remembering world aids day

My second job out of college¹ was as a caregiver to n-stage AIDS patients. I was assigned three clients. All were gay men, but they were oh so different. I believe I was given 4-6 hours per week with each. My role was to tend to their basic needs which included everything from housekeeping to taking them grocery shopping to just simply spending time with them.

As I said, they all had very unique and different personalities. One of the men was in his 30’s and really he wanted company more than anything else. He felt a little strange about someone cleaning his bathroom, but knew that he couldn’t do it and it needed to be done. He would give me cans of tuna and other items that he didn’t want from his bag of food that he got from local food bank. He was sweet like that.

I would take care of his plants. He had an amazing Christmas cactus that was in bloom during my time with him. He showed me pictures of his Mom at her wedding and explained that he was under the bouquet. One week we went to this Laundromat that was a combination laundry/coffee house. He bought me a tea. Another time we went to this heath store and picked up his herbs.

Eventually he ended up in the hospital. I went to visit him, although technically while he was in the hospital he “lost” his hours from the center where I worked (although never went). It was a hard thing to see. I felt bad for him.

Another lived in a 500 square foot studio along a busy street in San Francisco. He was also in his 30’s but was very bossy and almost demeaning. Despite that both of my other clients had living quarters double or quadruple his, I worked hardest in his apartment.

I didn’t realize but the idea really was for me to just keep things tidy. I was never really expected to do heavy duty cleaning. And I especially was not meant to do it without proper tools. It was hard though not doing what someone asks when they are sitting there hooked up to an IV watching some stupid soap opera. So yes, I scrubbed his floor without a mop and attempted to clean his oven without oven cleaner. It probably wouldn’t matter if I had had proper equipment because nothing I did pleased him. He complained about the dust but he left his windows open and the screens were just no match for what the streets of San Francisco could put out. He also complained about stains in his tub and spots I missed along the rim of his toilet.

He rarely said anything to me. I don’t even think he offered me as much as a glass of water. To add insult to injury he had bugs! After my three hours of torture were up I was so glad just to leave.

When I told my manager about what was happening she took me off his case. Of course that meant my hours were reduced but I left there each week feeling so humiliated it really was for the best.

My third client had one of those Victorian homes you see in postcards. It was amazing. I believe he was a carpenter by trade and had done a lot of work on the house. He had it decorated with many ornate period pieces, although he had modernized the kitchen. He was the oldest of my three clients, probably in his late 50’s.

He tried hard not to let me do anything for him. I finally got him to let me clean the kitchen and bathrooms. Really what he wanted was company when he was up to it, and for someone to play with his cat.

So my hours there were spent playing with his cat in this grand house that felt so big and empty. Oftentimes he just stayed in his room and napped. When he realized I had a car he sent me to get him a pizza. It turned out to be this great NY-style pizza place. I came back with it and we sat in his kitchen and talked and ate.

Then one day I got a call from my manager. It seemed that I was the only one that had a key to his home (the only one he for some reason trusted with it – I had no idea) and he wasn’t answering. They needed me to go there and see if he was okay. My manager warned me that there was a possibility that he might be dead (I really wasn’t be paid enough for this).

But I went over and thankfully he was alive. He had slipped between this chair and ottoman in his bedroom and couldn’t get up. He probably weighed about 100 pounds, but it was still very hard to help him up (and it didn’t help that I wasn’t trained to do anything like that). My manager came over and we got him into bed.

I pretty much turned over all my keys that afternoon and that was that. It was an experience to be sure.


_________________________________________________
¹My first job out of school was delivering phone books in San Francisco. I gave out after three days – quite literally having a serious back ache and having to get help to deliver the last of the books that were in my trunk.

background noise :: baby it's cold outside, johnny mercer & margaret whiting