Feeling Feisty

On any visit, I am never sure who will greet me.  Will Mom know who I am? Will she be happy? Confused? Quiet? Energetic?

On this day, the best word to describe Nana would be "feisty," but in  a happy way.  Nana was convinced that her family was all moving in this day.  She saw me as I entered the unit.

"Hey, you're here! Terrific.  Let's go see the Director, so we can get your room."  Hmmm... We walked into the Director's office, where the Activities Director was working on some paperwork.

"Nancy is here. Is her room ready?"  Michelle looked Nana in the eye and said, "It's just about done."  Nana smiled. "The rest of the family should be here soon.  Are you sure there is room for everyone?"
Michelle assured her that there would be plenty of room. "Oh good," says Nana. "I think you will get along with everyone.  We are a very merry bunch!"

We went to Nana's room to wait for the others.  I dropped my stuff, took off my coat, and left Mom to go get a key to her medicine box, which I refill at every visit.  When I came back, she was hanging my coat up in her roommate's closet.  "Your room will probably be smaller than mine, so I will keep your coat up here." Okey dokey.  Following the first rule of calming Alzheimer's patients, I went along with her plan.

"Next, we need to get you fitted with one of these," she says, looking down at her walker. I told her that I was OK for now, I didn't need a walker yet.  "Oh, yes you do.  It's a rule around here. EVERYBODY needs to have one."  She was quiet for a moment.

"I have an idea. Let's go ahead outside and walk around.  If anybody says anything, look innocent and say, 'I'm sorry-- I didn't know that was a rule."  She burst into giggles.

"Oh, please don't tell anyone that I am encouraging my daughter to be naughty." We laughed.

I walked with Nana for awhile, and we had a nice visit. By the time I left, Nana was no longer thinking about everyone moving in.  I said my goodbyes, grabbed my coat and headed to the car.

That's when I realised that she hid my sunglasses somewhere in her room. .....
That was two weeks ago, and nope-- they still haven't reappeared.

What is Left?

 

Driving to Nana's today, I was thinking about all the things that Alzheimers has taken from her or from other residents.  Many of her memories are gone. She is beginning to lose some of her physical abilities, needing a walker for balance, assistance in showering, wearing Depends, remembering when to eat (and whether she has eaten at all). I think of the others around her, who are no longer capable of speaking, or making meaningful sentences; I think of the ones confined to wheelchairs, or needing all of their food pulverized in a blender, and it sometimes makes me sad.  But then I walk into Compass.

 

 

"HI!!", says Betty, as she gives me a big hug.  "It is so good to see you again!"

 

Terry gives me a wide-open smile and a pat on the back, and a few others give me a wink and a smile.

 

I see Nana down the hallway, and I walk her way.  She is talking to Terry and a visitor, and they are all talking and laughing. "Jane, we all love you.  You are always so lovely."  Nana acknowledges the compliment, and comes back with a little self-deprecating humor, and they all laugh again. Nana sees me, and her face lights up.

 

"Heeeyyyyy, you're here! It's Nancy!!!"  I receive a huge hug.  "I have been thinking about you, and hoping you would stop by."  She turns to the others.  "This is my daughter. Can you tell?, " she says, as she presses her face next to mine. They all acknowledge that we look "just alike".  I am flattered (even if it means I look like an 83-year old ;). )

 

 

We sit down right outside the community room, as close as two people can sit on the couch. "Oh, that feels good-- I feel better already!," says Nana, as we cuddle up.  "Me too," I say, and I truly mean it.  We hold hands and she tells me how she is doing. She doesn't always make sense, and she often repeats the same sentences over again, but that doesn't matter.  I just feel so warm and happy sitting next to her, and I know that she feels the same.  As people walk into the community room, they greet us with a smile or a story, and everyone comments on how we look alike. Nana swells with pride. One resident looks at me and says, "Somebody is Blonde today!," and gives me a wink... haha!

 

 

I tell Nana that I must get going-- Eddie is coming to town for the night. " OH! Will he have time to visit?"

 

I explain that he is only in town for the night, with the basketball team, and she says that she is sorry that she won't see him, but happy to hear that he is doing so well. "Will you bring him a kiss for me?"

 

 

"Of course-- and a hug too."  She is very pleased.

 

 

As I was leaving, it occurred to me that Alzheimer's can't take everything.  It may rob a person of their memories, their dignity, their physical abilities-- but it can't steal their most important commodity.  It can't steal away their LOVE.  The smiles, the twinkles in their eyes, their ability to understand that they are loved--- this is what remains.

 

As Nana tells me every visit, we are truly blessed.