morning when they opened. This satisfied him enough to get him to sit on the edge of his bed, and eventually succumb to the pillow. 

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THREE: Wires

There were exposed wires in the house, and he had to get them fixed. It didn't matter that it was after midnight-- someone was going to hurt themselves. We paced up and down the halls, trying to find the breaker box. I tried to distract him, to tell him of something else that needed fixed. Something that was more fixable in his current state.

We passed the humidifier. Yes, this was the breaker box, he said. But, from his wheelchair, he couldn't quite get the door off. Frustrated, and still looking for those dangerous hot wires, we started back down the hall.

We passed the double doors that open into the hall. On these doors, there is a metal pipe running down the edge. (I don't know what it's for because I am a female.) Suddenly I got an idea. What would he do if I...?

The intrusive thoughts took over, and I directed his attention to the small metal pipe.

"Are these the wires you're looking for?" I asked. Before he had time to answer, I reached out and touched them. Feigning a sudden shock, I jerked my hand away. "AH!" I yelped, shaking my hand. "It got me!"

"Yeah, I told you that thing'd bite you!" he told me emphatically. "We've got to fix those so no one else gets shocked!!"

I knew he wouldn't rest until the pipe was off the door and properly disposed of. Well, the maintenance men weren't around yet, and I knew Darren would have refused if he was there. So, we did the next best thing: I went to the linen closet and got a flat sheet. He was calm and satisfied once the door was covered with the sheet. Now, nobody else would get shocked like I had.

For the rest of the night, we had to look at the ghostly form of the door, covered by a white sheet, in the red glow of the exit sign.

He was so busy that night, fixing things around the house for us ladies, that did not go to bed until the charge nurse had signed a paper authorizing him to do so.

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FOUR: I'll Sleep Tomorrow

After every curse word in the English language had been gifted to me, the benefactor sat stoically in the corner. He had joined us in the common area because he was NOT tired. I wrapped him in a warm blanket to keep him cozy. After a snack of a banana and chocolate milk, his mood had improved. Every now and then, his head would droop, and I would slink over to see if his eyes were closed. We did this every night, our little routine, and I had learned the habits of this man to whom age had not been kind. 

I still loved him, of course. I loved all of those who kept me busy at night. Somewhere in the past, there had been a normal-functioning person who had made important decisions once upon a time; who had been a kind husband and father; who had placed a mattress atop his wife and daughter, and then laid his own body on top of that mattress when the tornado bore down upon their house. Now, only a shadow of that person remained. An echo. 

But still, remained. 

And so, I checked for droopy eyelids to match the droopy head. But he was quicker. Head still down, he turned his eyes to meet mine with a smirk. Just like he did every other night. “Are you tired?” I asked.

“Nope.” 

I knew he’d say that. He did every night. And so, I retreated. And the clock ticked on. The hands went round and round, and finally, it was long past his bedtime of 2:00 a.m. “Aren’t you tired?” I asked again. 

“Honey, why in the world would I be tired?” was the swift reply. 

“Well,” I returned, playing his game, “You haven’t slept at all tonight, and I heard you didn’t even take a nap during the day. You must be exhausted!” He was adamant that he was not tired; that he was just built different. 

“When are you going to sleep?” I asked, curious for what he was going to come up with. 

“I can sleep tomorrow night!” 

And, would you know, he was still awake when Day Shift took report at 6:00 a.m.

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Of course, there are more. There are always more, but I understand that not everyone cares. These nights are behind me now; the days and the evenings are too. I miss them.

I'm a teacher now, collecting stories from my students that I will tell someday. There are always stories with them, too. There are always stories everywhere, if you're only on the lookout for them.