Change

Why is it that when you break up with someone, move, or change jobs, you always remember the good times instead of the bad? Or maybe it’s just me? It could be the uncertainty of what I’m moving to that is the cause for this phenomenon. I have spent the last nine months caring for the elderly at a skilled nursing facility, my first job out of PT school. Tomorrow I begin work at the local hospital, in an outpatient orthopedic setting. While there are parts of the job I definitely will not miss, I am feeling a little conflicted about leaving behind the relationships I formed with my amazing co-workers and my patients at the Care Center.

Perhaps the thing that is hardest to say goodbye to is the incredible resource of wisdom I found in my patients. I had the honor of conversing with people who have lived for over a hundred years, and still maintain fulfilling lives. Some of my patients have lived in this area for 50 years or more, and started a ranch from scratch after honeymooning with their sweetheart in the back country of Yosemite. I’ve worked with authentic cowboys, one in particular that never wore anything other than boots on his feet and he was well in his 90’s. It was always interesting to me to hear how my patients got here to this remote valley, between the Eastern Sierras and the White Mountains. One told me “I grew up in Long Beach, but my mother moved my sisters and I here to keep us away from the boys.” She lived the rest of her teenage years on a ranch, and then never left.

I witnessed marriages that are over 60 years old, yet still have the spark of a new courtship. I saw pain of grown children when their parents could no longer take care of themselves and hard decisions had to be made. I heard about living through the Great Depression, stories from a prison and WW2 nurse, and how one of my patients left the convent to pursue a career as a blues singer in Vegas.

Some of my patients couldn’t tell me their stories. They were long forgotten, locked too tight in part of their brain they could no longer access. Those patients could make my day with just a glimmer of recognition in their eyes.

I thrived on the determination of our short-term rehab patients, who were anxious to get back up and running after their total joint replacement; some still live alone despite being in their 80’s and 90’s. Lots of lessons were learned from my patients, but perhaps the most important was that the will of the spirit makes the difference between can and cannot.

I recently asked one 100 year old how he managed to live so long. “You got to keep it interesting,” he replied.

Now, that’s something to live by.

-Katy