Friday, 26 October 2012
The Dementia Diary: Now I lay me down to sleep.
The Dementia Diary: Now I lay me down to sleep.: Mom is spending more and more time on the nod and if she's not on the nod, then she is zoned out. In the centre of our brains is the contro...
Now I lay me down to sleep.
Mom is spending more and more time on the nod and if she's not on the nod, then she is zoned out. In the centre of our brains is the control for sleep. Because that is deteriorating in mom, she no longer gets proper REM sleep and her body and her brain simply aren't regulated anymore into a normal sleep pattern or a normal circadian cycle. She'll nod off during lunch or dinner, in therapy, in church, and in even in Bingo. She's not the only one, it's a another symptom of dementia. The more they sleep, the sicker they are.
Evelyn also goes on the nod and quickly into a very deep sleep, so deep that right in the middle of a bite of food she will close her eyes, her head drops and in seconds she is sleeping. A few times I've had to pull the food out of her mouth. Her dementia has made her slightly narcoleptic. Oddly, with Alzheimer's and a few other named types of dementia like dementia pugilistica (what Muhammad Ali has with Parkinson's added to his mix) and Steele-Richardson-Olszewski dementia, the circadian cycle gets flipped. These dementia's effect the hypothalamus so patients will sleep in the day but be up all night and some of them will only get a couple hours of sleep in the day because they still have to eat.
Today was the drum circle day. It's the first time I've gone but mom has been to it before. Chris, on of the rec therapists, told me that mom was a regular participant in the circle and always wanted the big drum. That was months ago when she could still use her hands. Now, she plays a shaker, not because her hand can work well enough to play it, rather because her hands shake so much.
I've been to drum circle's before, but for spiritual reasons not therapeutic reasons and I always enjoyed them. Today was no different. I had a blast and so did my dad. There were 20 people at today's drum circle and it was loud. They move all the tables in the dining area aside and then bring whoever wants to come to the circle and the acoustics are great in the dining room so the sound echoes throughout the facility. Once a month they get some elders from the Stoney reserve to come and lead the circle so when they come next time I'll be there.
The predictability of rhythm provides the framework for repetitive responses that make few cognitive demands on people with dementia. It also helps those with Parkinson's dementia as hearing a slow, steady rhythm helps them move more steadily. Drumming also offers extensive exercise for brain cells and their synapses. It's also a form of physical exercise. But what I saw really amazed me. The self-expression that comes out in the patients that were there from my mom's wing. Eddy is first nations and he is in the same state as mom but not rapid progressing. He doesn't talk or move, he only sleeps and grunts. Yet today he drummed and he sang to the rhythm. Margaret who normally just rocks from side to side stopped rocking and intently kept the beat. Marie found her own rhythm but I watched her watch the drum leader and she wasn't trying to follow his beat she was trying to make sure that her harmony beat was in sync. Even Nora the nurse got into it with her hips. She shook her bootie to the rhythm and everyone loved.
Mom's shaker stopped making noise and when I looked over I couldn't believe what I saw. She was on the nod. Her function is that gone that she could nod off in a loud, pounding drum circle. So, I took her back to her room and tilted her chair back so she could nap a little bit before lunch and after lunch the monthly communal birthday party was happening and she needed to be rested. After lunch I took her back to the common area on her wing. She was slouchy and shaky and those are the usual indications that's she's sleepy. So, I asked her if she wanted to go to the birthday party. She said no and then said "No cake". I knew what she meant. She can't swallow the cake so she can't have the cake. I asked her if she wanted to nap in her bed and she said, "Yes, bed". I got the staff to put her to bed.
When she was settled, I went in and she was staring at the ceiling, 'sundowning' not sleeping. I stroked her hair, what's left of it, and I said this prayer. "Now I lay mom down to sleep, I pray the Lord her soul to keep. If she should die before she wakes, I pray the Lord her soul to take". She closed her eyes.
Evelyn also goes on the nod and quickly into a very deep sleep, so deep that right in the middle of a bite of food she will close her eyes, her head drops and in seconds she is sleeping. A few times I've had to pull the food out of her mouth. Her dementia has made her slightly narcoleptic. Oddly, with Alzheimer's and a few other named types of dementia like dementia pugilistica (what Muhammad Ali has with Parkinson's added to his mix) and Steele-Richardson-Olszewski dementia, the circadian cycle gets flipped. These dementia's effect the hypothalamus so patients will sleep in the day but be up all night and some of them will only get a couple hours of sleep in the day because they still have to eat.
Today was the drum circle day. It's the first time I've gone but mom has been to it before. Chris, on of the rec therapists, told me that mom was a regular participant in the circle and always wanted the big drum. That was months ago when she could still use her hands. Now, she plays a shaker, not because her hand can work well enough to play it, rather because her hands shake so much.
I've been to drum circle's before, but for spiritual reasons not therapeutic reasons and I always enjoyed them. Today was no different. I had a blast and so did my dad. There were 20 people at today's drum circle and it was loud. They move all the tables in the dining area aside and then bring whoever wants to come to the circle and the acoustics are great in the dining room so the sound echoes throughout the facility. Once a month they get some elders from the Stoney reserve to come and lead the circle so when they come next time I'll be there.
The predictability of rhythm provides the framework for repetitive responses that make few cognitive demands on people with dementia. It also helps those with Parkinson's dementia as hearing a slow, steady rhythm helps them move more steadily. Drumming also offers extensive exercise for brain cells and their synapses. It's also a form of physical exercise. But what I saw really amazed me. The self-expression that comes out in the patients that were there from my mom's wing. Eddy is first nations and he is in the same state as mom but not rapid progressing. He doesn't talk or move, he only sleeps and grunts. Yet today he drummed and he sang to the rhythm. Margaret who normally just rocks from side to side stopped rocking and intently kept the beat. Marie found her own rhythm but I watched her watch the drum leader and she wasn't trying to follow his beat she was trying to make sure that her harmony beat was in sync. Even Nora the nurse got into it with her hips. She shook her bootie to the rhythm and everyone loved.
Mom's shaker stopped making noise and when I looked over I couldn't believe what I saw. She was on the nod. Her function is that gone that she could nod off in a loud, pounding drum circle. So, I took her back to her room and tilted her chair back so she could nap a little bit before lunch and after lunch the monthly communal birthday party was happening and she needed to be rested. After lunch I took her back to the common area on her wing. She was slouchy and shaky and those are the usual indications that's she's sleepy. So, I asked her if she wanted to go to the birthday party. She said no and then said "No cake". I knew what she meant. She can't swallow the cake so she can't have the cake. I asked her if she wanted to nap in her bed and she said, "Yes, bed". I got the staff to put her to bed.
When she was settled, I went in and she was staring at the ceiling, 'sundowning' not sleeping. I stroked her hair, what's left of it, and I said this prayer. "Now I lay mom down to sleep, I pray the Lord her soul to keep. If she should die before she wakes, I pray the Lord her soul to take". She closed her eyes.
Thursday, 25 October 2012
The Dementia Diary: The brain is amazing
The Dementia Diary: The brain is amazing: 6 years ago I had a severe head trauma. I was chasing Ryley down the stairs and I must have missed a stair and I cracked the tile at the bo...
The brain is amazing
6 years ago I had a severe head trauma. I was chasing Ryley down the stairs and I must have missed a stair and I cracked the tile at the bottom of the stairs, with my head. I was in a coma for 4 days and when I came out of it I couldn't walk, I couldn't talk properly, I couldn't read, I couldn't do a lot of things. I broke the hardest part of the skull, the temporal bone and all the bones in my inner ear. Dr. Chevalier told me I was 4mm from death. Had the skull fracture been 4 mm to the right it would have severed an artery and I probably would have died or at the very least, been left in a vegetative state. I had oodles and oodles of therapy and vestibular therapy for the inner ear damage and overtime I got better. Today the only reminent of my brain injury is darkness and rarely my speech. I get vertigo in the dark or when I close my eyes, so I don't take showers because you have to close your eyes (I do take baths) and I sleep with a nightlight. When I am very tired I wix my mords and I might say something like crappers instead of crackers or affle instead of apple.
I saw Dr. Chevalier for one last time the week before I moved home to Alberta. He is still amazed. By all accounts I should still have some cognitive difficulties or something. But I don't. His office is located in the Step Down Unit of the Kamloops hospital. It's a unit where stroke and brain injury patients go to recover. I volunteered there about a year after my injury and twice a week I would go and read to patients or take them for a little stroll or do a puzzle with them or just chat. I would see people who didn't have as severe head trauma as I had experienced but they were struggling with everything from speech to walking. I was amazed then and now seeing how dementia effects different people, I am even more amazed. The brain is simply amazing. I managed to retrain my brain but people with dementia can't.
Marie and Brenda are on mom's ward and they are both considered end stage. They both walk with walkers, can talk and tell me wonderful stories of their youth and childhood. Both of them have very similar symptoms. Like incontinence and no short term memory. Everyday and I do mean everyday they sit beside each other by the fish tank and everyday the conversation is the same. "Hi, I'm Marie, what's your name?"
"I'm Brenda, nice to meet to you Marie, where are you from?" Marie will smile, "Well Brenda, I'm from Water Valley, my husband Ansfrid and I have a ranch there" (her husband has been gone for many, many years) and so the conversation continues and everyday the same two ladies become new friends. It must be wonderful to make a new friend everyday, even if it is the same friend as yesterday.
Everyday I feed my mom and Evelyn. Evelyn can talk, she walks with a walker and she can feed herself but she goes on the nod a lot so I have to help her. Mom actually got jealous one day and snapped at Evelyn and said "MY daughter!". But Evelyn is going blind because of the dementia and she has no long term or short term memory. She thinks she's 103 years old but really she is 83 years old. I'll ask her "Evelyn, how was your morning?". She'll answer "I think it was good". If I ask her if she likes broccoli she'll answer "I don't know". She doesn't know, she can't remember and she knows it. Some days she gets really depressed and doesn't want to eat and she'll ask me to let her die. I try as best I can to cheer her up by telling her that I need her and she can't go yet. I do need her, she is giving my life a lot of purpose right now.
Robbie is also on the end stage ward. He can't talk, he can't walk but he does shuffle himself around in a wheelchair and gets himself in and out of it. He's on oxygen but has never smoked in his life. Some dementia patients will develop a constant breathlessness and are on oxygen 24/7. Robbie is an incredible crib player. He plays just like my grandpa did. He gently slaps my hand when I miss a point and then he takes the point from me. He skunks me often. When I get him coffee or put his bib on him he always grabs my hand in both of his to say thank you and he always waves when I or my dad pass him in the hallway.
Arlene is a sad soul. She's 93 and also end stage. She can't walk, she does talk and she does eat but only mashed potatoes with gravy and minced meat. That's it, for breakfast too. She sadly sits in the doorway of her room and repeats the same thing all day. One day it might be "Nurse, please help me my stomach hurts".
The next day it will be "Nurse, please help me my leg hurts". The next day it might be "Nurse, please help me, my finger hurts" (Actually her finger probably does hurt as they found a skin cancer under the finger nail and had to remove the tip). But all day she will repeat the same phrase. I stop and talk to her, she will talk and carry on a conversation about the weather or whatever, but within seconds of me leaving she reverts back to "Nurse, please help me, my arm hurts".
There is Marjorie who sometimes walks with her walker and other times prefers her chair. She was on the lock down ward with Pick's dementia but the wandering has stopped. She needs help with everything including eating and she tends babble nonsensical words that aren't words. Then out of the blue she will burst into 'Some Enchanted Evening' or 'New York, New York' or whatever tune comes into her mind. Her husband lives in the supportive living and comes every night to feed her dinner. She was voice/singing coach and in her youth in the 40's was a singer in the dance halls of Ontario.
My mom, well even in the short time I've been here I've watched her slip. She doesn't rock or moan and make weird noises like some of the residents do. She just watches people and now often cries when she watches them. Somewhere in her brain she remembers what she could do just a short time ago. She's sad and it shows. She can still read though. When the news comes on, she always reads aloud the by-lines that flash at the bottom of the screen. It's like she's trying to hang on to the one thing she has left. Just a few days ago she lost another connection in her brain. She can chew and she can swallow liquid but she can no longer chew food and then swallow. Her brain has forgotten how. So, she chews and chews and chews and even a gentle press to the neck won't trigger the swallow response, nor will touching the right side of her tongue. What she does do is chew and chew and chew and the instead of pushing the bolus to the back of her mouth, she pushes it to the front and it all comes out. Vermont has put her on a liquid diet of protein drinks, fortified breakfast drinks and fruit and vegetable juices. We still put the food in front of her and give her little bites to swallow with a drink. It only a matter of time before the rest of the chewing and swallowing connections in her brain disappear. They have changed her designation from M1 resident to C1 resident. C1 means that it's no longer controlling or treating symptoms, it means it's now pallative care.
I was watching the fish today. They swim around and around and around. Some fish only have a 30 second memory span. Imagine that every 30 seconds you forget everything you ever knew and start fresh again with new memory. The residents are like the fish. They wander around and around the ward and everyday they don't know where they are or why they are there and one day, they'll float to the top.
I saw Dr. Chevalier for one last time the week before I moved home to Alberta. He is still amazed. By all accounts I should still have some cognitive difficulties or something. But I don't. His office is located in the Step Down Unit of the Kamloops hospital. It's a unit where stroke and brain injury patients go to recover. I volunteered there about a year after my injury and twice a week I would go and read to patients or take them for a little stroll or do a puzzle with them or just chat. I would see people who didn't have as severe head trauma as I had experienced but they were struggling with everything from speech to walking. I was amazed then and now seeing how dementia effects different people, I am even more amazed. The brain is simply amazing. I managed to retrain my brain but people with dementia can't.
Marie and Brenda are on mom's ward and they are both considered end stage. They both walk with walkers, can talk and tell me wonderful stories of their youth and childhood. Both of them have very similar symptoms. Like incontinence and no short term memory. Everyday and I do mean everyday they sit beside each other by the fish tank and everyday the conversation is the same. "Hi, I'm Marie, what's your name?"
"I'm Brenda, nice to meet to you Marie, where are you from?" Marie will smile, "Well Brenda, I'm from Water Valley, my husband Ansfrid and I have a ranch there" (her husband has been gone for many, many years) and so the conversation continues and everyday the same two ladies become new friends. It must be wonderful to make a new friend everyday, even if it is the same friend as yesterday.
Everyday I feed my mom and Evelyn. Evelyn can talk, she walks with a walker and she can feed herself but she goes on the nod a lot so I have to help her. Mom actually got jealous one day and snapped at Evelyn and said "MY daughter!". But Evelyn is going blind because of the dementia and she has no long term or short term memory. She thinks she's 103 years old but really she is 83 years old. I'll ask her "Evelyn, how was your morning?". She'll answer "I think it was good". If I ask her if she likes broccoli she'll answer "I don't know". She doesn't know, she can't remember and she knows it. Some days she gets really depressed and doesn't want to eat and she'll ask me to let her die. I try as best I can to cheer her up by telling her that I need her and she can't go yet. I do need her, she is giving my life a lot of purpose right now.
Robbie is also on the end stage ward. He can't talk, he can't walk but he does shuffle himself around in a wheelchair and gets himself in and out of it. He's on oxygen but has never smoked in his life. Some dementia patients will develop a constant breathlessness and are on oxygen 24/7. Robbie is an incredible crib player. He plays just like my grandpa did. He gently slaps my hand when I miss a point and then he takes the point from me. He skunks me often. When I get him coffee or put his bib on him he always grabs my hand in both of his to say thank you and he always waves when I or my dad pass him in the hallway.
Arlene is a sad soul. She's 93 and also end stage. She can't walk, she does talk and she does eat but only mashed potatoes with gravy and minced meat. That's it, for breakfast too. She sadly sits in the doorway of her room and repeats the same thing all day. One day it might be "Nurse, please help me my stomach hurts".
The next day it will be "Nurse, please help me my leg hurts". The next day it might be "Nurse, please help me, my finger hurts" (Actually her finger probably does hurt as they found a skin cancer under the finger nail and had to remove the tip). But all day she will repeat the same phrase. I stop and talk to her, she will talk and carry on a conversation about the weather or whatever, but within seconds of me leaving she reverts back to "Nurse, please help me, my arm hurts".
There is Marjorie who sometimes walks with her walker and other times prefers her chair. She was on the lock down ward with Pick's dementia but the wandering has stopped. She needs help with everything including eating and she tends babble nonsensical words that aren't words. Then out of the blue she will burst into 'Some Enchanted Evening' or 'New York, New York' or whatever tune comes into her mind. Her husband lives in the supportive living and comes every night to feed her dinner. She was voice/singing coach and in her youth in the 40's was a singer in the dance halls of Ontario.
My mom, well even in the short time I've been here I've watched her slip. She doesn't rock or moan and make weird noises like some of the residents do. She just watches people and now often cries when she watches them. Somewhere in her brain she remembers what she could do just a short time ago. She's sad and it shows. She can still read though. When the news comes on, she always reads aloud the by-lines that flash at the bottom of the screen. It's like she's trying to hang on to the one thing she has left. Just a few days ago she lost another connection in her brain. She can chew and she can swallow liquid but she can no longer chew food and then swallow. Her brain has forgotten how. So, she chews and chews and chews and even a gentle press to the neck won't trigger the swallow response, nor will touching the right side of her tongue. What she does do is chew and chew and chew and the instead of pushing the bolus to the back of her mouth, she pushes it to the front and it all comes out. Vermont has put her on a liquid diet of protein drinks, fortified breakfast drinks and fruit and vegetable juices. We still put the food in front of her and give her little bites to swallow with a drink. It only a matter of time before the rest of the chewing and swallowing connections in her brain disappear. They have changed her designation from M1 resident to C1 resident. C1 means that it's no longer controlling or treating symptoms, it means it's now pallative care.
I was watching the fish today. They swim around and around and around. Some fish only have a 30 second memory span. Imagine that every 30 seconds you forget everything you ever knew and start fresh again with new memory. The residents are like the fish. They wander around and around the ward and everyday they don't know where they are or why they are there and one day, they'll float to the top.
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
The Dementia Diary: It's like high school sometimes
The Dementia Diary: It's like high school sometimes: It's thought that when we age that we actually regress. After 3 weeks everyday in a seniors care centre, well I believe that it's true, we ...
It's like high school sometimes
It's thought that when we age that we actually regress. After 3 weeks everyday in a seniors care centre, well I believe that it's true, we do regress.
Sam (Santo) is an Italian gentleman on mom's ward. On some days he will follow me around, the best he can, like a lost puppy. He calls me 'piccolo' which means little one. One these days he wants to sit by me and he's sings me Italian songs. He will sit there and smile at me and speak Italian, which I do now agree is a very romantic language even though I don't know what he's saying but he's definitely flirting. The other days he remembers that he's married and all he does is scream at me in Italian and demand that I put his bib on him and get his caffe. I prefer the romantic singing.
On another day, I was helping with one of the wings afternoon tea and couldn't help with the music therapy. We had a big snowfall that day and one of the volunteers called to say that she wouldn't be coming so Ashley, was one her own. I couldn't help port the residents down but the tea would be finished before the end of music therapy and I said I'd be there to help her port them all back. When I got there the doors opened and one of the participants just bolted past me, literally running with her walker. Shannon started talking to me about today's therapy with mom and I thought maybe that lady had to really go to the washroom and she seemed okay with her walker and obviously not blind so I didn't chase her down. Ashley can and we lined up all the people in the walkers and mom and I brought up the then end. Then Ashley did a head count and noticed that Margaret was gone. She told me that she could handle getting them all back, including mom and told me to go to the lock down ward and tell a nurse that Margaret has gone wandering. I was panicked when I realized she was from the lock down and I suggested that maybe I should go outside and look for her, it was cold, she had no coat and she couldn't have gotten far. Ashley was very non-chalant and told me that Margaret does this all the time and she never leaves the building.
I rushed to the lock down ward and buzzed myself in (I know the code). I ran to the nurses station and told them that Margaret had wandered off. They didn't seem to worried either. I watched the nurse go to the computer and type something and then she said "Yep, I knew it, she's in room 406 in assisted living". I didn't realize it until then but the residents of the lock down have a little GPS sensor attached to their wrist bands and can be easily found within a 10 km area surrounding the facility. Well isn't that nifty I thought. She then asked me to go and get Margaret. I apologized over and over as I felt so bad to not stopping her when she bolted. The nurse responded "Don't worry, when she gets an opportunity, she bolts and she can always be found at room 406".
I went down to room 406 and there she was, sitting on the bed, next to a gentlemen named George. In fact the workers call him 'Gorgeous George' and he has many female residents that are interested in him. Honestly, for an 80 year old man, he is good looking. He has silver hair and blue, blue eyes and resembles Paul Newman. If I was 80, I'd be chasing him too. Well Margaret did not want to leave and she pleaded for just 5 more minutes. George, in a very charming manner, stood up, took her hand, gently helped her up from the bed and said "Now Margaret, go with the young lady, you don't want to get in any trouble and you can come back anytime" and he smiled. Margaret reluctantly walked to the door and in a flirtatious voice "Okay George, I'll sneak away soon". Then in the hallway she told me "I hate you". Further down the hallway she said "And you better not get designs on him, he's mine". I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing. If she wasn't grey and wrinkled, I would have sworn I was talking to a 14 year old teen aged girl.
That same night at dinner, Gord was demanding again. Gord has money. His wife drives a Hummer and was in L.A (Los Angeles, not Lethbridge, Alberta) visiting their daughter. Normally he eats in his room with his wife who like me is a trained VMA (volunteer meal assistant). The patients in the end stage ward are not allowed to eat alone, they have to be monitored for choking and aspiration. When his wife is away, he must sit in the dining area with the other end stage residents whom he feels he is better than and refused to sit with any of them. The only person he will dine with is Alvin. But Alvin doesn't like Gord, Alvin likes to sit with Sam (Santo). Alvin enjoys sitting with Sam because Sam only speaks Italian and always nods in agreement with everything that Alvin says, and Alvin says a lot. Alvin often lets Sam watch TV in his private room and it appears that they are friends. Because Gord's dementia makes him prone to angry outbursts that have resulted in him throwing food, the staff accommodate and give him his own table. Of course this means that everyone else must be shuffled around.
Gord got his own table that meant Bob (Marjorie's husband) who comes and feeds her dinner every night would sit at our table with Evelyn and mom and me. Weetska would be moved to Jean and Alma's table and Margaret would go and join her husband Leo (who is the lock down). Livey and Olga would move to the corner and so on and so on. Everyone ate and I did a two handed double duty as the arrangement threw the service staff off and they had to find where everyone was that night so mom's and Evelyn's food came out at the same time instead of being staggered.
When dinner was over the staff started porting the residents back to the ward. Jean called me over. I went to her table and said "What can I get you Jean?". She answered in a very stern voice "You can get this bitch out of here now and I don't ever want her at my table again". She meant Weetska who is the gentlest soul in the ward and who doesn't speak, so I didn't see how it could be determined that she was bitch. I told Jean that's not a nice thing to say and she responded "Shut up and move her". Oddly enough, Jean never has much to say either but she sure spoke loud and clear that night.
Yep, high school confidential and it makes things very interesting.
Sam (Santo) is an Italian gentleman on mom's ward. On some days he will follow me around, the best he can, like a lost puppy. He calls me 'piccolo' which means little one. One these days he wants to sit by me and he's sings me Italian songs. He will sit there and smile at me and speak Italian, which I do now agree is a very romantic language even though I don't know what he's saying but he's definitely flirting. The other days he remembers that he's married and all he does is scream at me in Italian and demand that I put his bib on him and get his caffe. I prefer the romantic singing.
On another day, I was helping with one of the wings afternoon tea and couldn't help with the music therapy. We had a big snowfall that day and one of the volunteers called to say that she wouldn't be coming so Ashley, was one her own. I couldn't help port the residents down but the tea would be finished before the end of music therapy and I said I'd be there to help her port them all back. When I got there the doors opened and one of the participants just bolted past me, literally running with her walker. Shannon started talking to me about today's therapy with mom and I thought maybe that lady had to really go to the washroom and she seemed okay with her walker and obviously not blind so I didn't chase her down. Ashley can and we lined up all the people in the walkers and mom and I brought up the then end. Then Ashley did a head count and noticed that Margaret was gone. She told me that she could handle getting them all back, including mom and told me to go to the lock down ward and tell a nurse that Margaret has gone wandering. I was panicked when I realized she was from the lock down and I suggested that maybe I should go outside and look for her, it was cold, she had no coat and she couldn't have gotten far. Ashley was very non-chalant and told me that Margaret does this all the time and she never leaves the building.
I rushed to the lock down ward and buzzed myself in (I know the code). I ran to the nurses station and told them that Margaret had wandered off. They didn't seem to worried either. I watched the nurse go to the computer and type something and then she said "Yep, I knew it, she's in room 406 in assisted living". I didn't realize it until then but the residents of the lock down have a little GPS sensor attached to their wrist bands and can be easily found within a 10 km area surrounding the facility. Well isn't that nifty I thought. She then asked me to go and get Margaret. I apologized over and over as I felt so bad to not stopping her when she bolted. The nurse responded "Don't worry, when she gets an opportunity, she bolts and she can always be found at room 406".
I went down to room 406 and there she was, sitting on the bed, next to a gentlemen named George. In fact the workers call him 'Gorgeous George' and he has many female residents that are interested in him. Honestly, for an 80 year old man, he is good looking. He has silver hair and blue, blue eyes and resembles Paul Newman. If I was 80, I'd be chasing him too. Well Margaret did not want to leave and she pleaded for just 5 more minutes. George, in a very charming manner, stood up, took her hand, gently helped her up from the bed and said "Now Margaret, go with the young lady, you don't want to get in any trouble and you can come back anytime" and he smiled. Margaret reluctantly walked to the door and in a flirtatious voice "Okay George, I'll sneak away soon". Then in the hallway she told me "I hate you". Further down the hallway she said "And you better not get designs on him, he's mine". I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing. If she wasn't grey and wrinkled, I would have sworn I was talking to a 14 year old teen aged girl.
That same night at dinner, Gord was demanding again. Gord has money. His wife drives a Hummer and was in L.A (Los Angeles, not Lethbridge, Alberta) visiting their daughter. Normally he eats in his room with his wife who like me is a trained VMA (volunteer meal assistant). The patients in the end stage ward are not allowed to eat alone, they have to be monitored for choking and aspiration. When his wife is away, he must sit in the dining area with the other end stage residents whom he feels he is better than and refused to sit with any of them. The only person he will dine with is Alvin. But Alvin doesn't like Gord, Alvin likes to sit with Sam (Santo). Alvin enjoys sitting with Sam because Sam only speaks Italian and always nods in agreement with everything that Alvin says, and Alvin says a lot. Alvin often lets Sam watch TV in his private room and it appears that they are friends. Because Gord's dementia makes him prone to angry outbursts that have resulted in him throwing food, the staff accommodate and give him his own table. Of course this means that everyone else must be shuffled around.
Gord got his own table that meant Bob (Marjorie's husband) who comes and feeds her dinner every night would sit at our table with Evelyn and mom and me. Weetska would be moved to Jean and Alma's table and Margaret would go and join her husband Leo (who is the lock down). Livey and Olga would move to the corner and so on and so on. Everyone ate and I did a two handed double duty as the arrangement threw the service staff off and they had to find where everyone was that night so mom's and Evelyn's food came out at the same time instead of being staggered.
When dinner was over the staff started porting the residents back to the ward. Jean called me over. I went to her table and said "What can I get you Jean?". She answered in a very stern voice "You can get this bitch out of here now and I don't ever want her at my table again". She meant Weetska who is the gentlest soul in the ward and who doesn't speak, so I didn't see how it could be determined that she was bitch. I told Jean that's not a nice thing to say and she responded "Shut up and move her". Oddly enough, Jean never has much to say either but she sure spoke loud and clear that night.
Yep, high school confidential and it makes things very interesting.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
The Dementia Diary: A happy day at the home
The Dementia Diary: A happy day at the home: The great thing about Bethany is that regardless of residents health, they always recognize birthdays and anniversaries, even those of the c...
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