Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Night and Morning.
This morning a Treasured Prescott Friend mentioned that another friend, whose mother is in her 90's and living in an assisted living facility, had an experience so disconcerting that she needed to discuss it with her friends. She visits her mother so frequently as to be considered a daily presence in her mother's life. Some days ago she engaged her mother in an animated, hour long conversation about mutual relatives, friends and concerns. As she was leaving her mother expressed her gratitude for the visit and asked, "...and what was your name, again, dear?"
I couldn't help but muse out loud with my friend about this, since she and I were discussing types and levels of dementia in the elderly. She and I compared notes about my and her mother's dementia (her mother died some years ago after living with her and her husband). We talked about how both our mothers have mistaken us for contemporaries, sometimes older friends or relatives, sometimes, well, we're not sure who we are/were to our mothers. I mentioned that although I'm often not sure what relationship my mother thinks I am to her, I'm always "Gail" and I sense that my parameters in her life are settled, even though I may be "Gail" the daughter, the roommate, a cousin or a friend; once (and only once, so far) I was her mother. It occurred to me as we talked that maybe with the Ancient Demented, familiarity breeds more familiarity. I suggested, while assuring my friend that I was in no way criticizing the arrangements under which our other friend's mother lives, that in order not to be the "...and who are you, dear?" person in a beloved Ancient One's life one has to be with the Ancient One when she retires at night and awakens in the morning. The more I contemplate this the more convinced I am that this is probably the only reason my mother never asks who I am.
By way of explanation: At this stage of my mother's life her night dreams are so vivid and memory-filled that when she awakens it is as though her entire being has been transported to the area and among the people highlighted in her dreams. She's never been disoriented when awakening from the sleep that fosters these dreams but I've often and briefly considered that this period is partially responsible for her episodic belief that we live in Iowa or South Dakota and are geographically situated close to the doorsteps of a variety of her living and dead relatives. I think this is why she is more apt to believe, immediately after awakening from either deep or light sleep, that many of her dead relatives are alive and coming to visit or available to be visited. This morning during the conversation with my friend I realized that I am always at her bedside before and after her dream travels, bidding her good night or good morning, receptive to the news of her dreams and, by default, a reminder that she remains in reality (whatever reality she's traversing) as a member of a family of which I am the ever present representative.
My friend also advanced another provocative outlook. She said that although her mother's demented behavior was much like my mother's, she never really considered that her mother had "dementia". I think this is a healthy, productive attitude when dealing with Ancient Ones whose mentality has turned creative. I think it is this consideration which causes me to label my mother's dementia "creative mentality". While it is true that lately I've been using the word "dementia" and its forms more often, I've been doing this to a purpose: My intention is to destigmatize the word and change what it implies. Too often, I think, we forget that dementia has many forms and isn't always apparent within those who may exhibit an episode of forgetfulness here and there, nor is it always progressive. Because of the popularization of advanced Alzheimer's dementia we freak when we hear the word and imagine only a frighteningly progressive and debilitative state that we believe spells certain mental and physical doom for anyone who forgets anything if they are of or beyond "a certain age". I can report with confidence that dementia in the elderly is as varied and unpredictable as the variety of plants that may or may not push themselves above the soil line after every seasonal monsoon soaks the wild part of our back yard. From summer to summer I can be heard to exclaim, "Wow, I didn't know we had this in our yard," or, "Oh, cool, this is back, I thought it had died out last year!"
The human brain is an amazing organ and becomes even more amazing as it ages. It is not only the keeper but the creator of our reality and deserves to be respected as such. I think it would do us well to spend more time attentively listening to the productions of Ancient brains to discover what they are revealing about the individual brain keeper, reality and the state of being human, thus spending less time fearfully labeling these productions and imagining horrors we believe are implicit in the development of mentally creative constructions. I think the key to this attitude is to consider that Ancient brains don't shrivel reality, they expand upon it. Sometimes this can be frightening and depressing for both the Ancient One and the observer, especially if the Ancient One retains one foot in our species' agreed upon social reality. I refuse to believe, though, that fright and depression are necessary reactions to Ancient dementia. I think that the proper attitude toward such flights is marvel. I'm not suggesting that we stop trying to figure out how to keep our loved ones with us in our agreed upon reality as firmly and as long as possible. What I am saying is that at this time much of the dementia of Ancient Ones is inevitable and irreversible. We are a species that has evolved socially and craftily enough to allow these flights and foster the safety of those who soar into Mental Fancy. We do our species a disservice when we shrink from this atmosphere and those who take to its skies.
I couldn't help but muse out loud with my friend about this, since she and I were discussing types and levels of dementia in the elderly. She and I compared notes about my and her mother's dementia (her mother died some years ago after living with her and her husband). We talked about how both our mothers have mistaken us for contemporaries, sometimes older friends or relatives, sometimes, well, we're not sure who we are/were to our mothers. I mentioned that although I'm often not sure what relationship my mother thinks I am to her, I'm always "Gail" and I sense that my parameters in her life are settled, even though I may be "Gail" the daughter, the roommate, a cousin or a friend; once (and only once, so far) I was her mother. It occurred to me as we talked that maybe with the Ancient Demented, familiarity breeds more familiarity. I suggested, while assuring my friend that I was in no way criticizing the arrangements under which our other friend's mother lives, that in order not to be the "...and who are you, dear?" person in a beloved Ancient One's life one has to be with the Ancient One when she retires at night and awakens in the morning. The more I contemplate this the more convinced I am that this is probably the only reason my mother never asks who I am.
By way of explanation: At this stage of my mother's life her night dreams are so vivid and memory-filled that when she awakens it is as though her entire being has been transported to the area and among the people highlighted in her dreams. She's never been disoriented when awakening from the sleep that fosters these dreams but I've often and briefly considered that this period is partially responsible for her episodic belief that we live in Iowa or South Dakota and are geographically situated close to the doorsteps of a variety of her living and dead relatives. I think this is why she is more apt to believe, immediately after awakening from either deep or light sleep, that many of her dead relatives are alive and coming to visit or available to be visited. This morning during the conversation with my friend I realized that I am always at her bedside before and after her dream travels, bidding her good night or good morning, receptive to the news of her dreams and, by default, a reminder that she remains in reality (whatever reality she's traversing) as a member of a family of which I am the ever present representative.
My friend also advanced another provocative outlook. She said that although her mother's demented behavior was much like my mother's, she never really considered that her mother had "dementia". I think this is a healthy, productive attitude when dealing with Ancient Ones whose mentality has turned creative. I think it is this consideration which causes me to label my mother's dementia "creative mentality". While it is true that lately I've been using the word "dementia" and its forms more often, I've been doing this to a purpose: My intention is to destigmatize the word and change what it implies. Too often, I think, we forget that dementia has many forms and isn't always apparent within those who may exhibit an episode of forgetfulness here and there, nor is it always progressive. Because of the popularization of advanced Alzheimer's dementia we freak when we hear the word and imagine only a frighteningly progressive and debilitative state that we believe spells certain mental and physical doom for anyone who forgets anything if they are of or beyond "a certain age". I can report with confidence that dementia in the elderly is as varied and unpredictable as the variety of plants that may or may not push themselves above the soil line after every seasonal monsoon soaks the wild part of our back yard. From summer to summer I can be heard to exclaim, "Wow, I didn't know we had this in our yard," or, "Oh, cool, this is back, I thought it had died out last year!"
The human brain is an amazing organ and becomes even more amazing as it ages. It is not only the keeper but the creator of our reality and deserves to be respected as such. I think it would do us well to spend more time attentively listening to the productions of Ancient brains to discover what they are revealing about the individual brain keeper, reality and the state of being human, thus spending less time fearfully labeling these productions and imagining horrors we believe are implicit in the development of mentally creative constructions. I think the key to this attitude is to consider that Ancient brains don't shrivel reality, they expand upon it. Sometimes this can be frightening and depressing for both the Ancient One and the observer, especially if the Ancient One retains one foot in our species' agreed upon social reality. I refuse to believe, though, that fright and depression are necessary reactions to Ancient dementia. I think that the proper attitude toward such flights is marvel. I'm not suggesting that we stop trying to figure out how to keep our loved ones with us in our agreed upon reality as firmly and as long as possible. What I am saying is that at this time much of the dementia of Ancient Ones is inevitable and irreversible. We are a species that has evolved socially and craftily enough to allow these flights and foster the safety of those who soar into Mental Fancy. We do our species a disservice when we shrink from this atmosphere and those who take to its skies.
