Alzheimer's disease provides the ultimate individual experience, claiming that no one in the same way. Lack of verbal skills, empty eyes, poor memory, how to do simple tasks ... then a light will shine like no other day. What can we learn from every person to help the next? Come with me on a journey Mabel, we will learn together.
It started with Mabel. I'm not quite sure what day of the week I met for the first time, but I'm sure the month was January. The time was not really important for them and when I was with her, it was not important to me either. She did not depend on a calendar, and rarely, if ever, she has to look at the clock.
Mabel was in the last stages of Alzheimer's disease when I first met her. She was a resident at the nursing home where I worked as an assistant activity.
I Mabel stood wearing her glasses, which almost emphasized her smooth complexion and practically un-wrinkled skin. After their weekly visits to the beauty shop, kept her dark brown hair with gray patches of thick curls. She wore no make-up gave her the appearance of someone much younger than their chronological age. I did not know Mabel age when we met and she never told me.
They do not rarely spoke to me. In fact, she had not spoken to anyone in quite some time, so you can imagine my surprise the first time I heard her voice.
As we sat in the living room, the afternoon sun warmed the room. I stood in the middle of a circle with my fees, my back to Mabel. All others in the room were just looking at me waiting for an action to begin. Out of the corner came a staccato voice in a loud, shrill sound almost, "One, two, three ..."
I quickly turned around to see the owner of this outbreak, but the voice was gone. I glanced in the direction of Mabel, but Mabel as usual, staring straight ahead, eyes wide open, and her expression blank.
Did my ears deceive me or did I just yearn to hear Mabel speak something, anything? I started fainting simple musical instruments for everyone in the county for some bells, maracas for others. Our music circle would begin shortly. Suddenly, the voice broke through the silence, again strong and emphatic ... "One, two, three ..."
This time, I quickly spun around like a dervish, I knew without a doubt that these words were coming from the seemingly calm and detached Mabel. I walked over to her, gently touched her shoulder and asked, "Mabel Are you okay?" She did not answer, just a mere pursing of her lips.
When I left, the voice broke the silence again. In fact, Mrs. Mabel said. My wide smile could not hide my pleasure to hear her lively voice.
When Mabel was not lying in bed, she was raised by no less than two people in her wheelchair. Mabel was in an advanced stage of Alzheimer's disease for some time, when I arrived on the stage. Her hands were clenched in a permanent position, which usually rested uncomfortably on her upper chest, just under the chin. Mabel could not eat, drink, dress or bathe without help. She was with professional caregivers known as "Total Care" resident. I found it fascinating.
Her big brown eyes, though fixed in a constant glare like trance, still gleaming and dancing when this led to do so. Mabel hardly spoke, but those eyes had much to say. My own room was her home, filled family pictures and mementos of bygone years. Mabel Mabel had family and was loved.
Mabel inability to speak in full sentences never stopped to speak with her. Yes, I did all the talking, but I was convinced that Mabel knew exactly what I wanted to say. I held her hand and told her about the weather. I always gave her a daily weather report and shared details about my life. Some days I was when I sat near her bed and held one for them to see their family photos, suffocated. I've never actually met one of their family members personally, but their presence was everywhere.
Love makes a difference, even for those who do not remember or speak. On this sunny day in the living room, like the other residents anxiously awaited our music circle to begin activity, I pressed the play button on the boom box and the recognizable rhythm of a known melody from the speakers burst. I stood in the middle of the circle coaxing, enticing and encourage residents shake their hand-held devices and move to the music. Before long we were singing, humming, laughing, and having fun.
Mabel was in our music circle but not in a position to hold an instrument. Her eyes remained fixed, and her lips were pursed tightly closed. Undeterred, I approached her while I shook the maraca and sang the familiar tune. My big smile penetrated my heart, filled with love for my friend Mabel. And then out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. I quickly looked down just in time to see Mrs. Mabel shoe-covered foot tapping to the beat of the music as it rested on the foot of her wheelchair.
Yes, Mabel moved to the music in the only way they could. My heart skipped a beat as she swelled with pride. In a moment, Mabel taught me a valuable lesson. The same lesson serves as one for all who work with impaired memory.
Regardless of what Alzheimer's disease had done to her body, regardless of what skills had been stripped from her, on this day, at this moment, with familiar music playing while an activity assistant sang off-key, Mabel tapped her foot and kept time with the beat. You can take your mind, but not the soul. And that was music to my ears!
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