Dear Diary...

Here's the latest scoop.

Dean came up with a good idea. There's a lawyer in the little village where we live, who's done some little jobs for us before. We took our lawsuit complaint to him to prepare a response.

One small problem has the sharp point knocked off it anyway.

Still no good word on a vehicle.

We borrowed one from my best friend's son. One which he is not using and has no plates or insurance on it.

Frustrating part of it is that the boy it belongs to has become a petulant child about it. We've tried to return it, but that doesn't seem to be what he wants. He's playing mind games with my friend, trying to get her to pay for the insurance and plates for his other vehicle, and she's not willing. We are willing to get the one we're using legal, but we're becoming pawns in their chess game. Not that we had time for more trouble in our lives.

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Last night I made it back to work. Several of the residents asked where I'd been (I'm usually full time there), and I just smiled and hugged them and said "ohhhh, personal problems". I don't share details because then they'd fret and worry over me.

One in particular... oh, lets call him Gordon...

I've often said that a nursing home (or assisted living facility, in this case) is more like a prison that people realize. And the staff serves the same purpose. We're keepers and caretakers.

There are residents who try to curry favor by being false and obsequious. There are those that behave well as long as they are getting little treats and cheats. There are those that couldn't care less about us, keep their mind on their own issues (these are very few). And there's always a "problem child" or two that simply wouldn't cooperate with us if they were on fire and we were trying to douse them.

Gordon is a problem child.

He's rank and miserable and demanding and manipulative. All of the frustrations he's accrewed through life he brings with him as heavy baggage and he lets it loose on us.

Nothing is beneath Gordon. He'll fart in your face or piss and shit his pants out of sheer spite.

He demands a urinal (which as a rule we do not use at our facility), and then demand that we un-pants him, hold his penis AND the urinal. No, it's not that he's not capable, but if you infer that he can and SHOULD do this for himself he'll begin a rant about how much money we make and how we're PAID to do this.

Laughing, I point out to him that his numbers are off a little, and that in truth, NO amount is enough for me to put up with him.

I do get frustrated with him, but only for a flash. Mostly my frustration is that he'll really cut off his own nose to spite his face. He rages at his family, but I tell him at least they thought enough of him to put him in a good place. He then rages that they dropped him here and forgot about him, calling his daughter a bitch. Pretty harsh, I'd say.

Finally I gave up on being "decent, kind, proffesional nurse" to him. He's totally suspicious of kindness.

So I decided to show him what sort of skills I'VE learned over the years, caring for a nasty old Viet Nam vet and a Detroit street kid and some rank old prison guard and my drunken father and neurotic mother. And some of the skills I learned having raised a few teenagers in my time.

He complained that he had a cut on his foot. He's a diabetic so I was alert to it. "How'd you get that?" I asked (concerned at first)..

"YOU probably did it last time you were in here!" he yells.

"Oh! Well, I guess I shoulda' aimed HIGHER", I shoot back.

One night while I was helping him get to the bathroom, and he and I were in the midst of full out warfare, he finally yelled at me that all I do is argue. I was mulling this over, when I realized that when I wasn't talking I wasn't argueing. So... Finally he began to demand "WHAT? You ain't TALKIN' to me now, Huh? Well, I HAD somethin' to say, but you ain't LISTENING.."

I looked up, surprised, and said "Yes, I am talking to you! Now, pick up your foot so I can get your shoe on..."

"Well, if you was listenin', I'd have said 'you're a nice lady, but you're too BOSSY".

I laughed. "Gordon, I raised teenagers. You're right. I'm pretty darn stubborn. God knows how those kids might have turned out if I hadn't been stubborn".

Last night he said "I need you tomorrow. I need a shave".

I shaved him last time and I think he was shocked because I'm pretty good at it. I've taken care of lots of men in my day.

Then Gordon winks and says "Maybe I'll shave you, too".

"Good, Gordy... we'll make it a party".