I n my 40s, I was beginning to wonder where I fit in the employment world. I had a variety of jobs including an improv instructor, actor and corporate facilitator, then Covid arrived and all those people-facing roles disappeared.
Living in Sydney, with my kids at school and a mortgage to pay, I took on some temp work through an agency.
I was placed in an aged care residential home, working on reception. Within the first hour I was in tears. I was really confronted by the residents as I hadn’t been around older people much before, especially people with dementia. I worked there for a month and cried every day.
A few months later the temp agency called again. The same aged care company had some full-time reception work at another residence, and had requested “the lady who cried all the time”. I took the job.
On my first day I was nervous. I didn’t want people’s first impressions of me to be someone who was too sensitive to work there. At one point I found myself in the bathroom letting go of a couple of tears and gave myself a good pep talk.
The desk itself was at the front entrance, between the residents’ rooms and the lounge and dining area. All residents would walk past me to and from meals and activities.
Most of them had dementia, so every day was different. Some mornings it was calm and smiles; other mornings it’d be residents refusing showers, or asking me to call their mum to take them home.
They were from all walks of life: different backgrounds and parts of Australia, and their ages ranged from their mid-60s to late-90s. No one really felt the age they were, and for those who didn’t have dementia, their bodies simply weren’t allowing them to do what they wanted to do.
There were many memorable moments. One non-verbal resident had worked in a similar job in her working life; she would sit with me and I would share my files and pens so she could complete her tasks, as she used to do.
Another resident would sit with me, waiting for her parents to pick her up from the movies and ask me to call them and find out how long until they arrived.
One other resident would mention we’d been robbed, which alarmed me the first time I heard it – before I realised that we hadn’t, and this was part of her behaviour that she would repeat, day after day. As an actor I could draw upon my skills of repeating a scene many times, so when we were “robbed”, I would say I was aware and had already called the police, who were on their way to investigate.
I met a beautiful artist who used to paint but due to tremors had turned her eye to photography. At lunch I would go out for a walk and take photographs of flowers and trees for her, then we would chat about her art, our views of the world and how we lived as creatives.
I once asked another resident what she would do if she could do anything. She replied: “I’d run in a field.” I think of that often, especially when I’m passing an open space.
There were some tough times during Covid lockdowns. I can only imagine how frightful the staff must have looked to the residents in our personal protective equipment. We couldn’t accept visitors, so families would call each other on the phone and wave through the windows.
Early on during my time there, I told a colleague that in my previous role at the other residence, I’d cried a lot, because I’d been confronted by being with older people. She suggested it was a matter of perspective. I thought about what I saw when I looked in residents’ eyes and realised it was my own fears of ageing, my own mortality and what my path ahead would be.
That colleague’s comment changed how I showed up. I decided that I could bring joy and love to the job each day. I became so grateful for the chance to share the residents’ lives with them, as well as being more grateful for my own life and abilities, and for my parents and the time we spend together.
I worked at the residence for three years. My time there underlined how much we all matter, at all ages, and how we should take the time to share stories and acknowledge and appreciate each other. And even with dementia, some residents remembered me, trusted in me and wanted to sit with me for comfort. It was an honour.
