4 MAREN“Hi, Maren!” Mrs. Jones calls from her wheelchair in the hallway.
I poke my head out of my office to wave hello. Her CNA, a nursing assistant, waits patiently for the exchange to be over and done with, wrapping her manicured fingers loosely around the wheelchair handles.
Mrs. Jones is a resident who needs constant supervision and care. Ever since she slipped in the tub last spring, she’s been rolling on four wheels. If you ask me, I think she likes the chauffeur service.
“Hello, Mrs. Jones. How’s your back feeling today?”
“Better.” She smiles, the wrinkles deepening around her big brown eyes. “That massage man you brought in was wonderful. I didn’t know men did that kind of work.”
I smile through the cringe. It’s bizarre to me what some of these older folks latch onto from thei
