What Dementia Teaches Me About Patient Care
I am a very flinchy person. I plug my ears when I hear a toilet flush, I jump when I drop an object and it makes a loud noise, and I scream whenever someone sneaks up from behind me. You can imagine, then, how difficult it was for me to adjust to the concept of working with dementia patients during a night shift.
About 80% of dementia patients in residential or hospital care settings experience “sundowning”. Sundowning is exactly what it sounds like: when the sun goes down, patients start to experience hallucinations, paranoia, anxiety, restlessness, and agitation. They start to pace around, talk to themselves, or become combative. A patient who was perfectly normal when the sun was out suddenly turns into an entirely different person as soon as the sun sets. While the exact cause for sundowning is unknown, a few factors may trigger these episodes. Fading daylight can create confusing shadows and increase anxiety, and changes in the brain can alter a patient’s sleep-wake cycle. When I worked at night, almost all of my patients with dementia would scream, kick, yell, and even bite. I was never a day shift CNA, as I was in high school when I was working, so I would work weekend nights. I never got to see the real patient behind the dementia; I only saw the sundowned version of them.
CNAs normally take the vital signs of all their patients at the start of their shift. I had a patient who would allow me to take their pulse, respirations, and temperature, but the second I started to put the blood pressure cuff on her, she would begin to yell at me and curse at me. She would try to scratch my hands while I put on the cuff, and eventually, two nurses would have to hold her down while I took her blood pressure. Small triggers like that can define someone’s dementia. You truly never know what can make your patient turn into someone you don’t recognize. Regardless, it is important to be cognizant of this. I used to always tell myself that the version of them that lashes out on me for no fault of my own is not the human in them; it’s the disease in them, and that they deserve to be treated the same way as any other patient.
It breaks my heart when I hear stories of CNAs and nurses neglecting patients because of their dementia. Although it may be difficult to change the patient or feed them, they deserve as fair of a chance as anyone else at treatment. We should still try our best, but if it gets to the point where we are putting ourselves in harm's way, that is when we consider pausing and recalibrating our strategy. I am also an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT), and both CNAs and EMTs emphasize prioritizing your own safety in a situation where you could get hurt. Obviously, EMTs work in ambulances, so they are oftentimes more in danger than CNAs, but the principle is worth noting.
Compassion is a right. Especially in long-term care facilities, where one’s autonomy is already diminished as is, every patient deserves our compassion and our best care, no matter what mental battles they may be fighting. It sounds difficult, yes, it is difficult to not hate someone after they try to hurt you physically and verbally. But that is the line that separates a CNA from a non-CNA; compassion is a right and compassion is inherently a part of the job. We cannot blame the person who is not in control. We can only blame the forces that caused them to lose control, and we can only blame dementia, not the patient.
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