I have NOT Died . . .

There are many ways to apologize, but they are all pathetic attempts to rationalize why I haven't been active in my blog. More particular to the point, they all sound lame when you and I both know that the chances are good that it will be another little while until I blog again. Anyway, how's this: I'm sorry. I got busy. Told you it was lame.

I have been promoted to a rehab manager at a different facility in a town about 40 minutes away. While I relish the opportunity to make more money, assume more responsibility, and to face a new challenge (in that order), it has been exceptionally stressful at times. On the other hand it has provided me with a lot of new stories and experiences that I would never have imagined. The facility I was assigned is what is known as a "behavioral facility" and therefore is the place other nursing homes send all the problem residents. You know, the ones that hit, spit, throw things, curse, and yell. Almost all of them have some kind of dementia, but the really interesting ones have bipolar disorder or paranoid schizophrenia or other psychotic episodes listed as additional diagnoses. It makes for a particularly fun day when you have to convince a hearing impaired, psychotic Alzheimer's patient with Parkinson's disease to do leg lifts or to "put your nose over your toes" while attempting to go from sit to stand. There are several good stories and events that happen from time to time and I have kind of made it a personal crusade of mine to look for and document those good stories in another blog that I may be starting soon. Unless I just decide to put them in here instead. Here's a good one that happened to me during one of the first days after I started as rehab manager:

Its funny how memory works and how it sometimes it doesn't. In my experiences with geriatric patients, It's not an "all or nothing" situation with memory loss. Things just start to go and at first its just annoying like when you can't remember where you left the remote control. Gradually more and more "things" stop making sense and its like you can't remember what you're trying to remember, but you but you know you should remember. Sometimes out of the blue something jogs your memory and everything is clear for a little longer. One example is music and Margaret.

The effect of music to stir memories and emotions that aren't reached in any other way continues to amaze me. "Margaret" is English. Married to a US soldier shortly after the second world war, she has been a widow for many years now. It has been years since she was in the UK, but she is still so very proud to tell any and all that she is from England and married a US soldier after the war. She loves to sing songs from the war and songs from church. She has three favorites: "Oh, How I love Jesus" , "America, the Beautiful" and "Rule Brittania". I first observed Margaret a couple of years ago when I was filling in for a

physical therapist at this same facility. She was very lively and kept singing "Rule Brittania" over and over until someone made her sing something else or got her distracted with telling them about where she was from. I thought she was kind of sweet then but really didn't give her another thought until I started working here full time two years later. It was hard to recognize Margaret this time, but her tell-tale oversized sunglasses were one of the only things that gave her away. She was hunched over her table in a chair muttering to herself. It was truly sad to see the effects of time and her cognitive condition. As she sat at one table muttering to herself and I sat across the room at another table doing a pile of paperwork, I began to wonder if she might still remember how the song went and so slowly I began whistling the first few notes of "Rule Brittania" over and over. Nothing happened at first. Then slowly, but steadily, her head began to lift and turn from side to side to find out where the noise was coming from. Although I doubt she saw me, I know she heard me because she let me whistle through the song a couple of more times before breaking into one of the more moving renditions of "Rule Brittania" I have ever heard. Her voice was thin, shaky and absolutely beautiful to hear. After the song, she began again with the stories of her American soldier husband and how England and the US had been allies during the war and helped them when the Germans were bombing England. Talking to no one in particular, it was nice to hear the stories again. It was nice to hear her sing. It was nice to have her back.

More to follow . . .