The Beauty of Compassion
My mom had Alzheimer’s and we were into year 13 with it, and I was the one taking her shopping, to appointments, etc. She’d gotten angry at a person she was convinced stole her newspaper and attacked him and broke her wrist in the process. For the life of me, she wouldn’t keep her cast on. The second you turned your back, she would pick that cast off with her fingers and permanently destroy any chance of the bones meshing properly.
At her third visit to get her wrist x-rayed again and have another cast put on, she went into a rage over having to have a mask on her face and started screaming at me for not understanding, pushed by me, and locked herself in the bathroom. I did understand. I understood that for 13 years I’d watched a very strong, capable women turn into an angry, verbally abusive, delusional person. On the way to that appointment, she’d grabbed the steering while smacking at a “fat bald man sitting right there” – she was pointing at my steering wheel. I was already frazzled and then her explosion at me was just too much. I silently sat with tears running down my face while the nurse got maintenance to unlock the bathroom door.
I suddenly had a tap on my shoulder and it was a technician who apparently specialized in dementia. She took over the x-ray stage while a doctor who’d overheard my mom’s screaming came and gave me a hug and told me to come and sit in her office and have a cup of coffee. It was the middle of the pandemic, so it was probably against protocol, but I will never forget their kindness.