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I used to work for a convalescent home's dementia unit. What always struck me was how the patients' lives had really changed so dramatically. They used to be pilots, actresses, school teachers, professional wrestlers, dancers, and even "dangerous" political activists. And yet.. there they'd sit in their wheelchairs. Yelling and screaming and talking to people who weren't there. Alzheimer's is a crazy disease. Their behavior would remain the same for a while, but when their behavior was deteriorating, it did so very quickly. They could be yelling "Maria! Help!" one day.. and then the next they'd be lying in bed, mouth open, eyes fixed on something I couldn't see, almost in a catatonic state. They would remain like that until their behavior deteriorated even more.
One that struck me really hard was the death of a very lively, well aware man named John. He would always give me candy and talk with me about his life. He'd tell me about his fighting in Europe during WW2. Very sad stories. I enjoyed talking with him when I could.. and he was one of my favorite patients. But, then one day. He didn't eat. He stayed in bed.. for days. No food. No water. He lasted two weeks. During that time, I would sit by him and tell him about my life, and he'd smile and wriggle his fingers (trying to move it to hold my hand). I was telling him about something one day when he just looked up, mumbled something, then breathed out slowly. His eyes glistened, then went dull. He still had his candy in a basket at the foot of his bed. He was such a sweet man.
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