Tag: pacing

This is one in a series of vignettes based on the Nursing Home Behaviour Problem Scale (NHBPS), which is used to measure agitation in people who live with dementia. The vignettes are told from the point of view and in the voice of a fictional character called Annie, a woman in her mid-eighties who lives with dementia of the Alzheimer’ type in the mid- to later-stages of the disease. Annie resides in a long-term care facility somewhere in Canada. This vignette is called “unbearably crazy;” it was partially informed by this article: “Why and how normal people go mad.” There’s a link to all the vignettes at the end of the post.  

unbearably crazy

I hold my little bear, soft and warm in my arms. He’s sleeps against my chest. It feels good to have a friend.

“There you are little fella,” I say. “There you are.”

It’s the busy time. I stand by the kitchen. People come and go. A shiny door slides open across the hall, and a lady pushes a cart out. She heads towards me.

“Hi Annie Fanny,” the cart woman says. “Are you ready for lunch? It’s French toast and maple syrup. Do you like French toast?” Do I like French toast? I’m not sure. “Maybe,” I say.

“I think you do, dear,” she says. “You like sweet things. Sweets for this sweet, right?”

“Sweets for the sweet,” I say. She pushes the cart past me into the kitchen.

One. Two. Three. Three old ladies sit at the table. They’re wearing bibs with balloons on them. Why do they have bibs on? Bibs are for babies. One of the ladies leans forward; her forehead touches the table. Maybe she’s dying. Another old lady bangs a cup. Bang, bang, bang.

“Help me! Help me!” the third one cries. She sounds afraid. I wonder what she’s afraid of? A wrinkly man sits in a chair in the corner. He looks like a statue.

“We’ll stay here in the hall little fella,” I whisper to my bear, and give him a squeeze.

“Time for lunch Annie” a voice says. “It’s time for you to sit down.” Someone puts an arm around my shoulder. I can’t see who it is.

“Oh! That’s Marjorie’s teddy bear,” the voice says; it’s a girl’s voice. “We need to put him back in Marjorie’s room.”

“No, he’s my bear,” I say. I stand still and hold him as tight as I can. They take things away from you here. I remember that. They take things away.

“No, he’s not, he’s Marjorie’s,” the girl is in front of me now. I can see her. She grabs my bear’s leg, and starts to pull.

“What are you doing? He’s not Marjorie’s. He’s mine,” I say. My voice is loud. “Let go of my bear!”

“He’s not yours, Annie. He’s Marjorie’s. Give him to me, and I’ll put him back in Marjorie’s room where he belongs.”

“He belongs to me. He belongs to me.” My face feels hot. There’s pressure in my head. The girl pulls harder. I hold my bear tighter.

“You’re hurting him,” my voice gets louder. Bang, bang, bang. Someone knocks on something. “Help me! Help me!” Someone shouts. Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! A bell rings. Someone walks past. Someone else walks past.

“Calm down Annie. Stop screaming,” the girl yells at me; then her voice quiets. “Give me the bear, dear. That’s it my love, give me the bear.” She tries to pry the bear from my arms.

“Fuck you!” I shout. I hold him close with my left hand, and slap her arm hard with my right.

“I don’t deserve that Annie. We don’t swear and hit other people. That’s not nice,” the girl says to me like I’m two. I’m not two. I’m forty-two! I’m old enough to be your mother.

“You’re the one who’s not nice, you bitch,” I glare at her. “Let go of my bear or you’ll be sorry.”

I wish someone would get me out of this crazy place.

•  “Becomes upset or loses temper easily” is #2 on the NHBPS
•  “Screams, yells, or moans loudly” is #14 on the NHBPS
•  “Argues, threatens or curses” is #15 on the NHBPS

More

• Click here for more vignettes.
• Take a three-minute survey to see how you might behave under similar circumstances here.
• Subscribe to my free updates here.

©2016 Susan Macaulay / MyAlzheimersStory.com

Copyright: sirirak / 123RF Stock Photo

This is one in a series of vignettes based on the Nursing Home Behaviour Problem Scale (NHBPS), which is used to measure agitation in people who live with dementia. The vignettes are told from the point of view and in the voice of a fictional character called Annie, a woman in her mid-eighties who lives with dementia of the Alzheimer’s type in the mid- to later-stages of the disease. Annie resides in a long-term care facility somewhere in Canada.This vignette is called “places to go, people to see.” I believe we should swap the stop signs for places to go, things to do and people to see. There’s a link to a full list of all the vignettes at the end of the post.

places to go, people to see

I’m tired of sitting in this chair at the end of the hall. I’ve got to get going. I’ve got things to do, people to see. I feel restless. I need to move. I stand up. I wait. The girls usually tell me to sit down. But there are no girls here right now. No one to tell me what to do. Good.

The hall has doors on either side. I can walk, but not as fast as I used to. I’m a little unsteady on my feet. I hold the railing so I won’t fall down. I hear clapping and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from one of the rooms. It’s this one. The door is open. There’s no stop sign. I wonder what’s going on?

“You’ve got $500 in your hand right now,” a man’s voice says. “Do you want to hold onto the $500, or do you want whatever is in the box on the stage? It’s up to you.”

The clapping and shouting get louder. I turn into the room. I’d like to have $500, that’s a lot of money.

“I’m going to go for the box,” a woman’s voice says. I see her now, jumping up and down. She’s small and dressed funny. People are screaming and yelling, screaming and yelling. They’re all crazy. Screaming and yelling, screaming and yelling.

“Are you sure?” says the man. “You want to give up the $500 in your hand for what’s in the box?” The small woman looks over her shoulder. There must be someone behind her. Maybe it’s the people who are screaming and yelling. She looks up at the man.

“Yes! Yes! I’m going for the box!” The woman jumps up and down, up and down. There’s an old man sleeping in a big chair. How can he sleep with all this racket? It’s too noisy. I’m getting out of here. Turn around. This looks like a hall. I don’t see anyone. I wonder what’s down there? A room. The door’s open, but there’s a stop sign. I pull on the stop sign; it falls to the floor. I walk inside. It’s quiet except for a beep, beep, beep that sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. There’s a bed. It looks like someone’s lying in it. Probably asleep. An old lady sits in a chair. She stares at me, and then she waves.

“Hello,” I say. “I’m Annie.”

“Get out,” she says. “Go away. Get out!” Why is she being so mean? I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t understand. A voice behind me says: “Annie, this is Lizzie’s and Edna’s room. You’re not supposed to be in here.” I feel a hand on my elbow, a body next to mine. It’s one of the girls.

“Come with me Annie,” she says. “You’re not allowed in here. Let’s go back out into the hall.”

“I don’t want to go back out into to the hall,” I say.

“Yes, you do,” the girl says. “Lizzie doesn’t want you in here. Come on. Let’s go.”

She turns me around. I try not to, but I can’t help it: I start to cry.

• “Enters others’ rooms inappropriately” is #3 on the NHBPS

More

• Click here for more vignettes.
• Take a three-minute survey to see how you might behave under similar circumstances here.
• Subscribe to my free updates here.

©2016 Susan Macaulay / MyAlzheimersStory.com

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2016/06/02/how-things-get-unbearably-crazy/

https://myalzheimersstory.com/2016/04/24/save-our-souls-and-help-us-please/