The North Unit

“Where's Ms. Peterson?" I asked Becky, a nurse aide who was assigned to that floor. "She is not in her room."


She was moved to the North Unit,” Becky replied.  

Residents with advanced dementia and unable to ambulate were typically moved from the front halls to the North Unit. The North Unit was a smaller hall toward the back of the facility.  There, the residents were presented with activities and routines more suitable to their mental and physical declining conditions.  These residents needed assistance with feeding during meals, a lot of one-on-one attention and, in essence, total care.  

“Have you worked at the North Unit lately?” I asked. 

“No.  And I hope they keep me in this hall,” Becky said, with unbridled aggravation thick in her tone of voice.  

It was not a secret that most of the nurse aides took strides to avoid being assigned to the North Unit.  

“It’s a very hard hall,” Becky expressed, and turned, heading toward a resident’s room. 

I shook my head, annoyed.  Being a nurse aide was indeed a hard job, from what I had observed.  But the well-being of the residents should take precedence over the difficultly of the job and what an employee thinks is, or is not, a suitable job for the caregiver.  If working as a nurse aide, a nurse, or a social worker in a nursing home festered unhappiness, then they were in the wrong place to begin with. 

I headed to the North Unit as I needed to see Ms. Peterson.  

As I walked throughout the North Unit everything looked as it should be until I saw a new face. The face of a young man.  He appeared to be a new nurse aide.  I had never seen him before.  

While going about his duties, he looked up and smiled.  “Hi” the young man said to me. “How are you?” 

He has personality, I mused. 

“Are you a new CNA? “ I asked. 

“Yes, I was hired two weeks ago.” He replied.  

“I’m Doris, the social worker.” 

“My name is Andrew.”  

“Strange,” I said, “you have been here for two weeks and I haven’t noticed it.” 

“I have been working night shifts,” Andrew said. “This is my first day shift.” 

“Oh, that explains it!” 

Andrew told me that he attended college, and was enrolled in the pre-medical program. 

He looked like a smart and goal-driven youth.  

“How do you like working in the North Unit?” I asked.  

“I love it,” Andrew exclaimed. I was surprised to hear that. It was not a response I had ever heard from the other aides, both in and out of the unit.  

“Do you really?” I asked, casting a doubtful look from the corners of my eyes.  

“These residents need more care,” he said earnestly.  “So I am learning a lot from them.” 

I was afraid I wasn’t following him.  I frowned.  

Recognizing my confusion, he continued, “If I am going to be a doctor, I want to get to know people with conditions that need more attention and care.” 

“You like the challenge, Andrew?” 

“Hm... I’d say, I like the opportunity!” 

I couldn’t believe the lesson I was learning from a young man.  Andrew was about 19 years old, and he was already on the right path to not only being a doctor, but becoming a good doctor.  He was humble and caring, reaching out for the sickest residents. 

And learning from them.  

“By the way, I am looking for Ms. Peterson,” I said.  “I heard she was moved into this unit.” 

“She was brought in this morning.  I already met her. She is in the activities room, in music therapy” 

I could see that Andrew knew each of his residents thoroughly.  I was certain that Ms. Peterson was happier now.  

I saw Andrew only one more time after that day, as he continued working night shifts.  Six months later, I heard that he left the facility as he was offered a scholarship by an out of state university.  

But even with him being gone, I continued to hear several people talk about Andrew, about his positive outlook and positive demeanor with the residents. 

Andrew left his imprint on everyone’s hearts.  

And I was certain that the North Unit would be in Andrew’s memories. 

His treasured memories, I hoped.