People don't care what you know until they know that you care!

It's been a while since I've been able to participate in anything and I've wanted to be well enough to get back involved here. I started writing a piece in my head about a month ago and just never found the energy or discipline to get it into print and onto the website. However, since I started this internal dialog I've completely changed my mind. Maybe I'll write what I've been thinking another time.  For now...

Nursing Home Week ended recently. I imagine everyone is tired. So much extra happens during that week each year. I was at the doctors' office a couple of weeks ago reading a local home's newsletter while in the waiting room. (You marketing people might want to take note—I was not the only one sitting there reading this.) One of the articles was fondly reminiscing about Nursing Home Week.

The writer's favorite memory was of a water fight. In his story he remarked “(of course we did not shoot the residents or throw balloons at them.)” My question is WHY NOT?

He even went on to mention that one of the residents was sitting within the line of fire and accidentally got bombed with a water balloon and just loved it. (This should be a clue.)

Hmmm? This is a fantastic home which promotes Pioneer Culture Change. And yet, clearly there is still some US and THEM.

When I was first involved in nursing home management a lot of people would tell me that I was unrealistic. Oh Jamie, that is not going to work. Or best—insurance won't cover that.

I'm sure I would have given residents water pistols. Those who know me would probably realize that even someone on bed rest who wanted to play might be sitting with a water gun under the covers waiting for that unsuspecting housekeeper.

While I was writing this today it dawned on me that no resident had written any articles for the newsletter. In fact, I think it was written entirely by department directors. Now there we go again—that's two US and THEMs. I wonder if a housekeeper or nursing assistant wouldn't have a pretty good story to tell...or a resident or family member?

Little bit at a time—we just have to change our thinking and let our actions follow.

I'm back. Jamie


We have been telling those who ask that it's our understanding that the PIONEERING CONCEPTS are really only two things--choices and relationships. It all comes with a passion and a mission.  When we started this site this new concept was becoming the norm.  It seems now that as an industry we're falling back into old habits.  Please stop and take a look at your programs.  How can you make improvement?  Keep doing the next right thing.  Jamie

For a list of past Knock Knock Tips please write to Jamie@potterclayandblessings.org



Friends have asked us to “hurry up and finish the book!” The following is a preview...

On the Other Side
by Stephen M Schaefer and Jamie Johnson Ziegler

The Book: Part ONE Introducing Jamie & Stephen

JAMIE

I don't know where to begin.

There are so many beginnings to this story. It seems to be a cycle of starts and stops, bumps and hills. Maybe everyones life if like this. I wouldn't know. This experience seems extreme. The journal begins with “I used to work here and now I live here.” This is a nursing home. The year is 2004.

I was born in 1954 in Galesburg, Illinois. Maybe the story begins in 1971 when my friend Jan said, “Come on over to the nursing home. They'll hire anybody.” And they did. Making toast before high school at Knox Manor was one beginning. At that time I never dreamed I'd travel the state as a Quality Assurance Nurse and monitor 31 nursing homes. Who knew I'd bee-bop around the U.S.A. providing workshops and seminars on nursing home needs. The last several years I worked as an administrative trouble shooter charged with fixing some of Illinois worst nursing homes. I've been compared by the local press to Patch Adams—a health care professional who defied tradition and worked outside of the box. I'm not a traditional thinker. I take risks, go the extra mile, and look for alternatives when others give up. I know I'm different.

Of course, I never planned to get sick and didn't foresee my failing health. It didn't just happen—but I was too busy to recognize it. By the time the illness surpassed my denial I was near death. I needed help. I moved in here—at the nursing home where I was working when I crashed.

Maybe the beginning came about four months into the stay. I think that was a lightening bolt transformation for my friend, Steve and me.

“Please take me home!” I begged. “I hate it here!” He explained how I needed to stay until the doctor thought I'd be safe to leave. He reminded me how dependent my life was on the oxygen and medicine that could only be provided right now as a nursing home resident. Steve told me how good I was doing in the weight loss program and finally left when I'd conceded and calmed.

As he drove away that night I realized that we had completely changed roles. I was no longer his boss or even just his friend. He had become family and I had just done what I'd seen scores—if not hundreds of nursing home residents do to their families over the past thirty years. I didn't do it on purpose.

I hoped he didn't have the same reaction as did the families I'd watched. Most kept their emotions in check in the room—explained rationally why being in the nursing home was better than coming home and then got about as far as my office and fell apart. They wrestled with guilt and shame and all sorts of confusion about leaving them in a place they didn't want to be; where their horror stories about the care—or lack of care—probably weren't too exaggerated—went home alone—came back another day and started the same cycle over.

I think that night was the beginning. The transformation from staff to resident—in charge to dependent—was complete.

I used to work here and now I live here. This is my story.

STEPHEN

It's been less than twenty-four hours since I sat in that office and listened to her convince the last of the specialists that she was ready to discharge. “It's not your knowledge I'm worried about...” Dr. Schwartz told her. At that point he simply stopped addressing her and looked at me. Her mind was made up. She was not going back to the nursing home. The pulmonologist relented and gave me instructions on how to take care of her—keep her safe—from herself as well as from the germs of the world. He increased the nightly oxygen usage and left the medicines as complicated as they'd already been; told me not to take her any place where she'd be exposed to lots of people and not to let her breathe cold air. It was December 22. We live in the Midwest. It's cold.

She'd lost over 100 pounds in the special cardiac fitness program and had herself believing she was well. She wasn't. I knew that. And so I took her home—finally—like she'd been begging me to do for months.

It might have been the end of our nursing home experience —the discharge—and I'm constantly needing to remind myself to keep it simple—but so much needs done. And so few people seem to be moving through the steps to make it happen.

There are home health nurses, therapists, respiratory therapy, the office of Rehab Services, Medicaid, doctors, the pharmacy—so many things—so many agencies—hoops to jump through, contacts needed. There are forms to complete. It's a maze. Still, here we sit with a pile of medicine cards in a plastic bag and a list of what to take when that doesn't quite match. How would I know?

At the November care plan meeting I was promised teaching, help understanding. It never happened. I'd like to think our experience was unique. I know better. Visiting almost daily for the past seven months brought me into an entirely new world—the family.

Several months ago I joined Jamie's sisters in encouraging her to keep a journal. She needed an outlet for her emotional prison and feelings of helplessness. I listened and supported as best as possible—probably better than some—judging from the things I hear at the Family Council meetings.

While the journal began as a personal release it gradually became apparent that our story might help others. We both realized that the nursing home—when viewed from this new perspective of family and resident rather than as staff opened the door to a new world. We'd gone through the looking glass. We were on the other side.

This is my story.

On the Other Side is a novel that Steve and Jamie are writing together using stories from the journals they kept while she was a nursing home resident and for the first year of her stay at home. The two have secured an editor, are hoping to complete the book soon and are interviewing publishers.

If you would like to have copies of other literature from potterclayandblessings.org please write and ask. We have available the speeches written for the house and senate hearings about living in a nursing home. The Nosey State Lady series which is mentioned in several of our seminars is also available in pieces and other works are in progress.