I was told to go and keep Charlene company. ‘She is having a hard time.’ I find Charlene contorted in her wheelchair, and trying to get up.’ Safety first, she has been placed right against a table, brakes on her chair. She is restrained, for her own good. The aide comes by to make.

 He is one of my favorite people. Lewy Body has stripped him of many of his abilities. Eating has become a chore, and this morning I watch him struggle with breakfast. He has been served stewed peaches, cut up very small, a fried egg, and some oatmeal. Many times, I notice Bob attempt to.

Sitting next to her, I notice her looking out the window. “This is such a nice color chrysanthemum” and proceeds to engage me around the garden outside. I wonder, “Did she enjoy gardening?” “Yes, I did before I got sick”. “I love to get my hands dirty!” Being wheelchair bound should not prevent one.

While working out on the elliptical at the Y, my attention is drawn for a moment to an elder woman and her companion, a very old man, half bent over whom she is assisting with the various machines. She leaves him alone briefly, and while she is gone, the man takes it upon himself.

It’s morning at the care program, and time for the first activity, the exercise group. Almost all have gathered around the fitness instructor, except Fred. One aide comes and invites him to get up. “Come on, it’s time to exercise, it’s good for you.” Fred does not budge and gives her a smile instead..

The aide saw me from a distance. She wanted to make me feel welcome. ‘Hurry up, there is someone coming behind you.’ She tried to rush the elder woman inside the community room. First, pushing her from the back. The woman kept on walking at her own pace, one step at a time, pushing.

I remember the distressing phone conversations with my mother, every day, at the same time, around 5 or 6 in the evening. Her stories would vary, but the terror remained constant. There were anonymous callers, knocks on her window, suspicious burnt marks on her dresser, important papers missing, . . . . Her much.

A friend just sent me the link to new research from a team of Japanese researchers on ‘head-turning sign’ (HTS) and its potential link with Alzheimer’s. Here is the abstract: Aims To investigate the incidence and severity of the ‘head-turning sign’ (HTS), i.e. turning the head back to the caregiver(s) for help, in patients.

She was sitting quietly in front of her half empty plastic plate, hands laying obediently on top of her pink apron. Would she like me to help her with eating? Yes, she let me know, real loud. I had watched the aides feed her before, and I assumed she needed my full assistance. Pureed.