Tag: friendship

“You look like a wicked broad!”

Joan was the second British woman who had lived in one of my dementia care communities. She had moved to the US after meeting her husband, an American soldier, in World War II—a story similar to the one that I heard from my first British resident. If you asked Joan, she could still tell you the story. “We met at a dance,” she’d offer. “They used to do these dances so that we could meet young American soldiers.” You’d ask her how her husband was at dancing. “No, he wasn’t any good. Americans can’t dance,” she’d reply, a shadow of a snarky smile crossing her eyes. That was my favorite thing about Joan: her sense of humor. Her moods were unpredictable, but she was always funny—and she knew it. Her humor was stereotypically English: dry, sarcastic, witty. I’d often tell her that I studied abroad in Bath, England. and this delighted her. Of course, the story was always new, and so was her reaction to it. “Ah! Bath. Yes, a nice little city,” she’d offer. Joan often responded well to me over other staff members. So, one day, when it was time for dinner, I offered her a seat. Joan was in a particularly bad mood that afternoon, though, and was not interested in sitting down. “No, no, no,” she repeated. “I do not want to sit down. I won’t do it.” “It’s okay, Joan, we’re about to have dinner,” I said, gently. “No,” she responded, then looked up at my face. “You look like a wicked broad…” she snapped at me. This really cracked me up. I’d never been called “a wicked broad” before, and I started to laugh, showing my teeth. Joan paused her criticism of me. “…with beautiful teeth!” I started to laugh even harder, and that snarky smile began to cross Joan’s face; she was enjoying this bizarre interaction. “I want your teeth,” she continued. “Please give them to me.”

September 3, 2016

There’s Friendship in Dementia

A pair of my residents walked down the hall together. Joyce was hand in hand with her new friend, Darlene. Joyce stopped and looked at me carefully. “Have you seen ‘Melissa’ around here anywhere?” she asked me. I cracked a smile, but tried not to laugh. “Melissa” was Darlene’s daughter’s name. Darlene tended to perseverate on the name “Melissa,” since she was very attached to her daughter. “Sorry, Joyce, I haven’t seen Melissa anywhere,” I said. “Well,” Joyce sighed. “If you see her, can you please tell her that her mother, Darlene, is looking for her?” “Sure,” I smiled back. Joyce, in her new-found friendship and love for Darlene, was attempting to help her find her daughter. Darlene was smiling and happy, holding Joyce’s hand. She probably was not really looking for her daughter at that moment, but instead was comforted by saying “Melissa” over and over again. For Joyce, though, the mission had begun. She wanted to help her new friend feel comfortable. I think, truly, one of the BEST reasons to move a loved one into a long-term care community is because you want to improve that person’s social experience. Dementia care communities foster social engagement and friendship, while keeping a loved one at home tends to isolate them from others. An hour later I found them on one of the hallway’s couches together, sleeping, but still holding hands.

March 22, 2016

A Gift For A Friend

Jeff and Bill had become really good friends. Bill had lived at our community for quite a while, and Jeff was a new resident. Although Jeff was more high-functioning than Bill was, they always sat together at mealtimes. The pair chatted on and on about what they did for a living, where they lived, and what their families were like. Needless to say, neither one worked for a living anymore, nor did either of them live outside our community. “What do you do for a living again?” Bill would ask.“I’m an engineer,” Jeff would respond.“Oh, right, I remember you saying that now,” Bill would reply. While Jeff was in the earlier stages of dementia, Bill was much more progressed. That did not seem to matter, however—neither Bill nor Jeff noticed the differences between them. Yesterday Jeff walked into our office and looked at my friend, our nurse. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked. “Sure,” she smiled back.“I want to give my cane to Bill. You know him?” he asked.“Yes, but you know that Bill doesn’t use a cane, he has a walker,” she responded with a grin. “Yeah, but I want him to have this as a gift. Can you write on it, ‘To Bill, from your good friend, Jeff’?” he asked, offering up the cane. “I want him to have it. He’s such a good friend.”

August 22, 2015

Bilingual Bowling

“We are bowling. Bowwwwlllllliiinngggg,” Clementine offered, dragging out the word and making a bowling motion with her hand. “Come bowl with us,” she said to her new friend. Clementine was attempting to persuade Astrid to join her for a game in the common area. The problem was that Astrid spoke German, and Clementine spoke only English. Astrid looked confused and perhaps even a bit irritated. She sat at the front of the locked community quietly reading to herself, only looking up when people walked in or out of the door. The common factor between the two of them, however, was that they were both originally from other countries. Clementine understood this, and did not want Astrid to feel left out. I watched as Clementine set her walker against the wall and put a hand on Astrid’s shoulder. She was determined to get her new friend to join the rest of the group. “I know what it’s like to move to a new country. I felt the same way that you feel now when I came here from England,” Clementine explained, ignoring the language barrier. “But I want you to know that it will be okay. People are nice here and you will make friends!” She went on. Clementine touched Astrid’s hand. “It will all be okay,” she said. It was the most touching thing I have seen in a long time.

March 22, 2015

An Empty Couch.

It’s easy to underestimate the amount that people with dementia rely on each other for companionship. While my residents usually seem to “forget” their new friends after these people die or move away, they do not forget the connection. Often, after a pair of residents is separated by death or by distance, the one left behind can be found searching for the departed. Even if he or she cannot explain who or what they are looking for, it is clear that they are grieving. “Is my family coming to pick me up tonight?” Virginia asked, sitting alone by the front door. “No, not tonight,” I answered honestly. Virginia is easy to redirect, partly because her short-term memory is so poor. She thanked me and got up, pushing her walker down the long hallway. Ever since her best friend left, Virginia has been more lost and confused than ever before. When her friend was there, the pair could be found sitting on their favorite couch. Sometimes they would talk, but mostly they would just sit, relying on each other for social cues and timing. “Is it time for bed yet?” one would ask. “No, not yet,” the other would reply. Now, Virginia sits elsewhere. Now, the couch is empty.

March 14, 2015

Beauty At Any Age.

“C’mon, pretty lady!” Ella motioned to Mildred. “Let’s go to lunch.” “That’s not me, I’m not a pretty lady,” Mildred shook her head, refusing to accept the compliment. My residents constantly blow me away by how kind they are to each other. Sure, sometimes they get angry with each other or pick fights. But, for the most part, my residents are innately happy, loving people. People with dementia sometimes have mood swings. When they are in the upswing (as most of them tend to be) these moods are full of hugs, hand-holding, and compliments. Many of my residents will walk down the hallway, hugging or complimenting each person on the way. They joke with each other and they laugh together. They create powerful friendships—even if those friendships are forgotten by the day’s end. “Sure you are pretty! Get all dressed up, you can look nice. See? That’s a nice sweater,” Ella said, touching Mildred’s sleeve.

March 10, 2015

Friendship.

It was 5:00 PM, which meant it was time for dinner. I scanned the dining room, checking seats for their respective owners. Where are Margaret* and Patricia*? I thought. It was odd that they weren’t in the dining room, especially because they were always some of the first residents to sit down. This duo is exactly that: a duo. They are roommates and also best friends. I went to their room and quietly opened the door. Each one was bundled up in bed, sleeping. I went over to Patricia’s bed first and softly touched her on the arm. “Hey, it’s time for dinner.” She opened her eyes immediately. “Do you mean supper?” she asked. Margaret rolled over in her bed. “Suppertime? I thought it was time for bed,“ she said. Like I said, they do everything together. Undoubtably, one of them convinced the other it was bedtime, so to sleep they went. Margaret was even in her pajamas. "I was wondering where my two favorite people were, so I had to come looking for you,” I said. Patricia smiled, the crows feet at her eyes bunching up. “I think you need to brush your hair a little,” Margaret told her. I helped them both get out of bed and assisted Margaret with her shoes. I gently brushed Patricia’s hair and I helped Margaret put on a comfy nightgown over her pajamas. She hugged me. We walked out of the room and suddenly Margaret turned, holding my shoulders. The 90-year-old’s eyes grew wide. “Are you ashamed of me?” she asked. I was surprised. “Of course not, why would I ever be ashamed of you?” I exclaimed. “Here I am, wearing my pajamas, going off to dinner!” she explained, motioning to her nightgown. “That’s okay,” I said softly. Margaret pulled me into a hug and kissed my cheek. I held her hand and helped to steady Patricia with her walker, guiding them both to the dining room. These are my friends.

September 13, 2014