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Journal – June 2019
“Ms Donna Jean Frame has a new career. She is planning to be a model with Vogue Magazine. Look for the attached photo on the cover of a future issue of Vogue soon to be seen on magazine racks everywhere.” That’s what she told me to say. So, where did her hat come from? I have no idea. I don’t think the residents trade their clothes with each other. Sometimes things get left in the wrong room, due perhaps to a little midnight (or midday) teepee-creeping that nobody talks about. Sometimes, particularly when the air-conditioning isn’t working, all manner of clothing gets ripped off and discarded – anywhere – publicly! – much to the horror of the care-aides. It is rare but not unheard-of, to pass a completely unclothed resident in the halls. |
DONNA'S
STORY 
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At these moments, I must keep my cool and simply say, “Oh, Hi Pauline,” or “Alan” or whomever, pass them by, and search for an over-worked care-aide to come to the rescue. I know the care-aides are not truly shocked at these moments; they just pretend to be in front of us family visitors.
But, even with these activities occurring regularly, how do I account for the fact that all Donna’s clothes are labelled? Her name is seemingly professionally sewn in. Someone must identify an unlabelled item, declare it to be Donna’s, then send it to the laundry with instructions to label it.
When Donna first went to George Derby, I was asked to provide her with a pair of slippers that were flat, not heeled; were closely wrapped around the entire foot, including the heel; and were fastened, preferably with Velcro so they could be easily put on and taken off. I bought a specialized pair – very expensive – about $185. When those original pair were somehow lost, a year or so later, I found another pair, with all the same described features – at Walmart – for $17.95. Today, there are four pairs in Donna’s cupboard; similar in description; all labelled as Donna’s. Who knows where the other three pairs came from?
On top of all this rambling, Donna doesn’t like her hat. She has never been a hat person, and only barely tolerated my attempts to take her picture in her hat, for Vogue Magazine, of course. When Donna doesn’t tolerate something today, she usually lets out a blood-curdling roar that brings one or two care-aides on the double. “Someone’s trying to murder me!” This first attempt at starting her modelling career produced just such a reaction. I was lucky they didn’t throw me out, or worse, lock me in one of their rooms.
You can see her typical reaction to hats if you look back to the Journal for March 2018. See the ‘joy’ in Donna’s face as she is being forced to have fun and wear a leprechaun’s hat on St. Paddy’s Day. A copious supply of strawberry and chocolate ice-cream sundae solved the problem on that day. Today, it might require a large sip of Bailey's.
Things are generally quieter now. Donna’s anxieties don’t rise to the surface as much. Maybe it’s because she is being medicated somewhat differently. (I must check on that.) But I’m more inclined to see it as part of the ‘normal’ Alzheimer’s regression process. When I first arrive, she is usually sitting quietly, either staring outside at the garden – now full of flowers – or she is watching TV. I don’t think she gets anything from the TV, but I can’t really tell. If she is watching “Singing in the Rain”, she is very attentive, and her fingers are dancing all the time.
Soon after my arrival, her anxiety rises and she begins to chatter. Before too long, that chatter subsides, then Donna likes just to sit with me and not talk. She is simply happy with my being there. She doesn’t want me to leave, and always tries to get me to stay a little longer, reaches for my hand and says, “Sit down, Johnnie.” It’s times like this that bother me the most. She is clearly in our world at these times, and wants to stay there. My presence gives her comfort. It’s hard to leave, and on the occasions when she holds my arm and whispers, “I love you,” it’s even harder.
George Derby itself, is also changing. There is a much greater emphasis being placed on the therapeutic value of various forms of exercise and entertainment. There is an event going on almost every day, some of it one-on-one. The effect on each resident, even the most comatose, is clear to see. All respond positively in some way or another. Donna particularly enjoys the music therapy sessions where Lori sings and plays guitar to a circle of about six to eight residents. Donna loves those moments. Her dancing fingers are going continuously as she sings along with Lori, perhaps using her own invented melody or lyrics. It doesn’t matter.
Then there is Pub Night on Wednesdays and Saturdays, a monthly birthday party, Ladies’ Tea, bread baking, bus drives, a dozen other things.
Many things are being done today to ensure the comfort of residents.
But, even with these activities occurring regularly, how do I account for the fact that all Donna’s clothes are labelled? Her name is seemingly professionally sewn in. Someone must identify an unlabelled item, declare it to be Donna’s, then send it to the laundry with instructions to label it.
When Donna first went to George Derby, I was asked to provide her with a pair of slippers that were flat, not heeled; were closely wrapped around the entire foot, including the heel; and were fastened, preferably with Velcro so they could be easily put on and taken off. I bought a specialized pair – very expensive – about $185. When those original pair were somehow lost, a year or so later, I found another pair, with all the same described features – at Walmart – for $17.95. Today, there are four pairs in Donna’s cupboard; similar in description; all labelled as Donna’s. Who knows where the other three pairs came from?
On top of all this rambling, Donna doesn’t like her hat. She has never been a hat person, and only barely tolerated my attempts to take her picture in her hat, for Vogue Magazine, of course. When Donna doesn’t tolerate something today, she usually lets out a blood-curdling roar that brings one or two care-aides on the double. “Someone’s trying to murder me!” This first attempt at starting her modelling career produced just such a reaction. I was lucky they didn’t throw me out, or worse, lock me in one of their rooms.
You can see her typical reaction to hats if you look back to the Journal for March 2018. See the ‘joy’ in Donna’s face as she is being forced to have fun and wear a leprechaun’s hat on St. Paddy’s Day. A copious supply of strawberry and chocolate ice-cream sundae solved the problem on that day. Today, it might require a large sip of Bailey's.
Things are generally quieter now. Donna’s anxieties don’t rise to the surface as much. Maybe it’s because she is being medicated somewhat differently. (I must check on that.) But I’m more inclined to see it as part of the ‘normal’ Alzheimer’s regression process. When I first arrive, she is usually sitting quietly, either staring outside at the garden – now full of flowers – or she is watching TV. I don’t think she gets anything from the TV, but I can’t really tell. If she is watching “Singing in the Rain”, she is very attentive, and her fingers are dancing all the time.
Soon after my arrival, her anxiety rises and she begins to chatter. Before too long, that chatter subsides, then Donna likes just to sit with me and not talk. She is simply happy with my being there. She doesn’t want me to leave, and always tries to get me to stay a little longer, reaches for my hand and says, “Sit down, Johnnie.” It’s times like this that bother me the most. She is clearly in our world at these times, and wants to stay there. My presence gives her comfort. It’s hard to leave, and on the occasions when she holds my arm and whispers, “I love you,” it’s even harder.
George Derby itself, is also changing. There is a much greater emphasis being placed on the therapeutic value of various forms of exercise and entertainment. There is an event going on almost every day, some of it one-on-one. The effect on each resident, even the most comatose, is clear to see. All respond positively in some way or another. Donna particularly enjoys the music therapy sessions where Lori sings and plays guitar to a circle of about six to eight residents. Donna loves those moments. Her dancing fingers are going continuously as she sings along with Lori, perhaps using her own invented melody or lyrics. It doesn’t matter.
Then there is Pub Night on Wednesdays and Saturdays, a monthly birthday party, Ladies’ Tea, bread baking, bus drives, a dozen other things.
Many things are being done today to ensure the comfort of residents.
