Notes from volunteering

I've been neglecting my blog. I was thinking I could save my writing time and energy for the statement of purpose I've been working on for the nursing program I really really really want to attend. (Remember the person you had an absurd crush on in junior high or highschool? I have that crush on this program. I reeeeaaaaalllly want to get in.)

I'm come to think, however, that they are two very different kinds of writing, and actually, by neglecting to record my thoughts about my volunteering and my [thus far frustratingly fruitless] job search, my head is just full of more noise. So, I'm gonna get some of that noise out.

Volunteering is still great. It's fascinating. I've learned people's crazy stories and life histories. The TBI (traumatic brain injury) folks are the ones with the most to tell. One man, Jonny, who can't talk at all, by pointing the index finger of his one mobile hand at his alphabet board, told me that he's 31, and hasn't been able to talk or mostly move since he had his spinal cord injury at age 19 as a result of attempting suicide by jumping off a bridge. He's developed this obsession with blue M&M's, which he told me he wanted to use to get high. One of the staff members uses blue M&M's to motivate Jonny, giving him the M&M's whenever he does all of his exercises. I think I solved the mystery of Jonny's obsession with them for myself this afternoon. While listening to _On The Media_, I heard, as an example of sensationalist health reporting in general, that there was an irresponsible news report about a study done on a few rats that had some symptoms of paralysis lessened because they had the chemical that's in blue gatorade and m&m's injected. So of course a bunch of people freaked out and thought it was their last hope. Depressing.

[sample of this type of story here:
http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/07/28/spinal.injury.blue.dye/index.html]

Another man in the TBI crew I'd observed doing passive range of motion for his left side with his right hand. That is, when exercises involve one side of the body then the other, he'll do the exercise on his right side, then move his left hand or leg with his right hand when it's time for the other side. It's a lot more work, and it's impressive. No one else does it. I told him so, and he said, "well, I want to play guitar again." So far, he's regained some control over mobility only in his left shoulder in the 8 years since he had his stroke.

The people here are the absolute antidote to self-pity.

And there are strange things. There's a super-tall man, James, who spends his 4 hours there every Friday solving the same Christmas-themed jigsaw puzzle (maybe 200 pieces?) repeatedly. And I'm sure he does this the days I'm not there, too. He doesn't like to share his table, fastidiously finishes everything on his plate, in his cup, in his dessert bowl, and after wiping his mouth delicately with his napkin, he goes back to the puzzle. He doesn't interact with anyone, and he's silent, except while eating, during which he emits some otherworldly high-pitched noises, the production of which doesn't seem to require him moving his face at all.

There's a small, confused- and fragile-looking old woman, June, who tends to drift away from whatever's going on, except that she is able to concentrate very effectively if she's given paint and a brush. She doesn't require paper--one day, after the [cognitive] art activity had ended and most of the materials had been put away, we realized she'd been carefully painting the table for at least 5 minutes. She is probably the most passive person I've ever encountered. She answers every question, once she understands the words, with something to the effect of, "If you want me to."

There are two men with Down's syndrome in the morning group, one elderly, one middle-aged. They act in every way like petulant 8-year-olds, often exhibiting inappropriate attention-getting behavior. The middle-aged man is thoroughly devoted to a woman who is always there. That pair are inseparable, and squabble like children. I've used my parenting skills to decent effect with them. To the elderly one, who was pouting last week: "Fred, I know it was frustrating you weren't allowed to pass out weights at the beginning of class, but we'd love to have you help us with that in a few minutes when it's time. Do you want to come join us for exercises now?" He did.

A few weeks ago I was given the opportunity to help out downstairs with the highly structured group, which is made up of people with more significant dementia. We were playing a version of seated basketball, with a sad, deflated soccer ball (a staff member told me it's at least 8 years old), and I unthinkingly tossed the ball to the next person in the circle, rather than handing it to him. He caught it easily, and I remembered what we'd talked about in my Anatomy & Physiology class regarding different kinds of memory--declarative, explicit memory we store in the hippocampus, but muscle memory is stored in the cerebellum (and likely elsewhere, too lazy to look that up right now), and much of it can become reflexes. Catching a ball is one that was mentioned in our textbook. So we ended up playing toss, me to a client, back to me, to the next client, etc. It was amazing to watch. One woman repeatedly tossed me the ball off of her slender, long-fingered right hand with impressive grace. I asked her whether she'd played sports back in the day. She simply doesn't remember. But her ability to catch and throw seems unimpaired.

Finally, it's thrilling to be in a facility that uses all of the implements I learned about in my CNA course that can help people to do things more independently. For several of the people who have partial use of one hand only, at mealtimes there are utensils with wider, rubber grips and rubber non-skid mats to go under their plates. No one hurries anyone. This clearly makes people happier than having someone impatiently shovel food in their mouths.