Fun Facts

Have A Happy Thanksgiving!

Did You Know… 

Although Thanksgiving was celebrated by the early settlers to the country in 1621, it wasn’t an official holiday until 200 years later. When Abe Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863, it was thanks to the tireless efforts of a magazine editor named Sarah Josepha Hale. Her other claim to fame? She also wrote the nursery rhyme, “Mary had a Little Lamb.”

91% of Americans eat turkey on Thanksgiving. Californians consume the most turkey in the U.S. on Thanksgiving Day!

The First Thanksgiving lasted for three days.

20% of cranberries eaten are eaten on Thanksgiving.

Pumpkin pie didn’t become a staple until the second Thanksgiving.

According to the American Pie Council (yes, there is one), the flavor of pie you like will describe your personality.

If you love…………………………………. You are likely to describe yourself as…
Apple Pie:                                    Independent, realistic and compassionate
Pecan Pie:                                    Thoughtful and analytical
Chocolate Pie:                              Loving
Pumpkin Pie:                              Funny and independent

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!!


Hey Buddy, Come Here

We all have that one resident-the one who touches the caregiver’s life in way that can not be explained. This is the case with a gentleman we nicknamed “Pop”; who moved into the facility in late October.  Dementia had taken control of his thoughts causing him to need total care. One thing Pop could do very well was….talk. The man loved to talk!

Let me share a little background to help you know the man we all loved and understand the power of interaction between caregiver and patient.

Pop spent his entire life working as a Game Warden  – he loved the outdoors which made his job the perfect fit for his life. His side hobby was rebuilding classic cars and tinkering with his own 97 short-bed Ford Ranger.  Pop believed in stretching his dollar as far as it could be stretched and then some, so much so, people would say “he is so tight, he squeaks when he walks”  If a new fuel pump was $69.99 at one store, he would travel 25 miles to save eight cents!

As Pop aged, he needed a little help with pulling transmissions, starters and other such big jobs . When seeking someone to help him out, he would call around and ask ” Hey Buddy, how much would you charge to help me for about two hours today?”  If Pop thought the price was too high, he would reply,” Let me think on it get back to you.” He would then proceed down his list, calling each- “Hey Buddy, how much would you charge to help me for about two hours today?”.  He would then say, “Let me get back to you……”.

Sadly, Pop began to show signs of dementia shortly after his retirement. He and his wife , Sarah, lived alone in a very rural area, with their sons living in a distant city.  Sarah did the best she could, managing the house,  finances, grocery shopping, lawn care and every other task associated with every-day life.  The day finally came for her to reach out to her children for assistance; describing herself as ‘worn out, worn down and exhausted”.  Within hours, Sarah and Pop were in the car, headed to the city to stay with their oldest son, Jerry.

Once everyone was settled in, Jerry saw a side of his father he had never seen before -a man who was aggressive when Sarah tried to help him shower and “get him cleaned up” as she called it.  Jerry realized that the family was not equipped to handle Pop, for fear of him hurting Sarah  due to the progression of the disease process.  It was at that point, Pop moved into the facility and a new chapter for everyone involved would be written.

Oh how the staff loved Pop! He would call out, “Hey Buddy, come here. How much would you charge to put this started in? ”      “Hey Buddy, come here, let me talk to you for a minute. How much are we looking at for the muffler and the tailpipe?”    The staff, including myself would name our price which varied greatly- some would say $200 cash, others would say $15.00,- whatever the price was Pop would reply: “I have to think on it. When do I have to let you know?

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Maya Angelou

Twenty minutes would pass, Pop would call out again- repeating the same as before. Again the staff would reply with their prices, leaving Pop to think on it each and every time.  Like clockwork, every day, every 15-20 minutes or so ( unless he was napping), Pop was always bidding out his labor needs. The days he wanted to go in great detail about his automotive concerns, the staff would sit down with him and talk “car parts” with him, until he dozed off.

Then came Thursday. As I walked past Pop, he called out…“Hey Buddy, come here, I want to ask you something. How much would you charge to put a starter in a pickup truck? ”  Without hesitation, I gave him a price of $650 to which he replied, “Let me think about that. Is that for parts and everything? I just have to think on it..”       The rest of the day, Pop dozed on and off, didn’t eat much for dinner and just seemed “not right”. The nurses assessed him finding his overall vitals being within normal limits, no issues noted. As the evening wore on, Pop declined further causing the nurses to send him out to the hospital.

Friday morning, Jerry came to my office. I could tell by his facial expression, this was not going to be good.      “ Dad’s not going to make it. He is in heart failure, kidney failure and a whole list of other things that the doc says aren’t good. We will be lucky if he makes it through the weekend. I appreciate everything you and your staff have done to give his life meaning and purpose.”        We talked about the great life Pop had lived, about his cars and farm…….we just talked.  I asked hos Sarah was holding up under the present circumstance and of course the answer was not good.

Later that day, I stopped by the hospital to check in on the family and on Pop. Sarah was beyond devastation; but there she sat, holding Pop’s hand as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Pop laid perfectly still in the bed, eyes closed.      When the time came for me to slip out, I leaned over to Pop, and said….” Hey Pop, I am going to drop that price I gave you on the starter job. Going to drop it down to $5, everything included.”   His eyes opened and he softly mumbled something……… The family was in shock at his reaction as was I.  Just as quickly as he opened his eyes, he closed them again.     Saturday morning, Pop passed away.


The reason I chose to write about Pop was this: Those working in health care field need to know that those under their care, responsive or not, confused or not- every encounter matters.    The nursing assistant that sat with Pop and rebuilt the engine for $50 dollars didn’t know how to change oil in her own car, but carried the conversation with him and gave him a sense of purpose. The nurse who would seek Pop out to make conversation about cars- gave  Pop and opportunity to be the man he was.

Health care workers have hard jobs. Yet, be it known that the work they do matters.  If I could say one thing to any health care provider regardless of rank or file, it would be : What you do and say to every patient MATTERS. Your kindness and compassion may go unnoticed, but as evidenced by Pop, it is remembered by the patient.  Dementia, Alzheimer’s,  strokes- whatever the diagnosis a patient may have-  you touch their life when you take the time just to listen and have a conversation. Many people would have thought Pop was just a confused man who was stuck in the past- but he wasn’t. The diagnosis is not the identity of  any person- the time spent with the resident will reveal who they really are. Find the time to know your patient and be present in their lives. 

Pop, my staff and I will never forget you. You mattered to us and thank you for allowing us to matter to you.   I have to go for now Pop, but I will carry your memory always.

Hey buddy, come here………………….













The Old Oak Tree

The other night as I was trying to fall asleep, my mind began to wander. Without warning, memories of my childhood home surged like never before. I am not sure if I had fallen asleep leaving my subconscious to have a hay-day, or rather, in my slumber something triggered me to think of days and places long ago. The next morning, the images of places and things from the 1970’s and 1980’s were both crystal clear and extremely vivid.

You see, my father was a Southern Baptist minister in the deep south. We moved quite a bit, covering almost every Southern State- going wherever a new preacher was needed (and voted in).  Being a young child, maybe 6 or 7 ,  I can recall moving to a small town in Alabama, which excited my siblings and I because the new Parsonage had more bedrooms and the church had a small jungle gym playground. It was an exciting time for us!

After we had been there for a while, my brothers discovered a huge, sky-high- tall Oak tree that had so many limbs, which made it very desirable for us kids to climb. Naturally my brothers could climb like monkeys and would swing off its branches- jumping to the ground from what I thought was “way t0o high to be doing that”. Our mother would yell from the screened in porch,” Boys stop doing that before you break your neck. Are you watching your sisters? Boys????”  They would reply, “Yes maa’m, they are here somewhere.”  ( The” somewhere” part was whispered only loud enough to be heard by God because they surely would not tell our mother the truth.)


So, to make the truth more promising, one of my brilliant minded brothers made a decision. ” Okay, since we have to watch you, you have to come up the tree with us and do what we do so mom doesn’t make us stop doing it because we have to watch you. If you are doing it too, then we are watching you do it.”              Sure, that makes all the sense in the world- maybe to a 7 year old girl.  My sister who was older and so much more mature, made her own plans to go inside and “go to her room“- which was cool back then.  Off she went while I studied the giant, bark filled, super big and round, mountain top style tree.  Could I, a small little kid climb such a tree without breaking my neck which my mother had already predicted ?    I watched the boys climb higher and higher and higher eventually losing sight of them amongst the leaves and branches.  Only one brother waited patiently for my ascension into the heavens- my twin, Michael.

“Come on Jess…..just come on. It’s just a tree. Trees are fun!” . I caved under the pressure and started my upward journey.  We climbed higher and higher, leaving the ground further behind us. Without thinking about it, I glanced down….wayyyyy down.            Without warning, my little heart skipped a beat.  Suddenly, I froze.  Like ” froze froze” in mid air, close to where God lives,……wayyyyy up there.

Then it happened. Snapping branches. The sound of something falling heavily through the rustling leaves.  Swoooosh.  It had happened j just like mom said- he was gonna break his neck.            I looked down to see my older brother Wayne, laying flat on his back.          Laughing. Hysterically.         THEN….     I heard my mother’s voice.

“Daniel Wayne!!!!!! You better get up from that ground! Those are school clothes. The rest of you get down from that tree and get to your chores.   NOW.”

My brothers, swinging like monkeys, flew past…grabbing from branch to branch, jumping to the ground.   Then silence.  Dead silence.              ” Hey! Wait for me!……hellloooooo….wait for me!!!”    Silence.    The ground was so far away. The closest branch was at least 5 miles away. I clung to the tree as if it were our wedding dance….yelling for my brothers………climb-a-tree


I can recall the event of that day like it was yesterday, even though it has been well over 45 years ago.    Memories are for the making, almost certain never to be forgotten, regardless of advanced age, or the disease process.

Dementia may cause some to forget when they had their last meal or even how to feed themselves, but some things are not forgotten.  I have sat with residents and listened to their stories… what if they think the event is happening in the present instead of 45 years ago?  Have we ever considered that when a resident is looking  for a parent, believing they are still alive, that maybe it is a memory that sparked the thought?  Have we given attention to when a resident is constantly “trying to catch the bus”, that maybe they rode the bus to work, made friends along the way  and are missing that experience?          Not every misplaced memory or life timeline is “confusion”.   

 We as health care professionals  lack the art of true listening. We consider the ramblings of the dementia patient as “agitation” and “cure” it with medication to “reduce anxiety.”   Take Betty for instance. Betty stays in my office all day long, shuffling my papers, hitting buttons on the copier and inserting herself into conversations.  If I leave my coffee unattended for a split second, she drinks it.     It can be very challenging to maintain my sense of calmness when she moves a certain document or jumbles the 50 pages that were in order when they printed on the copier.      But here’s the deal.  Betty was/is a licensed therapist; a former educator, and an ordained minister.  When guest arrive in my office, Betty is no longer a dementia patient- she is there for them; to offer her services as a counselor.   All of Betty’s memories are of the good she has done over the past 70 years.  For me to discount her who rob her of the very memories that she is bringing back to life. She may have forgotten who she is, where she lived, or may not even know that she is a dementia facility.  But she is not forgotten who she is.

We all need to listen a little closer to people and not call it “confusion”. We should listen and maybe, just maybe, we can catch a glimpse of the person- the real person who raised a family, had a career, took vacations, traveled abroad and lived their life the same we live our today.   See the person, not the disease or disorder. Listen to their stories because their stories are their memories being retold.           


How did the old Oak tree story end, you ask? Well, my dad just happened to walking from the church and heard my panic and fearful screams.   I can still see him, standing below the tree, looking up and asking…”Sweety, how did you get up there?   Hang on honey, I’m coming up to get you.  There  is nothing to be afraid of as long as you hang on” .

Once he had safely extracted me and we were safely on the ground, he knelt down and said…” Jessi, remember this day. Never follow the leader when you know you aren’t ready to follow. Don’t climb trees if you can’t get down.  Always remember that.”.

Forty five years later, I remember. Forty five years from now, if I am in a nursing home yelling out…..”Help me down”….”Get me out of this treeeeeeeeee”…. don’t medicate me, let me enjoying my memory.





Understanding When It’s When

Dementia robs people of so much….their memories,their lives and relationships. Some days it is difficult to sit behind my desk and talk with loved ones about the progression of the disease process. I listen to their words, but can clearly see the heart that has been broken……The question everyone asks is,” how will I know when it’s time?” I always have to and ask for clarification …”when what?”  This is where things become very sticky…..

” When do know when it’s time; I mean how long can a person live with dementia? When do they stop swallowing? I read that dementia causes people to forget how to eat and I guess they forget to swallow? Is that true?  If it is, when do you decide to put a feeding tube in? How long can a person live if they don’t eat?  I guess what I am asking is, when is when?

Such  loaded questions. How does anyone really know how to answer? We can recite the scientific data that we know, explain the process of death and dying and lecture for hours on dementia….but to answer when is when?   When does one decide to stop treating with antibiotics, IV fluids and or place a feeding tube?        One person defined the choice by saying ” It is a matter of quantity vs quality. ”     In some ways, I agree with the  statement, but every situation is unique to itself.          I do not think we should define ” quality of life” based on a disease process. Some dementia patients have the best time in the state of mind they are in. They laugh, sing, dance, and are content with the world dementia has created.   I have also seen a 103 year old woman perform the ” jitterbug” on the dance floor!  So, I do not think we can define life by ” quantity vs quality.”   elderly

What I do think helps to determine ” when is when” could be the individuals physical state…I would not propose placing a feeding tube or prolonging life in a person who is feeble, fragile and failing. It is not about their age, diagnosis or mental sharpness but rather, about the whole person and the state of their body. Modern technology and advances in the medical field has allowed us to ” live forever” with mechanical machines, devices and gadgets.  Ventilators, life support machines and other devices can keep any of us alive…..but where is the defining line to unplug them and allow nature to take its natural course?         In these situations we wait for a medical doctor to walk in and say ” this person is brain-dead and is only alive because of the machines.”  At that moment, all hope is gone, lost and it’s over.   That is the true determining factor….all hope is gone.

  If only it were as simple with dementia. We do not know what the patient can and does understand, nor do we know what their awareness of themselves or others really is either.    Hence the quandary.

The best advice I can give anyone is simply to always follow your heart and let the decisions made reflect what your heart feels.  Dementia has robbed so much from the victim’s family; the last thing needed  is to feel guilty about the decisions made  at the end of life.

I have a family member that tells me weekly how much money he has in the bank and how many months he can afford to continue paying for his wife’s care. His question to me is, “What if my wife out-lives the money?”   I explain the Medicaid system and other state and federal assistance programs to him to which he offers another problem .

” You see Jessi, I can’t get public assistance because I still have money in CDs, IRA’s and a few stocks. I won’t qualify for help from the agencies.  You see, I can’t spend every dime I have on Bessie because I still have to live after she is gone. I’m not talking a lot of money, maybe a little over $100,000 dollars, but too much to get Medicaid.  I’m only 73 and I am hoping I have set aside enough for myself.  Before Bessie got dementia, we have over $300,000. Now we barely have a little over $130,000.   See my problem ? “

Hmmm. I do see the problem, but I do not know the answer or how to solve it.  My standard answer is simply, “Let’s just take one day at a time and cross each bridge as we come to the crossing.”                    nc_longest_footbridge_1_sk_141001_12x5_1600 I know such a loose comment offers no comfort, but I really don’t know what else to say. Should I encourage him to continue spending what money he has so he will qualify for financial assistance ?  Should I encourage him to take his wife home so he can save money, knowing he is not able to provide the constant care she needs ?  Should I offer to have hospice evaluate his wife, or place her on palliative care which would decrease medical bills, aggressive treatments and eliminate costly medications?       I just don’t know.

There  are so many factors to the loaded question as to “when is when”.  Maybe the best answer is……”Let’s cross each bridge as we come to the crossing……..or maybe “Let’s go through the tunnel when we come to it”….at least there is hope in the light at the end of the tunnel.



This Is My “Now”

Some days dealing with dementia patients can be either challenging yet rewarding, or downright difficult. I often tell family members to “stay in the moment” with their loved one, focusing on the topic regardless of how outlandish or far-fetched as it may seem. It seems to me that most dementia residents  focus on ” going home”, when they last ate (3 days is the standard comment ), “taking care of the babies” and going to the bus stop.  I encourage staff and family to use Naomi Feil’s validation methods of reassuring the resident that all is okay, and validating what they are saying.  Arguing with a dementia patient is truly a moot point.  I highly recommend reading some of the research on the Feil Method and applying  it when dealing with dementia patients. For more information ,  go to the website :  .

I made a huge mistake last week, using the validation method…..let me explain.

Sarah is a new resident, but does not have dementia.She has terminal brain cancer. The progression of the disease process has taken from her the ability to communicate effectively; often losing the word she meant to say before it is verbalized. She may mean to say, “ I need to go to the bathroom” but it comes out ” I need red elephants.”      So to provide care to her, the staff have to use the process of elimination  : “Do you need a drink?  Do you need your pain pills? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”    Once the need has been identified, it is met …it just may take a few minutes to arrive at the right answer.    It can be a frustrating process for her and for those providing care.

Here is the thing.          Sarah at times, can speak clearly, with intent and purpose, saying exactly what she means to say. Her move to the facility was not a very happy moment for her and she had no problem expressing her dislike for being here or for those of us who helped with the process.  She had no trouble finding choice words to describe exactly how she felt about being in a place with a bunch of  “old people”. ( Sarah is only 59 years old.). She was extremely critical of every component of the facility. The building was not clean enough; the food was horrible; the staff was stupid, stupid stupid and the old people were OLD.   Her list of reasons not to stay in such a place would take days for me to transcribe or even begin explaining.   After about an hour of  listening to her and knowing that she had some neurological deficits, I contributed her complaints to the brain tumor as opposed to her true feelings.

” Sarah, I understand what you are saying and I am going to have someone come in and clean your room again and have the kitchen send you up something else to eat. I personally will see to your needs and try to make you feel comfortable as we can. It is going to be okay  Sarah, everything is going to be okay.”    

Without blinking an eye, Sarah stood up, looked me directly in the eye and said ” I call bull sh**.  How in the hell is everything okay when I am dying of brain cancer and you, YOU, don’t understand anything about me. You wrote up some papers, my family signed them and here I am in this place to die with a bunch of strangers and you tell me everything is okay? Bullsh**.  Why don’t you try living my life and see how you like it? Before this happened, I had my own life and didn’t bother anybody and now I am in this hell-hole waiting to die and you tell me  it’s okay. You know what? This is my NOW and I hate it and I hate you.   Now go get me my zebras because you have made my friggin head pound. I have brain cancer you know, so do you think I can get some relief ? Get out of my room.”                                         Talk about being put in my place.

My interaction with Sarah has made me think about how we interact with dementia patients over-all and how we respond to them.  When someone is looking for their wife of 60 years and we know she has passed away, we offer an excuse to the resident. ” Oh she is at the beauty parlor”, which in turn, calms the resident and redirects his thoughts from searching for her.  But what if, just what if he wanted to talk about his wife and grieve his loss? What if he already knows, deep inside, that she has died and is simply wanting to recount a memory about her?     Sometimes it is difficult to discern what the underlying meaning is when spoken by a person who has cognitive deficits.  Trying to figure out what is being said, is what is meant and is what is inferred and implied, is as confusing as this sentence is!

I learned a lot from Sarah during  that single interaction. I now know that everything is not going to be okay, just because I said so.    Human beings whether cognitively impaired or not, still have emotional outpourings that are real, not imagined, nor a figment of their imaginations.   Their ” now” should not dismiss who they were, how the feel or have felt, or what they are saying to us and wish to have understood.

Think about it, right now where you are. How will your ” now” moment be interpreted should you one day lose the ability to express yourself verbally?     WordOfTheYearNOW

Guarding The Front Door

Every occupation has certain expected risk associated with it. Look at how many convenience stores employees are harmed in a robbery gone bad; or how many police officers are shot in the line of duty….or how many construction workers sustain major injury while on the job.    Even the friendly mailman risks being bitten by a dog….but what risks is associated with being a long-term health care administrator?   What is the worst possible thing that could go wrong?

Well, to answer that, let me share  what happened on Monday in my building and how something very bad could have happened………

My office is located at the front door. I see  and greet every visitor, family member, guest and employee that comes and goes. Due to the volume of guests that frequent the facility, I may not always know who ” belongs” to which resident, but for the most part, I have a general idea.  I do at times, get thrown off when the” great-grandchild on Uncle Harry’s side twice removed and related by marriage” visits, but other than that, I know who’s who.

Monday. Let’s talk about what happened Monday.

While sitting at my desk, I see Bonnie  and Sandy  pass through the door. They greet me with the normal ” howdy-do” to which I exchange with a “hey ya’ll.”. Suddenly I hear a voice, coming from the doorway.

Glancing up, I see a woman…an oddly dressed, disheveled and very loud woman, standing in my doorway. A large Minnie Pearl style floppy hat, dark sunglasses, a trench coat and “jail issued slides” were the first thing that caught my attention.

Well hey! Are you interested in pornographic Bibles? I have a ton of pornographic Bibles that I am handing out. Do you like my shoes? I call them my jail slippers. I think they are nice for jail slippers. Do you like my hat? “  Before I could remotely gather my thoughts, stand up, or whip out my concealed carry sidearm…..she caught the attention of one of the male residents. .. ” Do you want to by my boyfriend? I need a boyfriend to string up. I am here to spread joy and cheer and visit”.  With that, she turned and walked with purpose toward one of the dining rooms as if she had done this a million times before.

Jennifer,the  Director of Nursing, had been in the office as all of this was taking place. I quickly whispered, “Which family does she belong to? Could it be one of the recent move in folks and we just don’t know her?   Without hesitation , she replied, ” I don’t know but she is nutty as a fruit cake. Pornographic BIBLES...really????”

Without second thoughts Jen and I sprung into action.  Well, not really.    I was still not sure if  this lady was a relative of a resident that I just hadn’t met and the last thing I wanted to do was call the police on an actual guest!  I had to be sure.          Jennifer and I ” tailed” her into the dining room, watching as she sat down with a group of ladies who had just finished lunch.    We observed from the Charge Nurse’s Desk, safely behind a glass window.

” Did you ladies just have lunch? Did you have golosh? ( I have no idea how to spell golosh, nor do I know what it is, nor do I intend on ever eating it, but hopefully you know what it is and will overlook my inability to spell it).

” I love these types of homes. I enjoy being full of cheer. Oh look, a kitty cat. What a pretty kitty cat. Nice kitty cat. Did you eat golosh today? I love golosh. My aunt Maddy made the best chicken………”

By now, I think or am fairly sure that this lady is a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. but I am not positive, so I enlist the Charge Nurse to go investigate further. ” Go introduce yourself, ask if you can help her and ask who she is here to see” I whisper .

” Hi, my name is Donna and I am the Charge Nurse. Who are you seeing today?” she asked.

The lady, engaged immediately with Donna. ” I am here to spread cheer. My aunt Maddy was in a place like this. You know what happened to her? She died. She made the most fabulous fried chicken. You know how she did it? She browned it…..”

Donna was clearly in my line of view and I could tell that she was not too happy with me for sending her into a crazy conversation. She was smiling and nodding along with  the crazy lady as she rambled on about Maddy’s fried chicken.

Jennifer is pretty no-nonsense and had heard enough. She loudly exclaimed…” Jessi, this chick is mental and I recommend you call the authorities.”.   Before I could agree, crazy lady jumped up from the dining room chair, waved goodbye…stopping briefly at the desk to say ” Goodbye my new friends” .       Off she went, back out the front door, leaving us  standing there, looking at one another as if to say, “what just happened?”

We chuckled at the insanity of the moment and quickly scattered , returning to our duties. Hours passed.  People came by and left the facility without incident. Pet therapy dogs stopped in, the Library on Wheels dropped off new books….family members came and went.

Just a few minutes after 4pm, Jennifer appeared in  the doorway announcing she  knew much more about  the “crazy-lady”.       Apparently, the Library on Wheels folks knew of and about her. She is indeed ” off her medication”, attends any AA, NA or other organized meeting that provides food, simply to enjoy the feast of donuts and coffee, and  she lives in her car.  She wears a variety of costumes/outfits including Bunny outfits, Top Hat and Trench coats and  often wears doctor’s scrubs and lab coats.      Okay, the bunny ears and floppy hats made me laugh, but there is nothing funny about wearing scrubs…or masquerading as a medical person. To me that is scary. 

Think about the size of your local hospital. When you walk in, normally, if you look like you know where you are going, no one stops you. You have the whole hospital to explore without question.  Nursing homes and assisted living facilities are no different. We are public places, yet private. Not just any Joe blow should get past the front desk….nor be able to wander through the facility. It is the obligation and duty of the person sitting at the front door, whether it be a receptionist, security guard, administrator or head nurse to insure the safety and well-being of those inside.

Let us never forget Carthage, North Carolina, March 29, 2009. A gunman walked through the nursing home opening fire on anyone he saw, killing 8 innocent people. Remember, most of those killed that day ,were elderly residents.  Granted that incident was spurred by domestic violence, the gunman was looking for his wife who was on  locked unit………but it could have happened anywhere, any time…to any one of us.

I dodged a bullet on Monday with  the crazy lady. My slow response to stopping her and the second guessing of myself as to who she was, could have  spiraled out of control.  Guarding the front door and protecting those in my care and the employees is not only my duty, but my obligation as well simply because of my title.    The lesson we can all learn from Monday, is to know who is who, and rather than second guessing, simply ask the person in question.   If she can walk into my facility, she can walk into yours……..