Aging parents and a major gap in the care of our senior population

The whole issue of aging parents is - I am realizing - a scary and confusing and frustrating (even sometimes angering) thing.  I've mentioned a couple of times recently about "all the everything" which has been going on.  Bottom line is, my adoptive mother has been unwell and in and out of the hospital and a skilled nursing facility. I don't really want to go into detail (this is now the third or fourth time since last October) because we still do not have a bottom-line answer.  First it's this thing - which seems to explain everything - but then it's not that thing, it's this other thing - which also seems to explain a lot. But no one can say, definitively, what is wrong other than, "You're getting older, Mrs. G.  Some things aren't going to work like they used to."  In my opinion, that's a lame, cop-out excuse and further (again, my opinion) doctors aren't in it for the Care of Person anymore, they're in it for the money.

Give her medications to take care of one thing, but that medication gives her debilitating side effects to a point where she - reasonably - has to stop taking them or they decide to give her another medication to counteract the side effects of the first medication.  And every week something changes and now she's on another pill and it's next to impossible to keep it all straight.  It's no wonder she is having difficulty managing her medications.  I certainly couldn't do any better.

Give her a walker to help stabilize her movements and lessen her risk of falling - which is all fine, well, and good - but now it's very difficult to maneuver around her apartment even though it's supposedly handicap accessible.  The bathtub certainly isn't handicap accessible, and though it does have one support rail, that rail is not at the right height to accommodate her.  She has a shower chair but no anti-skid mat in the bottom of the tub because "they" consider it a fall-risk so she has to wear anti-skid shower shoes to take a shower in her own home.

She has trouble standing long enough to wash out a few cups or make a small meal.  So she falls back on frozen meals which, nutritionally, aren't cutting it for her. She needs to have fresh meals more often.  I feel extraordinarily guilty that I am not able to make her a casserole or two every week and bring them to her, but extra time is difficult for me to find and if I were to make time it would be cutting into her sleep time after my kids go to bed.  I am trying to find more hours in my day and every day I fail; they're not to be found.  So, unless I give up sleep altogether, or quit my job and dump my family into abject poverty (which is what would happen)...there really aren't any other options.

Another thing.  Mom is in a particular place in her life where there is a clear gap in how we (the United States of America) care for our aging population. If you have $3500/month or more then by all means, find a lovely retirement home or assisted living facility and spend the rest of your days surrounded by the good things in life. But, if you're a single senior, a widow, with no military claim for either yourself or your deceased spouse (because discounts may apply), on a fixed income provided by Social Security, you're relegated to living in HUD housing surrounded by folks who might otherwise not have a place to live and who are of sometimes questionable morals, sanity, and personal hygiene.

According to the State, you're not bad off enough to require 24/7 nursing care which would allow you to stay in a nursing facility.  They would make sure you got 3 meals a day, a comfortable bed, and medication management, as well as on-site nursing in case anything were to happen.  But you're not rich enough to afford assisted living, which is really what you need.  So you live alone.  And you struggle.  And you're scared all the time that you're going to fall or that you're going to get sick or that you're not going to be able to get to the doctor for your multiple appointments because you can no longer drive.  And you struggle to do your own laundry which, for any person of good health might take 1/4 of the time it takes you to do the same thing.  But you really don't want to bother anyone so instead of doing it yourself - thereby overcoming your own fears of falling, etc., and fears of further pain from doing too much - you just don't do it at all.  And now you're living in a situation you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.  Sickness takes over - and depression - and you wind up back in the hospital again.

It's an awful cycle.

So what do we - the caregivers - do?  We feel guilty a lot.  We wish we could do more.  We wish that we had the extra (enough of this "we" crap)...  I wish I had enough money to buy a bigger house so that I could move her in with me. I wish I had the space.  I wish I could spend more time fixing extra nutritious meals for her so she wouldn't have to eat the frozen meals. I wish I didn't feel so flipping selfish all the time.  I wish I didn't wish for more time to myself. I wish I didn't have to talk to her every day and feel terrible that nothing I say or do is ever enough, or right. I'm always wrong. And this is an awful cycle, too.

If I thought, just for a minute, that I could be successful in filling this gap in care for our aging seniors I would drop everything and do it.  I would find a way for those who cannot afford assisted living to still live in comfort and without fear, with needed care at-the-ready for things like help with activities of daily living (showering, cooking, cleaning), medication management, etc.  But at a FRACTION of the cost. Without volunteers, without funding, without donations I don't see that happening.  I don't see anyone really being willing to care for seniors in the way they care for children or even animals.  I don't see a construction company donating time, materials, and labor and funds to build such a facility.  Or people who have already worked their 40 hours spending another 4-8 hours a day volunteering their time to help the elderly.

Would we rather they just be homeless, or worse, die for lack of care?  Just a little bit of extra assistance is all some of these folks need but there isn't anywhere that will take them because they don't have enough money.

One more thing.  I've done my research.  Yes, I've tried that.  And that, too. There are occasionally places that might fit this bill, but not right here. Not where I need it to be. And if I were to find one of those places it would not be nearby and then I would never see her.  There's that wonky time issue again.

I guess I don't know what else to say.

TTFN
JMS

Pouring my heart out -OR- Feeling sorry for myself

I'm trying to get back into the swing of things…like actually writing occasionally, even though I really don't want to because the words don’t come like they used to.

It used to be that I could be doing something normal and mundane and a sentence or a thought or a snippet of a story would pop into my head and I would turn it over and over until I finally got someplace where I could write it down so I wouldn't forget it.  Now, those sentences, thoughts, and snippets are quiet.

I'm OK with it, really, though I do miss the creativity.

I'm kinda broken right now and I don't know how to fix myself.  Oh, yeah – outwardly no one would really know anything is wrong, but my family does.  My husband feels it.  My kids feel it.  So I try - I really do try - but I fail.  A lot.  I try to be OK for them, but how can I be OK for them when I’m not OK for me?

So I push forward one day at a time.  One restless, more-often-than-not sleepless, night at a time.  And I get up the next day when my alarm goes off, because, let's face it…if I don't, I'm not getting up at all.  So the alarm starts yelling at me and I get up, I shower, I brush my teeth and dry my hair and make sure I’m wearing clean clothes.  And I go to work and get through my day with as much professionalism as I can muster and even that is hard, though I love my job.

I love my family.

And there are so many things that I need that I'm not getting.  And it's hard to know I'm responsible for teaching these lessons which once taught, need to be retaught and retaught and retaught until I'm so frustrated I could scream.  What am I doing wrong?

And, I don't know how to get a certain person to understand that lying and manipulation are not the ways to get what you want and that no means no, it doesn’t mean argue about it until I'm so worn out I finally just don't care anymore or remember the reason I said no in the first place and now they feel like they’ve won and I've taught them no lesson at all.

And, I don't know how to get a certain other person to understand that laziness doesn’t mean eventually I will do it because I'm sick of looking at it.  It means that if I do it, you’re going to lose it permanently and then you're really going to be unhappy. 

Or, if I take the time to do your laundry and you dump what I've carefully washed, dried, folded, and left on your bed for you to put away in an unfolded heap on top of your dresser or shoved into drawers in a wrinkled mess and then you say to me, "I didn't know!" or "At least they're in the drawer," and then you get mad at me when I hold your clothes hostage and tell you that you can have one outfit back for every ten minutes you work in your room (because to me, that's clever and a great way to teach a lesson) and you call me and my methods stupid and unfair and are hateful to me and cry thinking it's going to change my mind.  How about I just don't ever do your laundry for you?  I'm not above making you go to school naked.  (Ok, not that last thing…)

And, I don't know how to get a certain other person to understand I need them to actually talk to me, tell me what's going on and give me a game plan so I don't feel like I'm flying blind all the time and then have them get mad at me when I am unable to read their mind.  Or, how about just helping around the house on a regular basis instead of watching television all day?  That would be awesome, too.

I'm feeling used and angry and kind of like wrung out wet socks…

So, I guess the words do come, but they're not particularly nice words right now. 

And yeah, I guess if you want to you can pray for me or light a candle for me or send a healing word or two out into the ether for me – and that's all wonderful, and I am grateful for them – but I need real help.  The kind of help words just don't cover.

Am I feeling sorry for myself?  Maybe a little bit.  Am I walking around with a chip on my shoulder feeling resentful and angry more often than not?  Absolutely.  Am I taking it out on those around me because I don't feel like anyone cares enough to ask me what's wrong and then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT when I tell them what's bothering me?  Most likely.  

I know.  I suck right now.  And I'm sorry.

TTFN

JMS

Animals are family, too, by golly!

NOTE: This is a rant.  Don't say I didn't warn you. 

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge animal lover.  They are fur babies; four-legged family members with feelings, just like you and me.

I’ve recently become more actively involved in our local animal shelter - with both the dogs and the cats - and with that involvement has come several new friendships - in person and on Facebook.  These friends keep me up-to-date on the happenings of the critters who need full-time families and I do my small part to pass things along.  I may never know if one of my forwarded posts has gotten one of these critters a home, but I can hope it helps.

Also, I am seeing a lot more posts about animal abuse; including some really graphic, horrific things done by animal abusers to the animals in their “care.”  It’s impossible for me to unsee such atrocities. It's impossible for me to not say anything.

I’m getting off-track, I think.  Let me start small...

There’s a beautiful, humongous chocolate Labrador Retriever who “lives” up the street from me.  I’ve nicknamed him “Big Brown” because I don’t know his real name.  He seems to live full-time in the backyard, which is fenced.  A fenced yard is good because he isn’t chained up and he isn’t out carousing.  He has a dog house under the back porch which provides both shade and shelter from rain or other weather.  Though I cannot see it, I’m certain he has food and water.  Outwardly, he seems strong and basically healthy.  All these are signs that someone, potentially, cares for this dog.

For me, all I see is a dog who never gets to go inside.

Now, Hubby has said a couple of times, “Honey, you aren’t up there all the time.  You don’t know how it is at that house.  Maybe he does get to go inside occasionally.”  And really, Hubby is right.  I’m not there, and cannot know.

But all I see is a dog who never gets to go inside.

I’d wager that if I walked up the street tonight (in freezing temperatures thanks to it being practically mid-January) I’d see him outside, wearing his usual paths in the landscape of his small backyard world.

At first, this huge dog with a deep, scary, stay-the-heck-away-from-my-yard bark with fur standing on end down his spine seems intimidating.  Yes, one instinctively wants to stay the heck away from his yard and cross the street when passing by.  But not me.  Nope.

When I was more actively walking around my block in warmer weather, I finally - after about a week - decided to call his bluff.  I stopped at his fence as he barked furiously at me, looked directly into his dark brown eyes, and said, “Oh really?  You think you’re scary, huh?”  And he immediately shut up and started wagging from nose to tail.  I came closer to his fence, slowly, and held out the back of my hand so he could sniff it.  More wagging.  It immediately became clear that he was - literally - all bark and no bite.  We were instant friends.

Now, whenever I walk by and he comes barreling over to the fence to start his usual barking nonsense, he cuts off mid-“Arf” when he realizes it’s me.  Then he puts his big front paws on the top of the fence (easily, I might add), shoves his head over and demands love.  Pet me, pet me now, you must hug me, I love you I love youIloveyou!  We do this for a few minutes, nose-to-nose, at which time I need to move on, so he follows me to the end of his fenced-in world and I go on my way.  It’s become routine.  We have bonded.  Big Brown is my buddy.

But all I see is a dog who never gets to go inside.

I wish I could steal him and let him sleep in the warm, safe, indoors, on a padded bed.  And give him a bath ('cause he really needs one).  And buy him dog toys and watch him play and let him give me and my children sloppy doggie kisses.

I suppose the message here - loquacious though it may be - is: If you have to chain your dog outside permanently, you shouldn’t have one.  Period.  If your pooch is never allowed inside, you shouldn’t have one.  If your dog needs a heated water bowl because his only access to unfrozen water is outside in freezing temperatures, you probably shouldn’t have a dog.

Granted, I am highly opinionated, and I’m sure folks think they have very good reasons for keeping their dogs the way they do.  But dogs are family and, in this person’s humble opinion, they should be allowed to partake of the pleasures of being inside with their humans.

One more thing.  If you treat your dogs the same way you treat your family - you shouldn’t have a family, either.  But maybe that’s just me. 

TTFN

JMS

Holiday stress

Ah, the holiday season.  High spirits.  Good intentions.  Lights.  Trees.  Decorations.  Egg nog.  Fruit cake.  Shopping.  Crowds.  Bad traffic/drivers.  A frenzy of me, me, me, mine, mine, mine.  I tend to avoid the high-intensity, crowded shopping part of it at all costs, so I go on off-times, when stores are more likely to be busy, but not insane.  I really hate shopping, so I go with a list of stuff I already know I am looking for so I can get in, get out, and get on with my life.

The shopping part of things, thankfully, isn't where my stress is.  My stressors are getting my living room picked up and getting my tree put up and figuring out whose house we're going to on which day or night of the season, and figuring out how to get stuff out of my friend's basement which I temporarily stored there but which I have no room for in my own home.  This removal of stuff needs to happen before Christmas, so this, on top of the usual holiday stress, has me - quite literally - tearing my hair out.

I need to find an inexpensive storage place.  A local one, preferably.  And I need to borrow someone's truck so I can move stuff to it.  AND, I need to find the extra money to pay for it all.  I wish I could say, "Screw it," and just handle it after the holiday season is over, but that's not what needs to happen.

Anyway - I'll figure it out.  I always do. 

I guess I just needed to vent.

Thanks for listening...whoever you are.

TTFN
JMS

One Mom's Honest Wish List

It bears repeating: Piss poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine!  (Maybe I just wanted an excuse to use this graphic.)  Yeah, I guess I'm being snarky.  I feel like the last few weeks I've been in emergency-management-mode rather than my usual, and preferred, mode of planning things out (to the best of my ability) ahead of time.  And, quite frankly, I'm tired. 

I guess being a parent (and, sometimes, a wife) automagically means you're in a constant state of crisis.  Mom!  I can't find my...  Mom!  I'm hungry.  Mom!  Can you help me with...  Mom!  I hate these pants!  Honey?  Have you see my...?  This crisis-mode sort of spills over into other aspects of my life (like work) and at this point, I'm kinda over it.  (I've been using that hashtag a lot lately, it seems.  #overit)  Below are a few things which, were they to occur, would, with minimal effort on the part of the others in my home, make my life so much easier.  **Fair warning, this could also be considered a list of Mom/Wife Peeves.  I'm certain I'm not the first person to come up with this list.

MOM'S WISH LIST

1. I don't want to have to uncover the dining table in order to be able to use it.  Your dishes should have been put in the sink after you were done eating.  This isn't difficult, really.  Just a matter of habit which you should be in already.  Breakfast dishes, especially.  Those icky, congealed bowls of leftover milk are disgusting.
2. I do not want to have to empty the dishwasher before I can fill it.  The dishwasher is not storage for clean dishes or a drying rack for wet ones.  Please put the dishes away, in the cabinets, where they belong.  If you can't reach, ask for help.
3. I do not want to empty the washing machine before I can use it.  Clothes which have been washed and have been left to sit - wet -  in the closed confines of the washing machine, have this awful habit of starting to stink (or wrinkle horribly) after a couple of hours.  This is the best reason to move the laundry along in a timely manner.  However, the other reason - the honest one - is that it just ticks me off when I go to use the machine and there is another load in there waiting to be dried.  I wash, you wash, I wash, you wash - we cannot wash at the same time.
4. I do not want to put away the ironing board so I can get to the dryer.  The small room which houses the dryer is not the place to iron your clothes.  Further, it is not the place to leave the ironing board set up.  The excuse that you were waiting for the iron to cool down is a weak one; there are other options.
5. I do not want to step on it.  If you spill it or drop it, pick it up.  Period.  If I find it on the floor, it will become mine - to do with as I please.  Up to, and including, throwing it away.  (This includes change.   If I find your forgotten or discarded nickles and dimes, they will become mine, too.)
6. If you pee in it, spit in it, or bathe in it, don't leave stuff on it.  Meaning, rinse out the sink after you're done brushing your teeth (or shaving your whiskers).  Wipe off the seat if you sprinkle when you tinkle.  Ring around the tub?  Mr. Clean Magic Erasers work wonders.  Just sayin'.
7. If you take it out, put it back.  Or, if you remove it from where it was, put it back where you found it.  This includes laundry which may be hanging up to dry which will not get dry lumped into a pile on the back of a closet door so you can shower.  This also goes for food, toys, games, and other items.

I've gotten to a point where I am just not doing anything because whenever I do something, someone goes right behind me and messes it up again.  I don't expect to live in a perfectly clean home; I have children and am aware that a clean home, at this point in my life, is next to impossible.  I do not want to live in an untouchable museum.  But I do expect the home I pay for (and all the stuff in it) to be treated with respect and taken care of.  Plus, treating my home (and all the stuff in it) like crap kinda feels like you're treating me that way, too.  And no, I'm not projecting your animated feelings onto an inanimate situation.  I know you love me - I love you, too - but I'm tired now, OK?

Please clean your own rooms, clear off your own dishes, wash your own clothes, etc.  Everyone in the house is now old enough to handle these things.  You are not too tired.  You are not too sick.  You are not too busy.  You are too lazy.  I will try to do better, too, because I know I'm not perfect. 

Signed, 

Exasperated Mom

With apologies...

...headache today.

          One of those awful, make-you-sick headaches.

One of those keep-the-lights-off headaches.

     Where really, you just should have stayed in bed.

With the covers over your head.

              But there is work to be done.

Which, after actual work, could possibly include black, plastic trash bags and the overabundance of things mysteriously (or not-so-mysteriously) disappearing from the kids' rooms.

                                And as much as I dislike hashtags:

#overit

TTFN
JMS

Raw

I suppose I should begin this post with another disclaimer to let you know this is soul-bearing, raw, and completely honest.  It's somewhat cathartic, although I know it really won't fix anything.  And I know this is a side of things some people will say shouldn't be shown to the public, but...

I sat on the floor in the bathroom last night at 11 o’clock and leaned against the bathroom sink and just cried.  Sobbed, really.  I think I need a break.  A real one.  One where I'm not worrying about my kids and if they're okay or what they’re thinking, doing, saying, eating, if they’re warm and comfortable or need me.  One where I’m not worrying about cleaning my house or figuring out what to put into a yard sale or about keeping up appearances or saying the right thing.  One where I can have the squishy floor in the bathroom fixed without breaking a sweat over finances.  One where I don’t have to worry about money or how I’m going to put gas in my car so I can get to work or where I don’t have to scrounge around for something to take for my own lunch so the kids can have a decent lunch at school.  One where I wish I could be truly selfish, just for once.  One where I don't have to worry about getting up if I'd rather sleep until noon.  One where no friends are dying and where people aren't saying or doing hurtful things.  One where if I ask someone to do something they'll do it, with no questions asked and I won't have to repeat myself.  One where when I say something, it will actually be heard and no one will later say, “You never told me that!”

I guess I'm just tired in my body and in my soul.

I wish I didn't have to be ON all the time.  That I didn't have to force myself not to cry at work when my "upset" has nothing to do with work.

I don't think the tears are done yet.

Bear with me.

TTFN

JMS

We insignificant humans

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A RANT.  A smart, witty, well-worded rant to be sure, but a rant none-the-less.  You may choose to stop reading at this point.  I will not hold it against you. 

***

I'm pretty sure someone must have taken a hit out on me, considering I was nearly killed (literally or figuratively) no less than three times on a simple outing to the grocery store yesterday.  Thankfully, I managed to maneuver my way out of certain death (or jail time) by being awake, aware and involved. 

Might I impart the following pieces of wisdom? 

1) If you cannot drive it, then don't.  Perhaps you are driving a large vehicle and can barely see over the steering wheel or perhaps you are simply unaware of just how large said vehicle is.  Either way, I suggest you seriously reconsider your form of transportation.  Walking or riding a bicycle both tend to be less injurious to others…like me, for example. 

2) When you back out of a parking space – no matter where you are or what vehicle you are driving – LOOK FIRST!  Whipping out in a heavyweight implement of murderous destruction on wheels and obliviously going on your merry way is unacceptable.  Period.  Inattention to what is going on around (or behind) you tends to get you in trouble when you run someone over…like me, for example.  

3) If you are walking merrily, (merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream) down the street, and suddenly decide you must be on the other side of said street, DO NOT walk out between parked cars and into oncoming traffic.  Not only are you risking your own life and limb, which is just stupid, but you are risking pinning a murder charge on an unsuspecting, law-abiding vehicle operator and sending them away for life…like me, for example.

Not only did I have to endure possible death or dismemberment, but the discourtesy and inconsideration of the prodigious public within the store was simply astounding.  As one small example: I pulled my shopping cart over so I could stand back, out of the way, and politely peruse the selection of granola bars.  A woman barreled through, stopped, stood, looked, found, thought, rethought, and selected – apparently completely unaware she was standing directly in front of me, obstructing my own view and similar (though significantly more considerate) process of selection.  She never gave any indication she even knew I was there, though I suspect she knew exactly what she was doing.  I suppose she and her errands, just in case you were wondering, were infinitely more important than I and mine.

Must I continue to remind you that the world does not revolve around you?  It does, in fact, revolve around the sun, which is far and away more vital than we insignificant humans.  Let's remember our small existence the next time we stray into the disillusion of a greater importance.

That is all.

TTFN
JMS

Random Rant *or* Angry At The World

I know when someone is mad at me.  I may not always understand the reasons why, but I have no doubt I messed up somewhere.  I just wish, when I've hurt or offended someone in some way, they’d tell me what I've done.  If I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you, I can’t make it right.  It bothers me deeply to know I've hurt someone, but not know how or why.  I dislike hurting people, immensely, and I certainly don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Hm…who can I mess with today?”  And please don’t tell me, “You know what you did!” expecting me to know, because half the time I can’t remember my own name and the other half I can’t remember what I had for dinner the night before.  I’m not trying to be flippant, or glib, but I think we’d all be much better off if we communicated with one another; especially when an offense is involved.

Hubby seems to think I worry too much about people being mad at me.  When I ask, “Are you mad at me?” he gets upset and says, “Why do you always think you’re the one I’m upset with?” Mainly because he’s always mad at me for one thing or another (that's marriage, I guess) but also because body language speaks volumes and the silent treatment doesn't usually happen unless there’s an issue.

But here's the current issue that's plaguing me: I don’t understand all this anger I've got within myself right now.  I’m FURIOUS AT EVERYTHING!  I’m trying not to be.  I’m making a concerted effort to speak kindly or at least politely.  Counting to ten when I feel myself on auto-response and leaning toward pissed off.  I’m trying to temper…uh…my temper.  I’m trying to clear my mind of all the nasty things rolling around inside of me, without much luck. 

The other day, I was drinking a nice glass of white wine from a lovely winery in Townsend, TN (Cades Cove Winery).  I don’t remember exactly what else I was doing – cleaning, I think – but I was so angry!  Everything I saw, everything I touched just made me mad.  I was slamming around and snapping at everyone.  My poor family was hiding from me.  Eventually, hubby confiscated my glass of wine (which made me mad) and replaced it with a large mug of freshly-brewed chamomile tea (which confused me, and pleased me all at the same time).  I guess it was bedtime for Bonzo.  

I’m still mad.  I still want to lash out.  I don’t feel like being pleasant and friendly.  I want to rail against the universe and I can’t understand why.  Folks may say it's grief talking, which is a possibility, though I think probably unlikely.  Or the depression which has been setting in for a while now and which I’m fighting tooth and nail.  Which is probably why I’m angry.  But it doesn't matter.

And, since we were just discussing cleaning while angry, I need to say I would very much like to get one of those small bobcat bulldozer thingies and ‘doze everything (EVERYTHING) out of my house and start over.

TTFN
JMS

Odor Eaters

I find it hard to write anything flippant, or in the vein of my usual sarcastic posts, after my last post about the loss of my friend.  I cannot, however, continue to ignore the fact that my flippant and sarcastic ways are rearing their ugly heads sooner than I might otherwise like or deem appropriate.  So please forgive me for the sharp turn in the other direction.

***

There I am – sitting at my desk at the office – when I begin to realize that something is wrong.  It’s an odor.  An offensive odor.  A pervading, sickly sweet odor with an undercurrent of something else equally as off-putting.  Imagine if you will, a human body which has not seen a bath or a shower in several days coupled with layers of gardenia scent added in a failed attempt to mask the body odor.  I’m shuddering just remembering this.  It was nauseating.  And, though we who investigated still haven’t definitively solved the mystery of the awful, all-encompassing scent that permeated the entire east end of the building, it is gone now, hopefully never to return.

Why?  Why would I tell you this brief, but horrible story?  Simply this: There are some people who are of the mistaken belief that the world revolves around them.  Some of those same sadly misguided individuals also believe what they do (say/think) could not possibly affect anyone else.  And further, why would someone’s use of scent, in whatever form, be offensive to me?  Because, I happen to be one of those unfortunate individuals who is highly sensitive to scents, perfumes, colognes, after-shaves, scented candles…you get the picture.  They make my eyes water, my lungs seize (remember, I’m asthmatic), and even on occasion nauseate me – as was the case with the particular odor described above.

I would very much like to understand what possesses a person to continue to wear scent such as described above, to a place of business.  Has the media chatter (social or otherwise) over the last however many years not made you a believer in a non-scented workplace?  

To put it another way, how many times have you walked by the break room (should you be fortunate enough to have one at work) and wondered, “Good grief!  What is that smell?”  You know full-well that someone just reheated their garlic & onion salmon from the night before.  (I don’t know if there really is such a thing as garlic & onion salmon, but it was the most malodourous food I could think of on short notice.)  Or maybe someone just took their shoes off under the desk.  Either way, it stinks.  And that smell has now invaded the pores of your skin and you feel as if you are traveling with it wherever you go.  It’s off-putting, to say the least, and makes you really want to bathe.

Food odor issues at the workplace not-withstanding, let’s talk about personal scent.  Yup – we’ve all got one.  Our very own, gifted to us at birth, personal scent.  Not taking into account the soap and shampoo we may use at shower-time.  The deodorant we may use after bathing.  (Yes, please?)  And now, let’s consider it finished, shall we?  Pretty please?  You do not need two layers of scented body lotion, a dab of perfume behind each ear, at the base of your throat or on your wrists, or even that scented body spray.  And please, if you’re even considering patchouli, just…don’t.  You’ll do us all a favor.  However, if you feel you must apply so liberally the created scent as enhancement to your natural one – stay home.  No one particularly feels like smelling the odor-trail you’re leaving behind. 

Those of us trying to work will thank you.  You may not know we’re thanking you…but we are.  I promise.

TTFN
JMS