The Residents’ Rise

Pieta Valentine

Description

Activating intelligence within dementia.
The existence of the intellect is well known but how it can be activated with people with dementia is the revelation.
It’s all about the intellect part of the consciousness, separate to the mind, and training the intellect to think.
This breakthrough is psychological not pharmaceutical.
The residents’ have worked hard to activate their intellects.
Now psychologically strong, they are motivated and resilient.
‘We are not afraid,’ David the group spokesmen says…
‘Give the power to the people. We can adapt and overcome.’
In telling their story, and relaying their message The Residents’ Rise shares what Daisy learns from them.
Also offering extended epilogues with unique advice and strategies so friends and family can help in an informed and enlightened way, those who are institutionalised with dementia.

Sujets

• Santé et bien-être
• Santé du quotidien
• Santé au quotidien
• Santé au quotidien
• Intelligence
• The Residents
• Institution
• Fitness
• Pietà
• Health
• Valentine
• Physical therapy
• Dementia
• Resident
• Diseases
• Alzheimer's

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris NZ
• Date de parution: 17 novembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781664108271
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Residents’ Rise
 
 
From a Dementia Unit
Sequel to The Residents’ Voice
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Pieta Valentine
 
Copyright © 2022 by Pieta Valentine.
 
Library of Congress Control Number:
2022919291
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6641-0828-8

Softcover
978-1-6641-0826-4

eBook
978-1-6641-0827-1
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
Rev. date: 11/23/2022
 
 
 
 
 
 
Xlibris
NZ TFN: 0800 008 756 (Toll Free inside NZ)
NZ Local: 9-801 1905 ([phone] from outside New Zealand)
www.Xlibris.co.nz
846571
CONTENTS
Introduction
 
Chapter 1     Covid-19
Chapter 2     Birthday
Chapter 3     More Challenges
Chapter 4     We Will Adapt and Overcome
Chapter 5     Introductions
Chapter 6     Entertainment
Chapter 7     Going Blank
Chapter 8     Helping
Chapter 9     Medication and Exercises
Chapter 10   Thinking and Remembering
Chapter 11   We Are Not Afraid
Chapter 12   Report
 
Points to Help Relatives and Residents
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Epilogue 3
Epilogue 4
Author’s Comment
Biographical Note
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Daisy, the diversional therapist had been working at the dementia unit for over 5 years now.
The residents’ having worked hard, had progressed remarkably well.
When Daisy first arrived, the residents’ had been shut off and shut down from both themselves and each other.
Now communicating confidently, they have established their own unique community.
Their challenges and achievements, to get to this point, are outlined in this, The Residents’ Rise.
Followed by an extended range of advice and strategies for relatives of dementia patients.
1 Covid-19
W e all thought we’d got away with it. After all, we’d been tucked away for two long years and not a cough or a sniffle in sight, till last Sunday; a mass of visitors descended, and lax now on rapid antigen tests and reporting of symptoms, it seemed the virus inexorably marched its way in.
‘Well, it’s arrived,’ said one staffer in a defeated tone. ‘Soon they will all have it.’
Daisy, couldn’t project the trajectory, not having witnessed it herself as the other staff most certainly had. They all did shifts over at the hospital, as well as at the dementia unit, double shifts a lot of the time. At the hospital, more than half had Covid. But there, you could shut the bedroom doors, and patients would abide. No such luck here. PPE gear, yes. Doors shut, no. No luxury of privacy here.
A shut door meant nothing to a wandering resident. Claiming the whole unit as theirs, they wandered in and out of rooms blithely, pilfering what they liked the look of wherever they may roam. With no way of policing it, though residents tried. ‘She’s a thief’ had no complaints process to follow through on.
And it was not just the privacy invasion with the wanderers. Everything got infected with the Covid-infected person, trailing all their germs. They wiped their flat, extended hands over everything they touched. Cleaners did their best, but it was near impossible to keep up. So now snivels and coughs were rife.
All staff were in full PPE, but residents had no such protection, and there was no such thing as staying in rooms and isolating either. Who was going to abide with that? So in just ten days, practically all the unit had it, with staff trying their best not to get it a second time round.
Putting on the PPE gear was a pain. Daisy found it especially hard as she had a long-standing frozen shoulder from her physiotherapy days. Her shoulder got all too easily wrenched with all the doffing and donning of masks, shield, gown, and gloves. It was all she could do to not let out a yelp when strained.
At least she didn’t smoke. Her previous colleague had to retire as they couldn’t cope with the mask-shield suffocation effect. Anyway, little sacrifice. Daisy enjoyed working with the residents and considered their efforts far greater than hers, so she chose not to let it all bother her too much.
Amidst it all, she found the way everyone wore their personal protective garb quite telling. The Filipino staff had their long, sleek ponytails, not a hair out of place. Daisy’s hair was all over the place. She had a ponytail of sorts, but her stiff shoulder made it difficult to centre. How on earth did they manage to be so coiffured? They didn’t even sweat under the constraint of it all. Anyway, she now realised sartorial splendour was one of their traits she was least likely to emulate. Kiwi born and bred, styling wasn’t a strength.
She went over to see the residents. Full regalia on, they hardly batted an eyelid. With just mask and shield, they constantly complained, ‘We can’t see or hear you!’ Now full coverage, there was hardly a word. They’d adjusted qui ckly .
It had been two years now of morning news Covid-19 updates. It’d terrifically spread. The world was locked down. With its impact on businesses, Queenstown shut down with all the ski fields ready for the season. It was the ‘out there’, lurking virus. But now that it had arrived, it was just a quiet complacency. Business as usual. Everyone was still sitting in the lounge. Meals were the same (just extra fluids), and all activities continued per the schedule.
A bit rough , thought Daisy. Any of us, and we’d be in bed, but here was the dear old residents up and about without a complaint. She decided to de-escalate Covid and just call it ‘the bug’. After all, they were all now going to get it, and she didn’t want them to be fearful into the bargain.
So as instructed, she gave a cheery ‘Good morning. It’s good to see everyone’ and then went straight into the daily orientation preliminaries. ‘OK, everyone, now for the day, date, and month?’
All necks craned, eyes at the ready. Will they give it a guess? Can they get it this time?
‘And please, Edward, don’t just read it from the top of your newspaper.’ Few families kept the subscription going. Less than a handful of residents had that chance. But Edward did, and it was a highly coveted item.
‘Day and date,’ said Daisy. ‘Let’s start with the day. Day of the week, that’s the easiest one.’
Mind you, residents didn’t necessarily think so. Every day was the same to them – same routine, same rise-and-shine time, same mealtimes, same morning and afternoon tea, same unceasing schedule. Everything ran like clockwork, no matter what the day or season, making it difficult to place any changes.
Trying another tack, Daisy asked enquiringly, ‘What day of the week do I come in to work? Now you know that. Think it through.’
They sometimes got this one. But still, there were no answers. No luck yet this morning. ‘OK, so we’ll start off with another question. What season is it?’
Still, there were no answers. It was difficult to gauge when the temperature inside was always the same old stock standard. Daisy could see everyone thinking. Focused eyes and concentrated expressions proved that.
It always took time; she knew that. She just had to come in from the right angle. ‘OK, everyone, we are now going to talk about the seasons and what you like about each one.’ Back to the basics . ‘So let’s start with summer. What do you like about summer?’
This time, tentative answers came to the fore more readily, with holiday memories stirring. ‘Sea and sunshine’, came one answer.
‘Children swimming at the beach’, came another.
Good, the cogs were turning. ‘And spring?’
‘Green grass and daffodils.’
Good, getting t here.
OK. ‘Winter, what happens in winter?’
‘Bugs.’
‘Yes, so what season are we in?’
Looking around at their wilting neighbours and the intrepid staff in their burqa blue protectors, they hazarded a not-so-wild guess. ‘Winter!’
‘Yes, very good’, said Daisy. ‘OK, we’ll now move on to the next thing.’ And so on and so forth. They had various versions of the same equation to get the day, date, and month, if not cemented, at least considered.
They all enjoyed this part of the day, never jeering at wrong answers, encouraging those who nearly got it. If July was stated, it was near enough to August. ‘Nearly, very good.’
Friday was close enough to Saturday. ‘Excellent, nearly there.’
It was all orientation building. They never tired of it, even amidst these unwell times. She could still see them making an effort. That was obvious. And to Daisy, that was the most important thing. If they made the effort, then certainly, so would she. No problem there.
Right answers gave chest-swelling experiences – chest swelling because dementia means you have no memory. So they had been told. And here, they were exhibiting some! Of course, it was faded, weak at best. But the little the