I Lost My Job for Helping a Man with Dementia — A Pair of Shoes Showed Me It Was Worth It

I Got Fired for Helping a Man with Dementia, but a Pair of Shoes Proved I Made the Right Choice

I was fired because I assisted a man who had dementia, but a pair of shoes showed that I had made the right decision. When I was fired for assisting a bewildered old man suffering from dementia who thought his sneakers were “running away,” I felt that my kindness had cost me everything. However, those runaway shoes exposed the chief nurse’s lies in the most surprising way when she claimed that my acts were her own.

After working at the clinic for three months, I had grown accustomed to Karen’s keen observation of my every action. She seemed especially pleased to criticize anything I did in her capacity as head nurse.

I would simply attempt to ignore it and go on. This wasn’t exactly my ideal job.

Geriatric care had always been my true love; I had even taken a number of advanced courses in the subject. Nevertheless, here I was, trying to remain professional while avoiding Karen’s verbal abuse.

“Your charts are sloppy again, Pam,” she could comment, or “That’s not how we do things here, Pam.” There was usually a note of satisfaction in her voice, as if she were gathering evidence for a confrontation down the road.

It began and worsened on the night that everything changed.

Due to the malfunctioning coffee maker, everyone was irritated and lacking in caffeine. My night shift substitute had called to report that she was trapped in traffic on the highway, and I was exhausted from a 12-hour shift.

She had apologized over the phone, saying, “I’ll be at least another hour,” “There’s been an accident.”

An old man shuffled through the doors as I was packing up, prepared to run as soon as she got there.

His immaculately ironed suit somehow gave him a lost appearance, as if he had gone out of time.

“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?” I inquired.

“A… a… I have untied my shoes. He gave me a direct glance. “Can you tie them for me, Margaret?”

There was a serious problem. Even though my shift was over, I couldn’t abandon this man standing there by himself, clearly bewildered.

“Of course,” I said with a smile. “Come with me.”

I escorted him into a peaceful room and helped him settle in. Heaven knows how long he had been wandering around, so I hurried back to the station to get him a cup of water.

We couldn’t treat patients who weren’t formally checked in, according to protocol, but I couldn’t ignore this man’s dementia symptoms. I had to help him.

I gave him the cup of water, and he promptly emptied it over the artificial ficus.

“There we go!” He smiled proudly. “My Margaret usually waters the roses, but she’s visiting her sister in Toledo.”

“That sounds very beautiful! How about we give Margaret a call to let her know how the roses are doing? In the hopes that this small trick would persuade him to call his family, I asked.

“That’s why I’m going to the bus station, but,” he looked down at his feet, suddenly anxious, “my shoes are untied!”

“They’re trying to run away again. This is what they always do when Margaret isn’t home. His shoelaces were loose and trailed like little snakes on the ground. “Someone needs to catch them!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll grab those sneakers before they get too far. They can’t outrun us both, can they?”

While the old man alternated between encouraging me and begging me to hurry before they escaped, I stooped and pretended to catch an imaginary pair of sneakers.

I had just succeeded in persuading him that I had captured his escaping sneakers when I heard heels clicking sharply behind me.

Karen’s voice sliced like a razor across the atmosphere. “What do you think you’re doing?”

With my heart racing, I carefully got up from tying his laces. “This man needs assistance. He’s obviously confused and—”

“This is a breach of protocol!” Karen’s eyes glittered with wicked enjoyment, but her face was becoming a frightening shade of crimson. “As you are aware, we are unable to treat patients who have not been admitted appropriately. You’re fired!”

“But he has dementia,” I objected, referring to the man who was now humming gently to himself. “He could go lost or damage himself. We can’t just —”

“You’re done here,” she said abruptly, her eyes shining with contentment. Ever since my first day, she had been waiting for an excuse like this. “Clear out your locker and leave your badge at the front desk.”

“Fine.” I squared my shoulders and inhaled deeply. “All right, let me finish assisting him. I will not abandon him in this manner.

After some thorough questioning, the elderly guy produced a crumpled piece of paper with an address and some phone numbers. I delivered them to the receptionist, Lisa, who promised to call his family straight away.

“I’ll make sure someone comes for him,” Lisa said, squeezing my hand. “What Karen’s doing isn’t right.”

As I removed my belongings from my locker, my hands shaking with a mixture of anger and uncertainty, I couldn’t help wondering if I’d done the right thing.

Three years of nursing school, two years of specialized geriatric training, all possibly down the drain because I couldn’t ignore someone in need.

I went to see how the old man was doing one last time before I left, but he had already left. Nobody appeared to know how or when he had departed. As I imagined him wandering the streets by himself, the guilt weighed heavily on my stomach as I drove home.

The following day, my phone continued to buzz. I thought the calls were spam or perhaps Karen trying to twist the knife, so I ignored them.

Trying not to feel sorry for myself, I spent the morning looking through job postings and revising my resume.

When someone knocked on my door that evening, I almost didn’t answer. My scrubs were in the wash, my hair was a mess, and I wasn’t in the mood for visitors. But something made me open that door.

There he was – the same elderly gentleman from the clinic, except he wasn’t bewildered anymore.

He stood erect in a perfect suit, every silver hair in place, surrounded by an assistant who looked like he’d stepped out of a business magazine. His eyes were keen and clear, flashing with intellect.

“May I come in?” he inquired, his voice clean and strong. “I believe I owe you an explanation.”

Over coffee at my kitchen table, Harold, as he introduced himself, told me everything. He was the proprietor of the Healthcare Network, and he’d been conducting an ethical test across all his clinics. I was the only one who’d passed.

“This morning,” he began, attentively stirring his coffee, “I saw Karen attempt to claim credit for your generosity. Using your notes regarding my illness as evidence that she had assisted me, she arrived at my workplace. As she spoke about her commitment to patient care, she was nearly beaming with pride.

Disgusted, he shook his head. She was unable to conceal her bewilderment when I questioned her about the escaped sneakers. Her expression revealed all.

Harold grinned. “I denounced her to the professional association and immediately fired her. Her nursing career is over due to professional negligence and falsifying paperwork.

A heavy folder was set down on the table by Harold’s helper. There were plans for what appeared to be a huge medical center that was unlike anything I had ever seen.

“My father had dementia,” Harold remarked softly, his fingertips tracing the contour of the building. “I watched him suffer in facilities that treated him like a problem to be managed rather than a person to be cared for.”

“The staff were efficient but cold, more concerned with schedules and protocols than human dignity,” he continued. “He often thought his shoes were running away…”

He gave a sorrowful smile as his voice faded off. “After Dad died, I made a self-promise to start something new: a facility where dementia sufferers could receive kind and respectful care. You should run it for me.

Tears blurred my vision as I gazed at the blueprints.

Memory gardens, activity centers, family gathering areas, and a staff training program emphasizing compassionate care were all features I had ever envisioned putting in place at the institution.

“But I’m just —” I began to object.

“You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for,” Harold said, bending forward to break the silence. “Someone who sees people, not procedures, and who knows that sometimes kindness is more important than rules.” Someone who would jeopardize their career to assist a bewildered elderly guy retrieve his escaped footwear.

This was the culmination of all those advanced classes and additional preparation that I believed had been in vain.

I said, “Yes,” and then, louder, “Yes, I’ll do it.”

Harold smiled. “I was hoping you would say that. Shall we now talk about how to turn this dream become a reality? I’d love to know what you think about staff training, and I have some suggestions about implementing the most recent memory care research.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the irony as he presented his plans for the building. I had believed my career was over twenty-four hours ago. As a result of my stopping to tie a pair of straggling sneakers, it was actually just getting started.