When I was still single, I worked for a season at an Alzheimer’s daycare center in Macon. I loved my work since I was the fun and games. I really had it easy calling Bingo, leading sing-alongs, cuddling and loving on each one of the patients. I saw the hardest parts of the disease, but I didn’t have to do the feeding or toileting or dressing or redressing.
I had my favorite friends, of course. Since it was a daycare, we didn’t have the same group every day. Paul was so funny. He had the longest, most yellow nails I had ever seen. He told wild tales of living in the woods off the land. Although we didn’t use the term then, he must have been a “survivalist”; he had hoarded supplies and fresh water and clothes. So many clothes. Macon was so hot in the summertime, and he always came in wearing 3 or 4 , two pairs of pants, and layers and layers of socks, and Birkenstocks. Since I loved the woods, too, I was enchanted by him.
Mary was another favorite. She had been a housewife and mother and grandmother all her adult life. She wore an apron with the pockets filled to the brim with baby supplies, and she had a baby doll she carried everywhere. I don’t remember the baby’s name now but I learned to include Baby in all of our activities. Baby played Bingo (Mary would play her card for her) and sat at the table for lunch with her very own tray of food (Mary would eat her food for her). I thought it was brilliant – twice as much food, twice as many chances to win at Bingo, and twice as much attention.
Of course, back then I didn’t know much about Alzheimer’s disease, and I didn’t know that baby play was a wonderful distraction. In the late 1980s and early 1990’s there wasn’t much discussion about Alzheimer’s, and it seemed almost shameful to have a parent with the disease. I remember meeting caregivers at the door who were so emotionally wrung out and on the verge of breaking down. So many of them were on their own and the daycare was their only reprieve. I was glad to be a part of their care team. I might have stayed there forever if I could have handled the constant loss better, but it seemed someone died every week and my heart stayed broken.
Just recently, Laverne, one of Mom’s new caregivers, brought a doll for Mom. We’ve played with a few of the dolls and toys that live on the porch for the grandchildren (and now great-grandchildren) to play. Mom liked them okay but this new doll she really loves. He’s a soft bodied doll and he’s weighted more like a real baby. Laverne dressed him in an overalls set with a matching hat – real baby clothes. Mom has been so funny with him. She’s talked to him, sung to him, told him stories, laughed and carried on just like he’s real. I love it. She’s so happy with him.
Dad’s been a bit concerned, but I’ve tried to ease his worry. As long as Mom’s happy, that’s a great thing. Since she doesn’t have social interaction with many others, the baby is a great companion. She’s more entertained by him than anyone else. She loves to recant his antics to whoever is sitting nearby. Last week I sat long into the night reading while Mom talked to her new little friend. When it was time to settle down for bed, I tucked him into the rocking chair beside her. She wanted me to snuggle him in with a pillow and propped so he could see her if he needed her.
Today she’s holding him at the table, calling him sweetheart. She says, “It’s a good thing you belong to someone else or I’d never get anything done.” She tells him how much she loves him and what a pretty boy he is. She loves that little sweet smile on his face. She uses the sweetest sing-song voice when she talks to him. She cuddles him up to her shoulder and pats his back. While she sings and cares for him, she forgets about her achy knees and broken arm.
Maybe we all need baby dolls.
