Gordo Gets His Wings

Not surprisingly, Christmas on the Alzheimer's unit is a little different than your typical holiday celebration. My dad came along for the first time to help at the Christmas party so that he could put a face to the names I mention so frequently after my Wednesday night dinners at the care center. I brought along two sets of felt costume reindeer antlers with bells for us to wear during the party, and it would be an understatement to say that Gordo was reluctant to don them. But by the end of the party, he was glad he had obliged as the folks loved his cute antlers.

The event got off to a raucous start when Angie, my little Japanese friend, decided she was too warm in her turtleneck sweater and it was time, right there in the middle of everything, to take it off. I didn't catch her in time to not show off the privates as the turtleneck portion of the shirt got caught on her head and she flailed about a bit, struggling to get out of her predicament. As quickly as I could I pulled her sweater back down and suggested we open a window to cool her off instead. She thought that was a fine idea and bowed her head, thanking me. Santa arrived soon thereafter, much to the excitement of most of the residents. Their eyes widened like children and they giggled at the sight of the young man dressed in an overstuffed red and white suit who went by the name Joel. Santa Joel passed out gifts to everyone, two gifts per person and chaos commenced. Volunteers assisted residents in opening their gifts as needed, and we oohed and aahed over bejeweled sweaters and printed kitchen towels and necklaces. Everyone was excited to receive stationery and stamps and candy dishes, pajamas and bracelets. That is, everyone except Katherine. 

Katherine is relatively new to the unit and, for the most part, I've kept my distance because she's usually pretty grumpy and not in the mood for my brand of tomfoolery. She argues with the other residents and usually just wants to be left alone. I'm not trained in how to handle this sort of personality, so I usually let her be. But at the Christmas party, after she was led to her table and the presents were placed in front of her, she started to cry. She pushed her glasses up and dabbed her eyes with a tissue over and over and refused to take part in the festivities. I leaned over close to her and asked if she was okay, and she told me she didn't belong there. Immediately horror stories filled my head about people misdiagnosed with dementia made to live in small spaces amongst people who actually suffered from it. I wondered if she was telling me something, but there was certainly nothing I could do about it so I suggested she open her gifts, that maybe it would make her feel better. But she pushed the gifts away and asked that I give them to someone else because she didn't deserve them. Now I just felt terrible and tried to reassure her that she really did deserve the gifts, but she wouldn't hear of it. She continued on, telling me that she's really not very nice, which I knew but I didn't know she knew. And then she dropped the real bomb and said, "I don't deserve all this, I shot him." Okay, talk about not being trained for these situations. I had no idea what to do with that one. Was that memory or dementia talking? Was she simply placing herself into the plot of a TV show she had watched? I guess I'll never know. Katherine eventually settled down and ate some Christmas cookies and lefse. I'll never look at her the same again, though, that's for sure. And I'll watch my back.

After gifts were opened, Gordo worked hard labeling all of them so that the correct person would be sure to keep the gift she had opened. It was time to serve treats and apple cider and coffee, depending on the person's ability to swallow properly. We helped feed those who needed help and chatted with those who could chat. And then it was time for Christmas songs. We passed out song sheets that had all the words, but I didn't see a single person read them. Except me, because I know exactly one verse of most Christmas songs and the rest are a mystery. My voice is awful, but the old folks didn't seem to care. They were more interested in asking me about my "hat," which I had to explain were actually reindeer antlers. A cacophony of Christmas songs filled the air and I longed for it to be done with.

I give my dad a lot of credit for coming along, it's a tough place to be. Not that it's dirty or anything like that, it's just sad. As we walked out of the care center back into the real world, I joked with Gordo that I had filled out an application and reserved him a room there and that he could move in any time. He shook his head and said, "No thanks." As he said this the bell on his fake antlers rang. I guess it's true what they say, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.