Monday, June 14, 2010
I sat there at the table for a bit, listening to the owner expound upon our aide's wrongdoing and the ways in which it had disrupted the house, etc., etc. He's a strong-willed man, an immigrant from a Communist country (yet again, other cultures taking care of our elderly!), and while being a lovely man, is forthright and likes things to go his way. When I deal with him, I have to use what my boyfriend, Paul, calls my "Big Girl Voice" in order to make sure he doesn't walk all over me! I soothed him, telling him that, of course, I'd be dealing with the problem and calling our aide's employer to discuss the problem with them, but that our aide wouldn't be coming to the house until we'd figured out the situation. This seemed to go a fair way toward soothing the owner, but every time I suggested that we might have the aide, who is, after all, almost like a brother to Dad, it sparked yet another discussion about how well they tried to take care of Dad and how they relied on their good reputation, etc., etc. I sensed I was being played, so I said firmly how much I relied on their care and judgement, how secure I felt having Dad in their hands, and how I trusted them, but that I would be making any final decisions about who came to see Dad, as long as it didn't interfere with how their house operated.