In "Hymn" We Trust

        Tonight my church had a "hymn sing," which I had never heard of or been a part of. Over 60 people from multiple churches came together to make one big choir, and members of the community and of each church filled the pews. As the entire congregation joined the choir to sing "Saved, Saved!" I got goosebumps as the first chorus ended. I marveled in the awesomness that is God, the Creator. What an amazing thing to hear so many of His people in one place lifting our voices to Him in praise.

"I bet this is kind of what Heaven will be like," I thought to myself. 

Multiple people gave special music, and two different families sang accapella with their 5 children! I would LOVE to do that someday but I don't think I'm that musically inclined. I was inspired to take piano lessons again. I wonder if there's a piano teacher who can teach older re-learners like me? It would be worth checking into I think! I still don't know what my passion is and how I can use it to help others, but I think music (or more specifically, the piano) is high on the list. 

During the service, the most adorable baby woke up and was looking around and smiling at people. I got a lump in my throat wondering when it will be MY turn to have a beautiful baby like that. When will it be MY turn to sing to my children and teach them the great hymns of the faith? Trying to not be selfish, I put the thoughts aside and continued to enjoy the music.

The last song the huge choir sang was "It Is Well With My Soul". This song has a history with me and my church family back home, and I couldn't hold the tears back. Even though this song triggers memories of a horrible day, if I think about the lyrics in the verses in a different sense, they are just so powerful!  "My sin, not in part, but the whole is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more. Praise the Lord, PRAISE THE LORD, oh my soul....Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight. The clouds be rolled back as a scroll. The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend. Even so, it is well with my soul!"

It was a joyful evening spent with a room full of strangers, but all with a common love for Christ. I wish this is how every day ended!

Dementia - a COTA's Prose

I type in the code to enter the locked unit. Only the most confused and demented patients are kept here, and are locked in for their own safety. I walk the long hallway with shiny wood floors and enter the main gathering room. It's bright and cheerful, with large windows allowing for a view of the sunset in the evening. Elderly people are scattered all over the room; some dozing in recliners, others wander aimlessly in wheelchairs or on foot, while another sits in the corner playing with a baby doll. 

My patient, M, is in a recliner sleeping. To wake him, I must pat his leg and yell directly into his ear in order for him to hear me. He stirs, smiles, and is thrilled when I ask if he would like to work on an activity with me. Before he stands, I unplug the chair alarm safety device that will squawk loudly once his weight leaves the chair. He walks faster than most, and is fairly cognizant, though his hearing makes communication difficult

"Let's get out of here!" he says, after participating in our sorting activity for about 4 minutes.

"Ok, let's go!" I yell. Off he goes with his blue 4 wheeled walker. We walk the two long halls and look outside, a place he hasn't been in weeks. He speaks clearly, when he can hear my questions, and is a joyful man. 

After about a half hour, I help M back to his chair for the rest of his nap, making sure to turn his chair alarm back on so the aides will be alerted if he decides to wander. I walk the long hallway and wonder why he is in the dementia unit as punch in a different code to exit.

The next day, I go back to The Meadows, as it's called. It's lunch time, and all of the residents are gathered around the tables with trays of food in front of them. I pull up a chair next to my patient, and scream hello into is ear is a wave. He smiles and says hello. He continues to eat his lunch in a slow fashion. He doesn't have enough strength or dexterity to use a fork in the proper way, so he scoops the food onto it like one would do with a spoon. It's hard not to reach out and help him as his hand shakes and most of the food falls off the fork. One time I do break from my role as  therapist, and help him by stabbing a piece of chicken with the fork and putting it back in his hand. 

"Don't you think I know how to eat?!" M says loudly.

I sit back and let him finish, monitoring his hand movements, coordination, and efficiency. A half hour later, he is still finishing his food, slowly but surely. He says he enjoyed the meal. Our treatment time is up, and he says goodbye with a wide smile.

        I return at lunch time the next day and greet M in the usual way. He is nearly asleep in his plate of food. My attempts to wake him are unsuccessful. His hands are clasped together tightly, and I try to separate them. No luck. I try to place his fork in his right hand, but am met with tightly gripped fingers. The nursing staff reports that he has been this way all day.

As I try to rouse M, I notice a woman in her sixties sitting next to a much older woman lying in a geriatric recliner chair. The lady in the chair is so small, she looks nearly skeletal. She has no teeth, doesn't speak, but cries out randomly. The woman next to her holds a spoon, scoops up some pureed food, and brings it to the elderly woman's mouth. She eats from the spoon.

"Mom, swallow!" the woman commands as gently as possible. I realize her mother doesn't understand she needs swallow pureed mush without a verbal cue to do so. 

The daughter gazes into her mother's face, and I can see the sorrow in her eyes. I try not to stare as I imagine this now decrepit old lady as a young woman, caring for her daughter, feeding her, and teaching her how to walk. The tables have certainly turned. I learn the daughter returns almost daily to feed her mother. 

This is dementia. This is real life. And sometimes life isn't fair or easy. Through it all, I attempt to be a blessing in all of my patients' lives, whether they remember me the next day or not.