Dementia is such an unpleasant disease. I can only imagine the emotions that sprout forth when told of the diagnosis; when you understand what will be happening to your brain. “John”, ninety-three, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s eight years ago. He has been in a recent decline and it was then, that his doctor made a hospice referral.
We met John and his daughter in a visiting room at the facility where John has lived for four years. John did not understand who we were or why we were there. The first thing I noticed was how happy he appeared. His daughter, “Amanda”, was so attentive to her father. John would ask Amanda about the athletic pants she was wearing and then would laugh. She would respond, “Do you want a pair?” Both of them would laugh so hard. It was wonderful to see.
This family was a joy to be with as John and Amanda had us all laughing throughout the visit. It was a blessing that John did not understand what was happening. That is the one gift that Alzheimer’s can give folks; no memory of how much they have lost. I know John will continue to laugh, and keep others laughing, as long as he can. God bless you John.
DEMENTIA
He's lost a lot of his memory,
but his wide smile still remains.
No matter what topic of conversation,
his laugh will permeate the room.
Dementia slowly robs one's memory.
Day by day, bit by bit.
One's reality may become distorted;
their truth known only to them.
You could tell he had a great sense of humor.
He was witty in his own way.
His laugh was so contagious;
with humorous sarcasm shining through.
I asked his daughter about his faith.
Would he like a chaplain to stop in?
She said he was a lifelong Mormon.
For ninety years he lived his faith.
Recently though, things have changed.
His faith has taken a dramatic turn;
as three years ago he adamantly proclaimed,
“Enough of that!”
He made us all laugh,
like he's been doing all of his life.
Dementia may have robbed him blind,
but it kindly left him one wondrous gift;
his humor.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Saturday, October 1, 2016
BOOKENDS
"Russ", sixty, was diagnosed with cancer five months ago. He found out last week that his cancer has now spread to his bones. In the past few weeks, he has become much weaker and needing more help. Russ spends a lot of time in bed because of his weakness. He has had a poor appetite and is focused on eating better and getting stronger in order to be able to sit outside in the sun.
Russ has been a successful painter and singer throughout his career. His art gives him much joy. His face lights up when talking about his art or sharing photos of his paintings.
Russ's life has changed dramatically since this recent diagnosis, but nothing gets him down. He has a very positive outlook on his life. He spoke of many past achievements and future goals. His goals are simple, but important to him. He has no regrets or unfinished business. He left us all smiling as we walked out to the car after the visit. What an honor to have met such an amazing individual.
BOOKENDS
His gift is his creativity.
Watercolors, opera, paint and song.
He's made a long career doing what he loves;
living a life, joyfully, his way.
He just found out his cancer is terminal.
The doctors told him just three months.
He wants to get strong to sit outside.
His goals are small; but important to him.
He has no fears about dying.
His spirituality is his art.
Egyptian beliefs, centuries old.
Death is energy; nothing more.
He sang in an opera at age ten.
A highlight in his young life.
Three months ago singing again
in a much larger operatic production.
His last hurrah.
Going out with a bang.
"My life has been opera bookends
at the beginning
and at the end."
Russ has been a successful painter and singer throughout his career. His art gives him much joy. His face lights up when talking about his art or sharing photos of his paintings.
Russ's life has changed dramatically since this recent diagnosis, but nothing gets him down. He has a very positive outlook on his life. He spoke of many past achievements and future goals. His goals are simple, but important to him. He has no regrets or unfinished business. He left us all smiling as we walked out to the car after the visit. What an honor to have met such an amazing individual.
BOOKENDS
His gift is his creativity.
Watercolors, opera, paint and song.
He's made a long career doing what he loves;
living a life, joyfully, his way.
He just found out his cancer is terminal.
The doctors told him just three months.
He wants to get strong to sit outside.
His goals are small; but important to him.
He has no fears about dying.
His spirituality is his art.
Egyptian beliefs, centuries old.
Death is energy; nothing more.
He sang in an opera at age ten.
A highlight in his young life.
Three months ago singing again
in a much larger operatic production.
His last hurrah.
Going out with a bang.
"My life has been opera bookends
at the beginning
and at the end."
Saturday, September 24, 2016
DENIAL IS
Three years ago, the doctors discovered a benign tumor by a fluke. The tumor is threatening my optic nerve. I have been watched closely since that time with annual appointments, MRIs and visual field tests. All was well, until four months ago, I was told by my surgeon that the tumor has been slowly growing. He wanted to wait five months to watch it.
I agreed, but pretty quickly I discovered I could not live knowing that at any time my peripheral vision may diminish. Any visual deficits is irreversible. My doctor consulted his colleagues and they all agreed that it was a valid surgery and waiting would be riskier. I have come to terms with needing this surgery as the alternative would be blindness.
My surgery is less than two weeks away and I am having great days, but stressful moments. Yesterday, I spoke with a Nurse Practitioner at the surgery clinic, who informed me of the surgery and what to expect during recovery. It made it all so real, which is a bit scary. It was a stressful day for me.
Today, I am doing great and realize I am in some denial, which is so helpful. I know what is ahead, but when talking about it, it is like it is someone else. So often folks want another to be realistic and know the truth, but, for me, denial can also be one’s best friend.
ADDENDUM: I wrote this poem six months ago. It was a long recovery, but I am now back to normal. This experience has changed me so much for the better. I appreciate each day knowing that the result could not have gone as well as it has. I thank my God; my spirit daily.
DENIAL IS
Denial is an emotion.
It helps us cope in baby steps.
A new diagnosis is shocking and scary.
Denial allows us relief from reality.
Intellectually, we know the entire truth,
but emotionally, we can be all over the board.
Knowing the truth is important,
but it can also be overpowering.
When overwhelmed, we cannot think rationally.
We are captured; distracted; helpless.
Denial allows reality to slowly creep in
to gradually grasp what lies ahead.
Denial is an emotion.
It helps me cope in baby steps.
A new diagnosis is shocking and scary.
Denial allows me relief from reality.
I agreed, but pretty quickly I discovered I could not live knowing that at any time my peripheral vision may diminish. Any visual deficits is irreversible. My doctor consulted his colleagues and they all agreed that it was a valid surgery and waiting would be riskier. I have come to terms with needing this surgery as the alternative would be blindness.
My surgery is less than two weeks away and I am having great days, but stressful moments. Yesterday, I spoke with a Nurse Practitioner at the surgery clinic, who informed me of the surgery and what to expect during recovery. It made it all so real, which is a bit scary. It was a stressful day for me.
Today, I am doing great and realize I am in some denial, which is so helpful. I know what is ahead, but when talking about it, it is like it is someone else. So often folks want another to be realistic and know the truth, but, for me, denial can also be one’s best friend.
ADDENDUM: I wrote this poem six months ago. It was a long recovery, but I am now back to normal. This experience has changed me so much for the better. I appreciate each day knowing that the result could not have gone as well as it has. I thank my God; my spirit daily.
DENIAL IS
Denial is an emotion.
It helps us cope in baby steps.
A new diagnosis is shocking and scary.
Denial allows us relief from reality.
Intellectually, we know the entire truth,
but emotionally, we can be all over the board.
Knowing the truth is important,
but it can also be overpowering.
When overwhelmed, we cannot think rationally.
We are captured; distracted; helpless.
Denial allows reality to slowly creep in
to gradually grasp what lies ahead.
Denial is an emotion.
It helps me cope in baby steps.
A new diagnosis is shocking and scary.
Denial allows me relief from reality.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
THE PERFECT ANSWER
We all have different levels of intelligence and memory. When a patient suffers from dementia or Alzheimer's, a Mini Mental Exam is a tool that can help determine how much a patient may understand. The exam consists of simple questions in a number of areas. The examiner may have a patient repeat a list of three words, spell a word backwards or name an article, like a watch, for example.
"Leo", ninety-four, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease four years ago. Leo lives in the Memory Care Unit of a Residential Care Facility. Leo has been slowly declining to where now he is eating very little, getting weaker and sleeping more. Alzheimer's is a progressive disease which strongly impacts one's memory. Patients typically become more confused as the days and months go by.
The nurse and I went out to meet Leo and his family. Initially, we spoke with the family in a conference room nearby to explain our program. Leo was not able to participate in the admission visit due to his confusion. Quite often too much stimulation or conversation can frustrate the patient.
After the family signed the admission paperwork, we all went into Leo's room to meet him. The nurse asked Leo several questions and his last answer made us all laugh. It was so simple, but brilliant to me. Mostly though, it was so adorable It made me think that Leo still has some cognitive ability working inside. The best part of it all; Leo's heart continued to shine radiantly.
THE PERFECT ANSWER
He's ninety-four with Alzheimer's;
living in a Memory Care Unit.
He's been in a recent decline;
more confused; weaker; eating less.
She checked his heart for changes.
She checked his lungs for air.
She also wanted to check his memory,
so she asked him a few simple questions.
"How old are you?"
"I am one hundred and two."
"What is the date of your birthday?"
He answered like it was so obvious,
"One hundred and two years ago."
It made us all laugh.
It was so adorable; it was brilliant.
It was, without doubt,
the perfect answer.
"Leo", ninety-four, was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease four years ago. Leo lives in the Memory Care Unit of a Residential Care Facility. Leo has been slowly declining to where now he is eating very little, getting weaker and sleeping more. Alzheimer's is a progressive disease which strongly impacts one's memory. Patients typically become more confused as the days and months go by.
The nurse and I went out to meet Leo and his family. Initially, we spoke with the family in a conference room nearby to explain our program. Leo was not able to participate in the admission visit due to his confusion. Quite often too much stimulation or conversation can frustrate the patient.
After the family signed the admission paperwork, we all went into Leo's room to meet him. The nurse asked Leo several questions and his last answer made us all laugh. It was so simple, but brilliant to me. Mostly though, it was so adorable It made me think that Leo still has some cognitive ability working inside. The best part of it all; Leo's heart continued to shine radiantly.
THE PERFECT ANSWER
He's ninety-four with Alzheimer's;
living in a Memory Care Unit.
He's been in a recent decline;
more confused; weaker; eating less.
She checked his heart for changes.
She checked his lungs for air.
She also wanted to check his memory,
so she asked him a few simple questions.
"How old are you?"
"I am one hundred and two."
"What is the date of your birthday?"
He answered like it was so obvious,
"One hundred and two years ago."
It made us all laugh.
It was so adorable; it was brilliant.
It was, without doubt,
the perfect answer.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
NEW DIAGNOSIS
I found out today that one of my co-workers was just diagnosed with cancer. She called me into her office and shared her recent news. She said it felt so surreal; like we are talking about someone else. She knew that I would understand as I, too, recently got diagnosed with a new diagnosis; a growing, benign brain tumor.
Diagnoses such as these bring up so many questions. Why and what do you do with it? What is the meaning; the purpose. I know that it does feel surreal and it is shocking. I also know that no one in this life gets a free pass. We all have to deal with something as we travel along our own personal journeys.
The positive side of going through something like this; one feels so much love and support. I truly have an "Angel Village" surrounding me. One truly counts their blessings for all the folks around who care. Our support network is truly what gets us through tough times.
I learned from my new diagnosis that there are no words to be said. Nothing can take away the disease. I know that I only need someone to just be with me. Even knowing and living that, my first impulse was to say someone to ease her pain. It is our human nature to ease the suffering of those you love.
Maybe one day, we will know and understand why things happen and what it is all about. For now, I just know that it is the love and support of our village that helps us through tough times.
NEW DIAGNOSIS
She told me about her diagnosis.
I was shocked and quite surprised.
It brought up so many questions,
but comfort came first to my mind.
I wanted to make her feel better,
although there are no words.
I wanted to take her burden away,
but there is nothing one can do.
She said it felt surreal;
like we are talking about someone else.
I totally got what she was saying,
as I have my own recent diagnosis.
Neither of us want to go down that path,
but we have no other choice.
Avoiding that dark, unfamiliar road,
would make things so much worse.
One gets tired of thinking about it.
One gets tired of telling the story,
but by sharing the diagnosis,
we get the needed support.
I don't know why these things happen;
but what are we to do?
I would like to, one day, understand
the purpose for giving someone
a new diagnosis.
Diagnoses such as these bring up so many questions. Why and what do you do with it? What is the meaning; the purpose. I know that it does feel surreal and it is shocking. I also know that no one in this life gets a free pass. We all have to deal with something as we travel along our own personal journeys.
The positive side of going through something like this; one feels so much love and support. I truly have an "Angel Village" surrounding me. One truly counts their blessings for all the folks around who care. Our support network is truly what gets us through tough times.
I learned from my new diagnosis that there are no words to be said. Nothing can take away the disease. I know that I only need someone to just be with me. Even knowing and living that, my first impulse was to say someone to ease her pain. It is our human nature to ease the suffering of those you love.
Maybe one day, we will know and understand why things happen and what it is all about. For now, I just know that it is the love and support of our village that helps us through tough times.
NEW DIAGNOSIS
She told me about her diagnosis.
I was shocked and quite surprised.
It brought up so many questions,
but comfort came first to my mind.
I wanted to make her feel better,
although there are no words.
I wanted to take her burden away,
but there is nothing one can do.
She said it felt surreal;
like we are talking about someone else.
I totally got what she was saying,
as I have my own recent diagnosis.
Neither of us want to go down that path,
but we have no other choice.
Avoiding that dark, unfamiliar road,
would make things so much worse.
One gets tired of thinking about it.
One gets tired of telling the story,
but by sharing the diagnosis,
we get the needed support.
I don't know why these things happen;
but what are we to do?
I would like to, one day, understand
the purpose for giving someone
a new diagnosis.
Friday, February 26, 2016
SLEEP
We opened, "Jim" to our hospice program this morning. Jim was diagnosed with cancer that has spread to his brain. Because of this, he is confused, restless and agitated. Jim lives with his wife, "Julie". They have a lot of extended family living nearby. Multiple family members kept coming and going during our admission visit.
The entire time the hospice nurse and I were there, Jim slept peacefully. Julie said that Jim usually will sleep only thirty minutes and then be up and restless. Julie says she has not slept for three days or nights since this all began. Jim is very wobbly on his feet and has had some recent falls. He is not aware of his limitations.
During the course of the admission visit, I spoke with Julie about caregiver self care and encouraged her to hire attendant care overnight so that she could get some sleep. She liked that idea and was able to hire someone she knew who would start tomorrow night.
A few hours after the nurse and I left, Julie called hospice saying that Jim is restless, agitated and lashing out at her. She knows he is not aware of what he is doing, but she felt she could no longer manage him this way.
Another hospice nurse was nearby and agreed to go over to assist with the medications in order for Jim to get some much needed sleep. I was able to get there within the hour as well. I offered to try to hire an attendant for this evening, which she agreed would be a great idea. It was late in the day and I was not sure if I could successfully be able to do this.
The second agency I called was able to get someone out in two hours for an overnight shift. It all seemed to run so smoothly as it was meant to happen. As I was leaving, I asked Julie if there was anything else I could do for her. She said no and was so appreciative and thankful for hospice's support. I informed her that our evening nurse will make a visit in a few hours to check in.
This is a perfect example of what hospice is and how beautifully we work as a team. I am so proud of what happened today and so proud of being a part of an amazing team.
SLEEP
He is agitated.
He is restless.
He's uncomfortable;
he cannot sleep.
She keeps checking on him;
making sure he stays safe.
Trying to coax him to lie down.
She is up all day and night.
"I cannot do this any longer.
I need to get some sleep.
Give him something to calm him down.
I need a lot of help."
Family is rallying around,
but they don't know what to do.
The nurse went out to adjust his meds.
I urgently arranged for overnight care.
A quick hug to say goodbye.
She collapsed and sobbed in my arms.
So appreciative and thankful;
relieved to know she will finally get
her much needed
sleep.
The entire time the hospice nurse and I were there, Jim slept peacefully. Julie said that Jim usually will sleep only thirty minutes and then be up and restless. Julie says she has not slept for three days or nights since this all began. Jim is very wobbly on his feet and has had some recent falls. He is not aware of his limitations.
During the course of the admission visit, I spoke with Julie about caregiver self care and encouraged her to hire attendant care overnight so that she could get some sleep. She liked that idea and was able to hire someone she knew who would start tomorrow night.
A few hours after the nurse and I left, Julie called hospice saying that Jim is restless, agitated and lashing out at her. She knows he is not aware of what he is doing, but she felt she could no longer manage him this way.
Another hospice nurse was nearby and agreed to go over to assist with the medications in order for Jim to get some much needed sleep. I was able to get there within the hour as well. I offered to try to hire an attendant for this evening, which she agreed would be a great idea. It was late in the day and I was not sure if I could successfully be able to do this.
The second agency I called was able to get someone out in two hours for an overnight shift. It all seemed to run so smoothly as it was meant to happen. As I was leaving, I asked Julie if there was anything else I could do for her. She said no and was so appreciative and thankful for hospice's support. I informed her that our evening nurse will make a visit in a few hours to check in.
This is a perfect example of what hospice is and how beautifully we work as a team. I am so proud of what happened today and so proud of being a part of an amazing team.
SLEEP
He is agitated.
He is restless.
He's uncomfortable;
he cannot sleep.
She keeps checking on him;
making sure he stays safe.
Trying to coax him to lie down.
She is up all day and night.
"I cannot do this any longer.
I need to get some sleep.
Give him something to calm him down.
I need a lot of help."
Family is rallying around,
but they don't know what to do.
The nurse went out to adjust his meds.
I urgently arranged for overnight care.
A quick hug to say goodbye.
She collapsed and sobbed in my arms.
So appreciative and thankful;
relieved to know she will finally get
her much needed
sleep.
Saturday, February 20, 2016
NEVER ASSUME
The hospice nurse and I went out to admit “Ted”, to our hospice program. Ted has end stage kidney disease and decided to stop dialysis. He had been getting weaker making it too difficult to maneuver to the dialysis treatment center.
Ted lives with his grandson, “Donnie“; twenty-five. Donnie and his younger brother, "Louis", met us at the front door. The first thing once notices are all of their tattoos. The first impression I had was “These are tough guys?” Donnie sat down wearily in a recliner, while we stood in the living room. Louis started telling us about Grandpa and the recent weeks of his decline.
Once the boys started talking, their tenderness and love for Grandpa was so apparent. Donnie has lived with Grandpa for several years being his primary caretaker. A week ago, Louis drove up from his home an hour away to help out his brother. He will be staying for the duration. Both boys know that Grandpa cannot live more than a week or so without dialysis treatment.
Donnie and Louis are doing a wonderful job caring for their grandpa, although both are exhausted from lack of sleep. During the visit, Grandpa was asleep in the next room. Any time he awoke for a moment, either grandson would immediately go in to see if he needed anything. Their devotion to Grandpa was so beautiful.
Donnie spoke of his strong faith in God that helps him through tough times. Louis has cared for several other family members and is more confident in his role as caretaker. As Donnie and Louis are helping Grandpa, they also are helping each other. Any Grandpa would be proud to call them Grandsons.
NEVER ASSUME
We all probably do it now and then.
Assume a certain personality type
by how someone looks.
Their dress; their hair; their walk.
First impressions are powerful,
but quite often, I bet, we are wrong.
Our individuality is found inside;
our spirit; our heart; our soul.
They both met us at the front door.
Two young brothers; mid twenties.
Tattoos; piercings; shaved heads.
Home devoid of amenities.
Their hearts shown immediately.
Their devoted love for Grandpa.
Wanting to do the right thing;
but not quite sure what to do.
Exhausted from lack of sleep.
Grandpa is up a lot at night.
No complaints, just weary.
Appreciative of any help.
They’ll continue to support him.
They’ll continue to make Grandpa proud,
asking for only one thing,
“Please pray for us.”
If you passed them on the street
you would never know.
Two amazing brothers
with hearts full of gold.
Never assume.
Ted lives with his grandson, “Donnie“; twenty-five. Donnie and his younger brother, "Louis", met us at the front door. The first thing once notices are all of their tattoos. The first impression I had was “These are tough guys?” Donnie sat down wearily in a recliner, while we stood in the living room. Louis started telling us about Grandpa and the recent weeks of his decline.
Once the boys started talking, their tenderness and love for Grandpa was so apparent. Donnie has lived with Grandpa for several years being his primary caretaker. A week ago, Louis drove up from his home an hour away to help out his brother. He will be staying for the duration. Both boys know that Grandpa cannot live more than a week or so without dialysis treatment.
Donnie and Louis are doing a wonderful job caring for their grandpa, although both are exhausted from lack of sleep. During the visit, Grandpa was asleep in the next room. Any time he awoke for a moment, either grandson would immediately go in to see if he needed anything. Their devotion to Grandpa was so beautiful.
Donnie spoke of his strong faith in God that helps him through tough times. Louis has cared for several other family members and is more confident in his role as caretaker. As Donnie and Louis are helping Grandpa, they also are helping each other. Any Grandpa would be proud to call them Grandsons.
NEVER ASSUME
We all probably do it now and then.
Assume a certain personality type
by how someone looks.
Their dress; their hair; their walk.
First impressions are powerful,
but quite often, I bet, we are wrong.
Our individuality is found inside;
our spirit; our heart; our soul.
They both met us at the front door.
Two young brothers; mid twenties.
Tattoos; piercings; shaved heads.
Home devoid of amenities.
Their hearts shown immediately.
Their devoted love for Grandpa.
Wanting to do the right thing;
but not quite sure what to do.
Exhausted from lack of sleep.
Grandpa is up a lot at night.
No complaints, just weary.
Appreciative of any help.
They’ll continue to support him.
They’ll continue to make Grandpa proud,
asking for only one thing,
“Please pray for us.”
If you passed them on the street
you would never know.
Two amazing brothers
with hearts full of gold.
Never assume.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)