It is a small home. I see falls, death, people crying, understaffing, and blood. Frustration, anger, people rushing 'cause they're so busy. Dancing, pain and hope. We smell perfume, sweat, perfume, Dettol with lavender. I hear sadness, tiredness, joking between residents, I see death. Full skin tears, sadness, under staffing. Minimal support from head office, bland walls, burnout. We hear loneliness, sadness, and the pain of the residents calling out our names saying ‘Come on, help me, I need your help’. Can somebody help me? That sound. We hear the same questions again and again. Can somebody help me? Abuse needs to go! Bum, kicking, slapping, pinching, bitting, hitting, spitting, screaming. I've literally been told one day, oh, you are just a carer. Get out of your office, come to the floor and do one day of work! How many times have we all made sure that the residents are not dying alone? One of the residents was passing and she was so scared of dying. She was frightened. She knew she was going. And I sat there with her and I held her hand, and management came up to me and said ‘You cannot sit there all day’. We are not just pushing wheelchairs. You know? We care.