Clawed Heart

“We have a problem!” Sarah, a nurse assistant, exclaimed as she burst in my office.  

“A problem?”  I wasn’t surprised.  As the nursing home social worker, problems were my daily quest. “What is it?”

“Ms. Barnett has been stealing her roommate’s clothes.” Sarah’s face was distorted from obvious stress.

“What do you mean ‘stealing’?”

“Ms. Wilkinson complained that Ms. Barnett was wearing her sweater.  I peeked into Ms. Barnett’s drawer while I was helping her to get dressed, and saw more of her roommate’s clothes, but I didn't feel like saying anything.”  Sarah’s eyes sparkled with fear.  “Ms. Barnett has been in a bad mood lately.”

I frowned. I had known Ms. Barnett for being a private person, but I had never heard of her taking another resident’s belongings. 

I headed to her room.  Sarah had taken Ms. Wilkinson to one of the activities so I’d have some privacy when speaking with Ms. Barnett. 

“Ms. Barnett, I’d like to visit with you.”

“Go ahead.” Her voice was firm. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. 


I tried to break the ice with a casual conversation first, but she showed little interest in talking. Then I focused on the complaint I had to follow up.

“It appears that some of your roommate’s clothes have been mistakenly placed in your drawers.”  I was confident that the matter would be promptly resolved, and in a most polite way. “If you don’t mind, I would like you to help me go through your drawers and try to find Ms. Wilkinson’s clothes.” 

“Those are my clothes.” Her voice was tense. “You can look if you want!”

I started my search and soon spotted a gown labeled with Ms. Wilkinson's name. 

I retrieved the gown.  I was going through the second drawer when I found a pair of sweat pants with Ms. Wilkinson label.  As I was putting them aside, Ms. Barnett abruptly jumped up next to me. 

“These are mine!” she screamed and then pulled the pants from my hand.  I could sense her outrage.  Motionless and speechless I glanced at Ms Barnett.

Within seconds, she lifted up her hand, and as if a feline defending her territory, then bounced toward me, clawing her nails in my arm, as deep as her strength would allow her. 

I stepped back, borderline terrorized, with my gaze fixed on Ms. Barnett, my lips parted to speak, but my voice frozen in disbelief. 

“Oh my God, Ms. Barnett...” I managed to say, my voice  breaking.  I turned around to leave the room and noticed Sarah standing in the doorway.  She had witnessed the attack and called for help.  I headed to the nurse’s station to have someone assess and treat my wound. 

I was somewhat in shock for a while.  Until that day, I had never been physically assaulted by a resident, not even when I had been in the Dementia Unit.  Ms. Barnett wasn't known to have dementia.  She had never exhibited aggressive behaviors, or been seen taking things that belonged to other residents. 


Certainly, something was bothering her.

My arm hurt little compared to my worry about Ms. Barnett.  My mind drew blanks in trying to understand what was causing Ms. Barnett to act in the manner in which she did.  I had no answers.  I felt as if my heart, not my skin, had been clawed—clawed with the uncertainty of what had caused my resident to change.  That was not the Ms. Barnett I had known. 

Ms. Barnett was thoroughly assessed and tests were run. Her urinalysis test came back positive for a Urinary Track Infection—UTI.  I knew that a UTI could cause confusion and altered mental status in the elderly.  And Ms. Barnett’s case was now one clear example. 

I was relieved in having an explanation of Ms. Barnett’s behavior.  She would be fine after completing treatment. 

I followed up on Ms. Barnett through staff and reports, but I refrained from visiting her for a few days.

“Excuse me!”  A nurse assistant popped in my office. “I have a note for you.”  She handed me a piece of yellow lined paper, folded twice.

I unfolded it and read the hand-written note:

                                To Doris.

                                I’m sorry.  Please forgive me. 

                                                     Alice Barnett