Why do I work?

Sometimes I wonder why Juan and I do the type of work we do. We work long hours, weekends, holidays, 24/7. I come home exhausted with scratch marks, bruises and maybe even some bite marks. Most of the time it seems like the residents hate us as much as we resent the work and the hours. I get paid 9.69 an hour. Yes its work and I am thankful for that. However is my work really only worth that much? On a good day I feel like I am doing good in this world, that I am taking care of these people that would probably be dead without CNA's. But then on a bad day I feel like the world would be just fine without my life. Most of these people would rather be dead. Their family has abandoned them into my arms but they are without anything that previously brought them joy, so what is the point of living? Families rarely visit. Even on birthdays and holidays not every resident will have a visitor. Their family, the ones that they raised and took care of, no longer care. They no longer have their house, their memories, usually they no longer have their mind. Their only worry is if I will lay them down in bed and if the nurse has any cigarettes for them. Why should they go on living? Why should I go on working?
Is it worth it?
Many people I have to do everything for. They can no longer stand so I lift them out of bed and onto the toilet. Many cannot dress themselves so I choose out clothes and dress them. They cannot control their bowels so I clean them up and put a clean brief on them. Their hands cannot grasp so I comb their hair and spray some perfume on them. I then push them to the dining room. They cannot feed themselves so I take the silverware, cut their food and feed them. When they are finished I wipe their face and take them back to their room. They are tired so I lift them back into bed to rest for a bit. On shower days I take them to the shower room, I wash their hair and body, shave their face, put lotion on their skin and redress them. When they get lost and confused I try to comfort them, to be a companion, or a loving hand to hold. Its not always that simple. Some get aggressive when they are confused. They think that you are the enemy, you are trying to hurt them. That is when I get scratched, bit, and bruised. You would be surprised how hard a 90 year old 90 pound lady can grip. I try to just get my job done with the least amount of damage. But it is so frustrating. I am just there to help and to take care of them.


That is my little rant about work for the day. I do have these moments, few and far in between, that make me keep getting up so early and keep me doing my job. A resident will tell me thank you, will give me a hug, or tell me how much they love me. That's what keeps me going.