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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ We’ve had three health care aides in Dementia Central since I last wrote, so I’m going to blend them together today. Otherwise, it’s more effort than either of us need to expend to keep things straight.

~~ The water in the cooler is all gone, and the aide’s holding a large mug with liquid. “If you drain the cooler, please let us know,” she’s told, “so the warming element doesn’t burn up.” Her retort: “I didn’t take any water. It must have all evaporated.”

~~ “Is that your microwave?” the aide asks with a sniff. Of course. “It’s not a new model. Does it work?” she wonders.

~~ “Excuse me,” the aide says at 8:30 am. “I’ll need help with something at 11:00 am.” When I notice that it’s 1:30 pm, I seek her out to ask what happened. “Oh, sorry!” she says with a dismissive flip of her hand. Except I skipped going where I needed to get because she specifically said she needed my help at a very explicit time.

~~ Three of us are standing in the kitchen when the aide walks by. “Good morning!” two of us say to her. “Oh, yeah,” she replies.

~~ What’s doing with the dementia patient? Well, if they ever write the musical of Donald Trump’s life, we already have some melodic/profane lyrics to supply. She has a lovely, strong voice that bores into my soul as she belts out vulgarity after vulgarity.

~~ I was also treated to her expletive-laden shouted instruction to the aide to Shove those damn potatoes into your tuchis
                    followed quickly by a directive that she Get out! Get out! Get ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. The aide did nothing except continue to gab into her phone and ignore the patient.

~~ I went to the dentist yesterday, and the hygienist says the election is stressing her out. I agree but tell her we’re lucky that New York isn’t in play — we don’t see a barrage of repugnant presidential ads. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind that,” she says, “as I still haven’t made up my mind who to vote for. Have you?” The moment I open my mouth to answer, she says, “Never mind. It won’t help.” But a bunch of partisan ads would assist?

~~ In last week’s blog, I promised you the story of the Canadian disease. A woman I was speaking with answered, “How are you?” with a 10-minute recital of how she picked up an intense and lengthy GI sickness after going to Canada. Two different tropical disease doctors were consulted but no one could figure it out. After hospital isolation and a battery of testing, she disclosed that she fell ill shortly after eating cherries from a farm stand.
“Were they washed?” a physician inquired. “No,” she admitted sheepishly, before begging the doctor not to tell her grown daughters the basis for her barfing and pain. To me she says, “I badger them all the time to wash fruit before giving it to my grandkids. I’d never hear the end of it if they found out how reckless I was.”

~~ You can take away what you like from that, but I’m going with how odd the words Canada, cherries, reckless, and quarantine are in the same story.

~~ I drive the same way every Tuesday and Wednesday morning at 9:15 am, and there’s always an elderly woman meandering around her property, pulling weeds, gathering sticks, or doing other landscaping chores. I often make eye contact and smile. Last week she waved, so I waved back. This week I happily waved to her on Tuesday and she gave me a vigorous one-finger-salute. (I don’t know what would have happened on Wednesday as I had a flat tire.)
Have a great weekend!




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