Eventually, I found a nursing home that accepted me. The problem was. I was a month behind. My internship required 250 hours, and my class required 250 hours. Way to start my semester. So I did what I needed to do when desperate. I threw myself into it. I went EVERY SINGLE DAY. The days I had classes, I would finish around 1 pm and head straight to the facility. Even on the day I didn’t have classes, I still went in. Weekdays, weekends, it did not matter. I stayed until almost 9 pm. I was exhausted. But I kept going. 

When I started, I was assigned 4 residents. Almost all of my residents were on hospice. I was assigned to residents whose families lived far away, whose families requested company, or who had none at all. 

Before I even met them, I made myself one promise. Don’t get attached. 

Because most of these residents were elderly, many very sick, and I knew that if I got myself close, it would hurt a lot. 

My first few weeks at the Hospice it was very awkward. The facility is not what I expected. The staff was clearly overworked, tired, and often rude. I tried not to judge too much because I knew they were caring for more than 20 residents at a time. It’s exhausting work. But even then, it was still a shock to me. I knew I wasn’t going to get the TV-show version of nursing homes, where they are dancing and happy, but it was still hard to see. I remember asking the staff if I could borrow a chair to sit alongside my resident. I was told no. It took almost a month before they finally allowed me to borrow one. 

I was also instructed very clearly that I was not to touch, feed, or assist residents unless I had permission or training. Which I had neither. So I was left to do whatever I wanted as long as I didn’t break the company rules. 

Still, I tried my best. 

Many of my residents couldn’t speak much. Some slept through my visits. Others would just sit in silence and wouldn’t want to interact. I understood their boundaries and respected them. When they wanted to do something, I played music, talked, read, colored, and told stories because, in my opinion, silence is lonelier than anything. 

Sometimes, even when a resident couldn’t respond to me, I would still smile, glance at them, or just react to them. So it wasn’t awkward. 

Those moments mattered to me more than anything. 

Of course, through the course of those months, I’ve collected a few horror stories along the way.

Without giving away my company name or the residents’ names, I respect their anonymity. The first time it happened, one of my residents was moved from their room to another room in another part of the building I didn’t know existed. To my knowledge, I had no idea they moved, and when I asked where they had gone, I was told to go here, turn right, and left. When I finally arrived, I asked the staff where they were, and they told me. After I put my stuff down, I left the room and asked the staff if I could bring the resident some water. They said yes. I spent nearly an hour talking with the resident when I saw a staff member walk into the room wearing protective equipment. I was taken aback and asked why. That’s when I was informed my resident had MRSA. I had no idea what that was, so I googled it. But what was I even going to do with that info? I then quickly went to the staff and asked for someone, anyone, to let me know what the diagnosis was. I was then surprised to know that I was not supposed to be in that room. AT ALL. I did not have any protective gear. I was with him for over an hour, and no one came to let me know, even thought i talked to maybe 5 staff members. After being given the diagnosis, I immediately packed my bags, said my goodbyes, and called my supervisor. After explaining, I was instructed not to return until they confirmed it was safe to go back. I was so worried that I just threw all my clothes, bags, books, and electronics into the washer, just to be safe. I was finally allowed back, but they took the resident off the list. Strike one. 

Strike two came from the roommates’ issue. Most of the residents shared their rooms with one other person. Often, when I visited my assigned residents, their roommates would watch me and sometimes call me over. “Can you talk to me too?” I called my supervisor to ask if I’m allowed to talk to them, and I was told no. I can be polite and say hello and have small talk, but my focus should be on my resident. But how was I supposed to ignore them? They were also lonely, so little by little I started talking to them too. And another and another. Before I knew it, I had become friendly with people who weren’t even assigned to me. 

Strike three. I was expected to help with task i wasnt TRAINED to do. I was only a volunteer. Not a nurse, not a CNA, LPN, or AID. Not a medical professional. Yet there were times I was left alone with responsibilities I shouldn’t have been handling. A couple of stories: one is that one of my residents hated using the bathroom in their diaper, so they would rip it off and yell that they needed to use the bathroom. I panicked when the resident did it in front of me, and so I ran to the staff and told them the resident was threatening to pee on the floor. And they kind of brushed me off. I ran back and told the resident to hold on, but within the next few seconds, the resident began peeing all over the floor. And after they finished, the staff came running and basically lectured me about why I hadn’t taken the pan by the bed and used it so they could pee in it. WHAT THE HECK?! I warned you guys! And now I was being blamed for the mess, even though I told them. Another time, well, actually multiple times, the staff saw I was with the resident and left the food trays and instructed me to feed the resident. I obviously wasn’t trained, but I tried to tell the residents where things were, open the packets for them, and pour their drinks. I never intentionally fed them because I didn’t know what would happen if I did. I would often be told to pick up the trays and bring them to the garbage. That I did because the staff would become very rude when I would leave it. 

Overall, I didn’t understand how lonely they could be. Imagine hallways, long and silent, except for television blasting from different rooms. Residents sat in wheelchairs staring at the walls. Some are waiting all day looking at people who got off the elevators. Just watching. Others spent their time only in bed. 

I had heard stories from aides about residents sitting in beds for too long without being changed. Some are developing bad bed sores, sitting in their own feces, and no one would notice. 

One resident I asked cause they would always be in the dining hall. I learned was there from morning to night, left there. Until the staff put them to sleep. And the same routine, over and over again. 

It breaks your heart to see them and hear everyone’s individual story. What affected me the most wasn’t the staff or the environment, it was the people. The residents. Every day, when I stepped off the building, I would see the residents sitting along the halls, watching people get off and pass by them as if they didn’t exist. 

I’m naturally awkward; I hate being the center of attention. I hate being the first to initiate things. I hate the feeling of being looked at. But I tried to get past it. I forced myself to do it. Because they weren’t decorations, they weren’t invisible; they were people. I then started getting off the elevator and waving. 

“Hii!” 

“Good morning.”

“Hello!”

“How are you doing?” 

“Have you eaten?”

“Do you want some water?”

Eventually, it became a habit. Then friendships. Residents would then get the courage to ask me to wheel them somewhere. They wanted to go to their rooms, the dining hall, and the space where they sit. I would take them. Sometimes, for fun and to give them a little fun and a joke, I would say, “I’M GONNA GO FAST!” Obviously, I didn’t go super fast, but hearing them get excited and think I was going race-car fast was super fun. They would laugh and say Don’t go too fast! I would always tell them the same thing. “Ok! Fasten your seats! Cause I am going to go really fast!” I would tell them to hold on tight and put their feet on the wheelchair footrests. They would honestly be so excited, but I did also ask them if they wanted to go fast or slow, and either way, I went at a moderate speed. 

If there were a way I could help them, I would. If someone needed water and staff apororved i would get it. I would open their food packets, get them straws and juice. Yes, they were small, minuscule tasks, but they meant a lot to me, and I could help with them. 

I learned about their families, careers, regrets, and memories. And despite promising I wouldn’t get attached, I did. Some of my residents died, were transferred, or were taken out of my schedule without explanation. 

By the end of the semester, my internship had become much more than a graduation requirement. It changed the way I viewed healthcare and age. And most importantly, it made me view people who cannot advocate for themselves. 

I started my research for nursing homes, patient rights, and care for nonverbal residents because I wanted to understand why so many people became forgotten. 

What started as a stressful graduation requirement became one of the most eye-opening experiences of my entire college career. 

And honestly? This was only the beginning.