Yeadon, PA
(02-26-2005)

A personal reflection…

Car, plane, boat, train, subway and bus; I’ve been on them all this entire trip. But there are some excursions which transcend time and place; those that travel, bit by bit, via the twilight roads of the mind, and reassemble, somehow, in that elusive gray area of the gray matter. There, they make themselves at home for the long stay and create memories which don’t check out the next morning. This is one of those excursions.

In the past few months, I’ve visited my mom often, at the Alzheimer’s unit of a large nursing home outside Philadelphia. The patients, all quite elderly, and all of whom have quite different reactions to this enigmatic disease, are assembled in a large room every afternoon where they are encouraged to engage in a variety of simple activities. Most are incapable of participating. As I sit there, it’s impossible, indeed only natural, to satisfy one’s curiosity by observing each and every one.

Mildred is one of those patients, and while she may otherwise carry on a relatively cogent conversation, she believes that she is, in fact, attending an alumni reunion at Penn State University.

As I walked in one day, Bridget, the activities director, asked me if it was cold outside. I replied that it was colder than it looked, and the following ensued:

Mildred: Well, that’s because it’s raining.
Bridget: No, it isn’t. It’s not raining. Take a look outside. It’s sunny
Mildred: So it is. Well, it rained yesterday.
Bridget: No it didn’t. It was sunny yesterday too.
Mildred: (In that pensive, slow, faraway tone of voice): Really? Where was I?

Indeed, Mildred, where were you? We’d all like to know; I, as well as the thousands of caregivers, psychologists and researchers feebly attempting to understand this perplexing disease.

Mildred’s mind was on its own excursion, but I found myself hitching a ride. Yes, it could have rained yesterday, or it could have rained a hundred years ago, what’s the difference? One way or the other, it’s all history, and why split hairs when you’re just trying to keep from peeing in your pants? Right, Mildred?

Soon, snacks were served (I enjoy the cookies and juice), followed by coloring. I tried to get creative, using contrary colors and going outside the lines. It’s all very nostalgic, like peanut butter and jelly. Then we had the sing-along. I enjoy this the most, as I watch mom focusing on the words, trying to hit the right notes. But this time, I became a bit more engrossed in the activity, amused by the clever words of these old songs.

Perhaps the day’s activities were a bit too strenuous for me, because I soon dozed off.

And then came that defining moment, the instant creation of a permanent memory. I slowly awoke, and through my glazed eyes I could make out some of the patients. A few were singing feebly, but most had heads slumped, sleeping, like I had been. One of them caught my eye and she looked at me with as much disinterest as she might observe a telephone pole. To her I was merely one of the group, and I felt like it.

Cookies, juice, coloring, singing and dozing; my brain was turning to mush. In that brief moment, upon awakening, I felt the blankness they must all feel, the mind as vacuum, the ‘nothingness’ of non thought. That moment is etched in my brain. (I suppose, when my time comes to take up permanent residency in the home, I will be pre-occupied with the déjà vu experience. Hmmm…I’ve been here before.)

It was truly an empathetic experience, an Oliver Sacks moment. It was quite educational, and why shouldn’t it be. After all, we were all there for a Penn State alumni reunion, right Mildred?