It’s my birthday, and we’re cancelling the 6:30 dinner reservation. It’s around that time when my dad wanders into other residents’ rooms and exhibits combative behaviour, something I’ve never witnessed. I’m no professional, but it seems Dad needs care and comfort, not more medication or police threats. Over the past few months, my daytime calls … Continue reading Nighttime rituals in dementia care
brain
The call
My iPhone rings, and Dad’s face lights up the screen. “Please talk to your father,” says the personal support worker. I try to ask what and why, but the PSW interjects. “Just talk to him,” she says firmly. * I’ve received calls like this several times over the past few months. Dad doesn’t know how … Continue reading The call
Thursdays with Dad
Let’s make sure we bring Kleenex, I say to Dad as we prepare for choir practice. “Why?” he asks. Because you’re going to cry. “How do you know?” he asks. Because you always do, I say. When we started singing in the Latvian seniors’ choir, Dad would laugh and tell me there’s no way I … Continue reading Thursdays with Dad
1/ My journey to the World Congress on Brain Injury
Three of us entered the therapist’s office that Monday morning: me, my brain-injured self and my pre-injury über-me. I guess it’s obvious from the words I’m using who was on top that day. Also, that we weren’t a coherent whole. When the session started, Dr. Bicycle could barely keep up with us. “I’d been thinking … Continue reading 1/ My journey to the World Congress on Brain Injury
What love’s got to do with it
Let me describe her before she’s gone. Because I have a feeling she’ll go. That, or I’ll learn to live with her in a way that I barely notice her presence anymore. Call it my new normal. For brief moments, I already feel like she’s gone. After a nap. After a good night’s sleep. It’s … Continue reading What love’s got to do with it
Postcards from my brain 