I leave a couple of photos out on the table some days, just in case they provoke interest. Anything to get Lena’s interest.
She stops and points to a picture of Dopey, our big, fat, handsomely ugly cat from 10 years ago.
— Titta! Look!
She picks up the photo and makes a fuss of him. But it’s not our cat she sees. It’s a cat.
And then she puts the photo down and moves on.
Dementia moves on too.
Lena’s brother and his wife visited us last week, and of course we took Lena’s big photo album out to enjoy the memories together. Lena’s sitting with us, half-attentive but not really looking. We come to a picture of the beautiful old house where her family spent every summer. It was a place she loved and always used to talk about. Bosse wants his little sister to share his memories.
— Look Lena. Do you remember?
But of course she doesn’t. For years now that’s a question she can’t — or won’t — answer. She glances down, then away again. She has about as much interest in the album as Dopey would have had in a TV screen.
Maybe there’s a clue there. Maybe neither of them — Dopey then and increasingly Lena now — has the ability to connect a 2-D representation with a real 3-D object or memory. Which wire in the brain does that?
But I’ve found a replacement for photographs. This is a 2-D representation of him:
Meet Lena’s monkey. I’m not really sure where he came from. He just seemed to turn up one day. And while I wouldn’t call the two of them best friends, he seems to tag along behind Lena. Or I guess that’s what happens. He keeps turning up in different rooms.
Today he was in the towel-rack in the bathroom, sitting straight across from the toilet. That’s where Lena was sitting, with me supervising. These days I have to help her up and down the stairs to the bathroom. And then we tend to linger there, because Lena’s never quite sure when she’s finished. Better to be safe than sorry.
Anyway, thinking of the lessons I’d learnt about using improv with dementia ( — ask open-ended questions — wait for answers — never contradict — say ‘yes’ and go with the flow), I decided it was time to get to know Lena’s monkey better while we waited. I picked him up.
— Look Lena, here’s your monkey. Has he got a name?
She looked at me blankly.
— Haven’t you given him a name? What would you like to call him?
— Huwa-Hiya-Boo-Baa.
That wasn’t his name, of course. It was just one of Lena’s silence-fillers. But it was good enough for me. Go with the flow.
— Huwa-Hiya-Boo-Baa. That’s a lovely name. Is that really your name? Huwa-Hiya-Boo-Baa?
I was standing behind him as he gave a little nod. And I’d got Lena’s attention, her eyes fixed on little HHBB instead of me.
— So where does Huwa-Hiya-Boo-Baa live?
— Här.
— Here? What here in the bathroom? In the towel-rack?
She laughed.
— What are you doing here, Huwa-Hiya_Boo_Baa? Have you come to watch Lena perform? Have you?
He gave a little shy nod, and she laughed again.
— Maybe he’d like something to eat? What does he eat? Bananas?
— Banas.
— Ah, but we haven’t got bananas. So … what about this? Toothpaste.
I grabbed the tube, held it to his mouth, and he jerked his head sideways to refuse it. Lena was really enjoying this little performance. I tried to feed him again. Same result.
— Give me. Give me.
I handed him gently to her, and she rocked him in her arms, then gave him a big hug.
It’s not something she would have done without my stimulus. You have to work hard as a carer, use a bit of effort and imagination. But seeing Lena’s reaction and her obvious pleasure was worth every ounce of effort.
So today’s top tip? Well, there can only be one really, can’t there? When the time for photos has passed, just make sure you have a monkey handy!
