Posted by Dr. El - February 27, 2009 - Personal Reflections
As a psychologist, I must fall in love with all of my patients in order to work with them.
This morning, I had my initial interview with a 90-year old woman who was referred due to depression. I asked my typical psychological assessment questions (“Can you tell me what day it is? Have you had any thoughts of ending your own life?”), while observing the obvious care she’d taken with her grooming.
“I love that you’re wearing red nail polish! And the flower in your hair is fabulous.”
“Thanks.” She beamed, and popped the red flower out of her hair, her shiny nails flashing as she did so. “You see? I can’t reach in the back like I used to, so I just smooth down my hair and stick this on.”
“It looks great,” I told her, charmed.
I’m a sucker for old ladies with bold nail polish.
This afternoon, in conversation with a 96-year old woman I’ve been seeing for a while, I happened to ask her if she could sing me a song.
“Amazing Grace,” I suggested.
“I can’t sing no more.”
“I can’t sing either. You’re just out of practice. I’ll bet your ‘out of practice’ is better than my best efforts.”
“Well…” She ran her arthritic fingers along one of the seven strands of colorful beads she wore around her neck. Her straw cap was on backwards, at a jaunty angle, and the gold accents on her black socks picked up the trim in her dress. She rested her head in her hand, her elbow on the armrest of the wheelchair.
“Ama-zing Grace…” Her voice was low and thin, but unmistakably expert in her working of the melody. Her rendition added a level of passion I suspect could only come from a woman of her years.
I listened, transfixed, and holding back tears. My love for her was renewed.
Posted by Dr. El - November 24, 2008 - Personal Reflections
After working in nursing homes for so long, I sometimes wonder what I’d be like if I had dementia. It seems to me that for a lot of people with dementia, while many details of their personality are lost, what remains is the underlying emotional tone. Of course, most of the people I’m meeting are already too ill to be living at home, so I don’t know what they were like earlier in their lives. But I watched my grandmother grow increasingly confused over the last years of her life, yet retain certain essential elements of herself.
Grandma Lily didn’t count a visit to her apartment unless we’d eaten something, a nosh at least, and then went to sit on her plastic-covered living room couch. Once when I visited her in the nursing home, she insisted I join her for her lunch. We both sat on the edge of her bed and ate low-sodium matzo ball soup off her tray table, while I pretended to enjoy its unbelievable blandness. She told me her sister-in-law had cooked it in the kitchen. After the meal, I sorted through her flowers, discarding the dead ones and rearranging the others. I was about to take the wrapper off a silk flower when she piped up, “No, leave that on. It’ll stay better that way.”
I know some people with dementia who are perpetually happy, remembering nothing, but feeling optimistic about life in general. While I’d like to think that would be me, I’m not a perpetually happy person now, so how could I possibly be when reason forsakes me? I hope I’m not like the lady I know who wanders about on the dementia unit with a furrowed brow and frequent tears, wondering how she’s going to pay the bills. Given my occasional moodiness, perhaps I’d be similar to a woman who tried to hit me for no reason one day as we were passing in the hall and then the next day remarked to her son during his daily visit, “I don’t know who that woman is, but I like her a lot.” It’s most likely, though, because of my penchant for busy-ness (I sometimes have to put myself on sabbatical from beginning new projects), I’ll be like Rosebud, from my last post, fretting at 97 years old that I’m not accomplishing enough each day.
Posted by Dr. El - November 15, 2008 - Dementia, Depression/Mental illness/Substance Abuse, Inspiration, Personal Reflections
This week I had the chance to meet with a lovely 97-year old lady whom I admire greatly. Despite her dementia, she can be eloquent and is interested in the world around her. She’s always well-dressed, thanks to her aides and to her family, who provide her with fashionable clothing they wash themselves. She’s often distressed, though, when I come to see her. Why? Because she feels she’s not being useful in the world. Sometimes I say to her, “Rosebud, you’re 97 years old! You’ve contributed a great deal to the world, raising two upstanding children and helping others as a social worker. When do you get to take a break?” Other times I point out that saying hello to the lonely and ailing residents on her floor at the nursing home is doing God’s work and is just as valid as any other kind of assistance. I wonder, though, if she’d be feeling differently if she’d had the opportunity to participate in the campaign of the Presidential candidate of her choice, or if she could help raise money for breast cancer research or some other good cause. I believe many nursing home residents would be excited and energized by the prospect of helping others in the outside world. Taking the focus off their own problems, giving them purpose, making use of their skills and interests toward a higher good — all this would go a long way toward reducing the depression and tedium I see so often in the nursing home environment. Why not a group that crochets blankets for babies, or writes letters to senators about important issues? Is there a recreation therapist out there who’s running these types of groups? Are you part of such a group in your nursing home? How is it going?
