TheHeretic
Posts: 19100
Joined: 3/25/2007 From: California, USA Status: offline
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Dealing with Alzheimer's and dementia stories huh? I've dealt with quite a number of elderly relatives whose minds went before their body. A sense of humor comes in very handy. My great-grandmother would have a grand time telling visitors about her conversation with President Lincoln... on their way to the moon, in the spaceship (no joke). A great aunt simply vegetated in a chair for 10 years and her youngest daughter became a very bitter person, caring for her 'til the end. One grandmother was afflicted with awful delusions of crime and violence all around her, the other... Well the other might be a story worth telling. About six months after I moved to CA, I took a quick trip back to Oregon to clear up some pressing legal issues. With some time to kill before catching my truck back, I called my Grandmother, told her I was in town and would come see her. I arrived to find her bleeding from a small cut just above her eye. She told me had bumped it on a cabinet. While looking for the first aid kit, I heard a loud knocking, and then found myself doing exactly what the policeman said. In the back of their car, I told them my story. Three times. The situation wasn't helped by my being in possession of a fully functional bit of carved wood, or that other legal matters I considered less pressing, had not been attended to. It turned out that it helped considerably having only 11 cents in my pockets. I sat there for a while, with neighbors in the seniors-only mobile home park peeking out their curtains at me. An ambulance arrived. A cop came back out after a time, and asked me a new, slightly more informed question. My brother arrived to pick me up and drive me out to truck stop. His credibility might have been damaged by also having a bit of carved wood and plenty of stuff to put in it, but at least the cops were now hearing two stories of her alcoholic dementia. One asked if the handcuffs were too tight. It took the arrival of an aunt to get me out of that car. Granny, it seems, had concocted a plan. When she saw me walk through the gate, she dialed 911 and told them her good-for-nothing grandson was breaking in. Then she nicked herself with the sewing scissors. She told the police I had beaten her up and robbed her. My aunt eventually got the story out of her. I was her favorite grandchild, you see, and she didn't like that I had moved so far away. In her pickled brain, having me arrested seemed like a good way to keep me around. Perhaps this sort of thing is why so many of the other relatives put butter on their bacon.
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If you lose one sense, your other senses are enhanced. That's why people with no sense of humor have such an inflated sense of self-importance.
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