“Who’s that?”
A blank screen tare, quivering lips—no sound. “Who is that?” the home health aide insistently asked as she tapped her manicured fingernail on the glass of a picture frame. The image of a dark-suited man with a white carnation in the buttonhole smiled up unknowingly at his mother. Aunt Betty mumbled something like Bill, or maybe she said pill. It was hard to say. “No, Miss Betty. Remember you are in your home, this is your house, this is your living room, and now tell me who this is,” Kaye demanded. This small battle went on for five excruciating minutes until Aunt Betty finally named her son Dan and the second man in the picture as her other son, Tim. I had never seen Alzheimer’s up close and personal before—I hoped I never would have to again. My Aunt Betty had been a vibrant, active person up until two years ago when Alzheimer’s sneaked up on her. Wife of a Southern Baptist minister, she fulfilled the stereotypical role of a pastor’s wife. She could play the piano quite well, accompanying the hymns in the smaller churches when Uncle Rondal and she were just first starting out on his career path. She was always organizing church committees and outreach programs in her husband’s church, coordinating people and resources. She continued to do that even now. She leaned over to me and whispered, “If you will take Bob and go through those doors, you’ll find the things you’ll need for the program.” I looked her in the eyes. What good would it do to contest this statement; all it would do is upset her. I nodded and replied, “Okay, Aunt Betty.” She smiled and patted my hand. When other people tell me I’m smart, my response is always, “It’s only because I have a memory. If I ever lose my memory, I’d be as dumb as a rock.” I remember impressing my boyfriend’s brother—and, I guess my boyfriend as well, but he’ll never tell—once while I was debugging his brother’s computer. Jeopardy was on the TV in the room and the final Jeopardy question was: “What US president had the same double letters in his first and last name?” Without even looking up, I said, “Millard Fillmore.” Neither one of the brothers remembered a president by that name and thought I had just made it up. None of the contestants had the correct answer either. When Alex Trebek gave the correct response as “Millard Fillmore,” the two brothers as one blurted out, “NO WAY!” In all honesty, I don’t even know how the name came to me; it was one of those moments that because I was not focused on finding the answer in my memory banks, it just popped up to the surface. Is that what Alzheimer’s like? Memories just popping up to the surface neither without a filter nor in reference to what is currently happening? If I develop Alzheimer’s, will I be sitting in a chair at the old folks’ home blurting out “Millard Fillmore” for no reason? Will I be reliving old hurts and insults, exposing my painful experiences and deepest, darkest secrets for the world to see? Since this was my first up-close-and-personal experience with Alzheimer’s, I pulled up the Alzheimer’s Association website on my iPhone the next morning before getting up. I read about the seven stages and their symptoms. My heart sank; Aunt Betty’s symptoms were clearly stage six. In stage seven, basic bodily needs for nutrition and fluids will be difficult to meet because of the combative nature the patient will be exhibiting. She was already fighting taking her medicine and her every-other-day showers. Uncle Rondal and Aunt Betty had been missionaries in Vietnam during the Vietnam War. They were overseas along with their two boys, my cousins Danny and Timmy, for the early years of my childhood in the late 1960's and early '70s. After that, they had proclaimed the Gospel in states far from me, and thus I had never had the opportunity to get to know them as intimately as my other two uncles and their families. I remember some Thanksgivings and Christmases with all three uncles together along with aunts and cousins. Those were glorious family times. I have pictures of all three uncles, aunts, and various cousins together playing a game of croquet one summer in the front yard of the family home where I lived with my grandparents and mother. Those times are gone and all that is left are pictures and memories. Aunt Betty’s memories are muddled and once they are totally gone, where does that leave her? As I walk through their living room to the kitchen, I look around at all the knick-knacks and pictures. Three small, white ceramic elephants form the base of the hexagonal glass coffee table in the center of the room. Two larger brown ceramic elephants flank the entertainment center with the new flat screen TV. Watercolor Vietnamese landscapes in greens and browns hang on the walls and small Vietnamese dolls with black hair and colorful kimonos stand on the mantel over the fireplace. Pictures of Danny, Timmy, and other family members crowd the all-ready full bookcases of religious and spiritual books. At least she doesn’t seem to think she’s back in Vietnam, I reflected as I entered the kitchen. Aunt Betty was eating her cereal on her own at one side of the table with Uncle Rondal sitting at the head of the table next to her. I asked her if she slept okay. She said distinctly and precisely, “Yes.” I glanced at Uncle Rondal and raised an eyebrow in question. He gave a slight nod. I asked Uncle Rondal how he slept; he replied that they had been up once during the night to go to the bathroom. Uncle Rondal sleeps in a chair in the living room while Aunt Betty sleeps on the sofa. A sliding chain lock had had to be installed on the front door at the top, so Aunt Betty could not wander around outside at night on her own looking at the stars. All the other doors in the house leading outside had been blocked off after that first incident. “Dear, you need to finish your milk,” Uncle Rondal said to Aunt Betty in a loud, firm voice. Aunt Betty just looked up at Uncle Rondal with a slight smile and a trembling of her head answered, “Yes, sir.” Uncle Rondal grinned, leaned over, and leaned his forehead against her temple. After a moment, he glanced at the clock and declared that he had to get the medicine ready since Kaye would be arriving soon. I had mixed feelings about Kaye. Two very different home health aides helped with Aunt Betty. Kaye was the one with the morning shift while April had the split afternoon/evening shift. Even Uncle Rondal declared they were night and day from each other. I had observed both in action the previous day. Kaye is loud and firm with Aunt Betty. She tries to keep Aunt Betty in the present by insisting Aunt Betty acknowledges where she is at and who is present. Whenever Kaye can tell Aunt Betty is going to resist, she says, “Miss Betty, you know I respect you, but you know the doctor says you have to…(take this medicine, take a shower, etc.), and if I have to get ugly to help you do it, that’s what’s going to happen.” The first morning of pill-taking I had to leave the kitchen. April, the aide that comes after lunch so Uncle Rondal can have a nap in the afternoon, and then later to help with Aunt Betty’s dinner and bedtime, uses a different approach. She is quiet and patient. Aunt Betty rarely resists April, and sometimes, unless it is absolutely necessary, April will let something go and not insist Aunt Betty remember or do something. The evening before we had even sat Aunt Betty down at the piano encouraging her to practice for an up-coming church program. We only got a few notes out of her with us playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and “Chopsticks.” I decided this morning, I would try to give Aunt Betty her medicine in hopes to avoid the scene from yesterday. It well at first, but Aunt Betty resisted the last spoonful of apple sauce with crushed up medicine. Uncle Rondal picked up the spoon and leaned over saying in a firm voice, “Betty, take this last spoonful of apple sauce.” Aunt Betty opened her mouth and in went the spoon. It was time for the shower. I helped Kaye corral her into the bathroom. It took both of us to get her in the shower and washed down. I used my body as a block so Aunt Betty could not back away from Kaye. The whole experience was disturbing and sad. I had a new appreciation for Kaye. While patience will work in some instances, I could now see that with April’s methods, Aunt Betty might not ever have a shower again. As I drove away that day, I reflected on the difficult road ahead for my cousins Danny and Timmy. I’m not sure if Aunt Betty ever recognized me in the two days I visited; does she recognize her own sons when they visit? My next stop in visiting family and friends was my friend Lauren and her two year old son, Landon. Lauren is sharing pictures of their recent trip to Hawaii. “Who’s that?” A blank stare, the sucking in of lips—no sound. “Who is that?” Lauren firmly, yet gently, asked Landon as she held a picture of him on a beach with the dark blue ocean at sunset in the background.
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