Dementia: Not for Love or Money

At 5 o’clock yesterday I stopped by SarahCare, a daycare for memory-impaired elders, to introduce my dog to the clients. Sarahcare generously gives my Toastmasters Club a free space to meet every week. In return I occasionally stop by to fill an hour of their day. Owner Tim, busy at the front desk, waved me in. I led Mopsy through the silent, immobile clients, greeted the caregivers and headed through the door.

As I walked out, a slender, well-dressed, seventy-plus client was kicking up a real fuss about the taxi home.

First the cab driver, a powerfully built fifty-something with a heavy moustache and a heavy accent, and then another driver and finally, slim Tim himself, beseeched the woman to get in so she could go home. But the more they begged and patted and even pushed, the more wildly obstinate she became.

“Maybe the dog will distract her,” I offered. “Look, here’s Mopsy!” I cried helpfully. The men stood back. The woman looked at me with silent despair. Ah, probably doesn’t speak English, I thought.

“Senora, por favor, venga con estos hombres. A su casa.” She grabbed my hand with a ferocious grip and looked at me intently. I struggled for a few more Spanish words but none came. “A su casa. La comida. Suenos, senora! Siete en el coche, por favor!”

She cocked her head as if she could not quite hear the words.

“Doesn’t anybody speak Spanish?” I wailed to the men who were looking at me hopefully. “Help me out here!” I tried to pull away from her hand. Goodness, who knew that an old lady could be so strong.

But I did know. Long ago, one high summer season at the Tanglewood Music Festival I sat in an old-fashioned rocker on the front porch of the Lenox Inn beside a gabby old lady in her eighties who claimed she was Joseph Silverstein’s aunt. Silverstein was then Boston Symphony Orchestra’s First Violinist. I had no reason to disbelieve her. She told me a long, funny family story about the poor man’s bossy wife.

I thoroughly enjoyed the insider gossip but when I rose to leave, the old lady grabbed me by the shoulders and planted a passionate kiss full on my mouth. While kiss lasted, a good long time, I was powerless in her grasp.

Those were indeed the woohoo lesbian days and women did occasionally, fall in love with me, then. But this was not a lover’s kiss, this was a very heartfelt, farewell kiss. I know I’ll never see you again.

Then I was gone and of course, I never saw her again. But I have never forgotten the amazing power of her embrace.

Now, at Sarahcare. The woman backed away from the cab with a tormented expression.

“We can’t help you out,” Tim said. “She’s Italian!” The three men renewed their attempts to stuff her into cab’s back seat, then the front but she would not go. As two pushed and cajoled her stiff, resistant body the sweating, burly cabbie turned to me.

“Last Friday she unbuckle herself and open the door right on Freemont Avenue,” he cried. “I used to be a chiropractor and I could hardly get her back inside.”

Now several more pickup cars crowded in, clogging the parking area. I finally squeezed my car out, cursing myself for adding to the mess. Never, ever stop by to visit at day’s end!

In the mirror I saw Tim and now the caregivers push the poor woman back in through the Sarahcare door. The cab drove off empty. God knows who could take this poor woman home and if Sarahcare workers got their own suppers on time.

If you think Alzheimer’s patients just need a loving touch, remember the three men and the taxicab. Doctors are scared to prescribe sedatives or lock people up. The new Health Care bill may spawn a voluntary long-term care fund. But there’s a lot more to memory-impairment issues than love or money.

In her last years my mother had Alzheimers Disease. As she slid into oblivion, she offered to leave me her money if I let her live with me. Too proud for a bribe—I would have done it for love—and too ignorant to understand what was happening to her, I declined. And have felt remorse ever since. She found loving caregivers who chased after her when she ran naked down the street one night and left them the money. Little did I realize the generous gift she left me.


David C. Grabowski, associate professor in the department of health care policy at Harvard Medical School, writes that “today, more than 5 million Americans are estimated to have dementia. By 2050, the number of those afflicted is expected to exceed 13 million.”