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Journal
– March 2019 The last time I prepared an update journal of how Donna is faring was last Christmas. It’s hard to believe. Christmas seems so long ago. Today, my brain and fingers are all rusty as I try to get them started again. I must oil them a little before I continue. Now, where did I put that glass of Shiraz? ...ah, that’s better. No, I did not oil them by dipping my fingers into the wine. This winter has been very long and tedious, and only now, now that the Ides of March have passed us by, do we see some signs of spring. Two thousand sixty-three years and 15 days ago, Julius Caesar ignored warnings to ‘beware the Ides of March’. |
DONNA'S
Life is good!
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STORY
Conversations with Donna March 2019 
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Alas! He was assassinated by his friends on 15th March, 44BC. That was not a good start to spring for Julius Caesar, but I don't suppose many of us think about that today. I have not been trembling in fear of a similar fate.
My whining about winter being so tedious is a reflection on how long it lasted - just went on and on. In normal years, you would see us all cranking up the barbecue, stocking the beer fridge, and even wheeling out the lawn-mower, sometime around late-January/mid-February. Not this year! We had three separate snow-falls...in early March...here in lotus land. Who ever heard of snow in March – in Port Moody? Buried all the poor, little crocuses that were beginning to come up. The snow didn’t last, of course, but tell that to the poor, little crocuses, bent double by the weight of their brief burden. This year March has certainly met the traditional definition – “In like a Lion and out like a Lamb.”
March has also been tough on the souls at Donna’s care-home. Up until March, George Derby was counting itself lucky. There had been no outbreaks of contagious diseases since spring of last year – unusual – and a sign that staff are working diligently to keep colds and flu at bay. Then the Ides of March arrived, and things went crazy. Within a week, there were twenty-one hapless residents bedridden with flu. It felt like an epidemic was underway. Lock-downs in each ward. All social activities cancelled. Silence in the halls. Long faces everywhere.
Now, at the end of the month, things are finally turning around. Only eight cases remain. Another week must pass with no further outbreaks before the contagious period passes and everyone can breathe a sigh of relief, and the world of George Derby can return to normal.
So! In all this mayhem, how is Donna, today?
Donna is great! Living the life of Riley. Seems as ‘healthy as a horse’. Is that the right phrase? Just how healthy is a horse, anyway? They must have a good immune system. Donna has a good immune system too. She has, so far, made it through flu season with no sign of any problems. Of course, she had her flu shot back in late October – received, no doubt, accompanied by loud hollers of supposed abuse. Today, I can’t even tilt her wheel-chair, up or back, without her howls of extreme (imagined) pain – screams of No! No! No! You’d think I was beating her.
She is much less physically active; she cannot propel her wheel-chair at all, so she is immobile, restricted to places where others put her. Her physical inactivity has been replaced by verbal activity. She chatters or sings all the time, sometimes to the annoyance of other residents. The care-aides tend to place her where she can look out of the window rather than the other way around where she would watch all the activity in the lunch room. Facing the window, her anxiety reduces and she becomes quiet – for a while.
She still recognizes me – even if she is somewhat less excited by my arrival than she once was. We can still converse a little. She still dances – on her fingers, to music in her head. She still avidly watches some old movies, like “Singing in the Rain”. She still has those odd quiet moments when she looks at me, grasps my arm, or my face, and says, “I love you!” I like those moments.
It continues to be fun to visit her, and I do so every second day.
I also notice continued gradual decline. When she is tired, I see a change in her face. Her eyes seem to be deeper in their sockets, surrounded by dark shadows – a bit like black eyes, or bruising. Makes her look very sad. Her nose, which was broken on the fall she had almost two years ago, is now clearly off to one side, slightly.
She still knows me, as I have said. She also knows her friend Marylynn, and Elva, and her companion, Karen. Karen sees her four times a week and Donna likes Karen’s visits. Others, she is happy to see, but probably doesn’t remember. Remember you or not; she is always happy to enjoy your visit.
I have employed a physio-therapist to work with Donna; help her overcome her fear of getting up out of her wheel-chair. They have been able to encourage her to get out of her chair and walk a little. This is good for Donna, but it is also futile. It doesn’t really work. She will not walk again.
It is now three and a half years that Donna has been a resident of George Derby, and nearly ten years since I first noticed the signs that I believed were the onset of Alzheimer’s. She is doing well but, of course, is on that steady downward slope.
Before I get maudlin, I have just been roused by a bevy of garden maintenance people outside my office window. There they are, armed with their leaf-blowers that are growling away loudly. They are working along the paths of our complex, studiously poking those blowers into every corner. I wonder if they realize that there aren’t any leaves to blow just yet – don’t expect them for another three weeks or so. Oh, well. Contracts have to be fulfilled, even if they are just blowing air around.
Time to go! My glass of Shiraz is empty.
My whining about winter being so tedious is a reflection on how long it lasted - just went on and on. In normal years, you would see us all cranking up the barbecue, stocking the beer fridge, and even wheeling out the lawn-mower, sometime around late-January/mid-February. Not this year! We had three separate snow-falls...in early March...here in lotus land. Who ever heard of snow in March – in Port Moody? Buried all the poor, little crocuses that were beginning to come up. The snow didn’t last, of course, but tell that to the poor, little crocuses, bent double by the weight of their brief burden. This year March has certainly met the traditional definition – “In like a Lion and out like a Lamb.”
March has also been tough on the souls at Donna’s care-home. Up until March, George Derby was counting itself lucky. There had been no outbreaks of contagious diseases since spring of last year – unusual – and a sign that staff are working diligently to keep colds and flu at bay. Then the Ides of March arrived, and things went crazy. Within a week, there were twenty-one hapless residents bedridden with flu. It felt like an epidemic was underway. Lock-downs in each ward. All social activities cancelled. Silence in the halls. Long faces everywhere.
Now, at the end of the month, things are finally turning around. Only eight cases remain. Another week must pass with no further outbreaks before the contagious period passes and everyone can breathe a sigh of relief, and the world of George Derby can return to normal.
So! In all this mayhem, how is Donna, today?
Donna is great! Living the life of Riley. Seems as ‘healthy as a horse’. Is that the right phrase? Just how healthy is a horse, anyway? They must have a good immune system. Donna has a good immune system too. She has, so far, made it through flu season with no sign of any problems. Of course, she had her flu shot back in late October – received, no doubt, accompanied by loud hollers of supposed abuse. Today, I can’t even tilt her wheel-chair, up or back, without her howls of extreme (imagined) pain – screams of No! No! No! You’d think I was beating her.
She is much less physically active; she cannot propel her wheel-chair at all, so she is immobile, restricted to places where others put her. Her physical inactivity has been replaced by verbal activity. She chatters or sings all the time, sometimes to the annoyance of other residents. The care-aides tend to place her where she can look out of the window rather than the other way around where she would watch all the activity in the lunch room. Facing the window, her anxiety reduces and she becomes quiet – for a while.
She still recognizes me – even if she is somewhat less excited by my arrival than she once was. We can still converse a little. She still dances – on her fingers, to music in her head. She still avidly watches some old movies, like “Singing in the Rain”. She still has those odd quiet moments when she looks at me, grasps my arm, or my face, and says, “I love you!” I like those moments.
It continues to be fun to visit her, and I do so every second day.
I also notice continued gradual decline. When she is tired, I see a change in her face. Her eyes seem to be deeper in their sockets, surrounded by dark shadows – a bit like black eyes, or bruising. Makes her look very sad. Her nose, which was broken on the fall she had almost two years ago, is now clearly off to one side, slightly.
She still knows me, as I have said. She also knows her friend Marylynn, and Elva, and her companion, Karen. Karen sees her four times a week and Donna likes Karen’s visits. Others, she is happy to see, but probably doesn’t remember. Remember you or not; she is always happy to enjoy your visit.
I have employed a physio-therapist to work with Donna; help her overcome her fear of getting up out of her wheel-chair. They have been able to encourage her to get out of her chair and walk a little. This is good for Donna, but it is also futile. It doesn’t really work. She will not walk again.
It is now three and a half years that Donna has been a resident of George Derby, and nearly ten years since I first noticed the signs that I believed were the onset of Alzheimer’s. She is doing well but, of course, is on that steady downward slope.
Before I get maudlin, I have just been roused by a bevy of garden maintenance people outside my office window. There they are, armed with their leaf-blowers that are growling away loudly. They are working along the paths of our complex, studiously poking those blowers into every corner. I wonder if they realize that there aren’t any leaves to blow just yet – don’t expect them for another three weeks or so. Oh, well. Contracts have to be fulfilled, even if they are just blowing air around.
Time to go! My glass of Shiraz is empty.
