Last Visit with an Alzheimer's Patient—It’s Scareful

 

He only weighed about 90 pounds, but it would take the two of us to transfer Wes from his wheelchair and onto the portable commode. His bed sat in the corner of a newly remodeled room. It was built exclusively for the comfortable dying of a kind, successful energetic man, who’d lived life to the fullest, and was now stricken with Alzheimer’s disease.

“Why doesn’t Wes use a hand-urinal?” I asked the nurse.

“Wes refuses. He insists using the toilet. The bathroom toilet is way too low, so we use the portable.”

I glanced out the window at Rock Lake. Water-skiers whizzed past the pier on a sunny Wisconsin summer day. Perfect conditions. Jealously beat in my heart. Slalom-skiing was my favorite activity ever. I wanted to be on the water, not flushing an old man’s pee.

The nurse and I hoisted Wes from his chair. I pulled down dress pants, then adult diapers and we carefully loaded his frail form onto the plastic seat. Droplets of pee spluttered, like raindrops against a window. He finished and we reversed the process.

When we tried to reseat Wes in his chair, he resisted. He clung to our arms— his body tightly locked in hover mode.

 I said, “We’ve got you, Wes. The chair is right behind you. Please sit down.”

 His clear blue eyes peered into mine. “It’s scareful,” he whispered, like a child revealing a secret.

I stifled a tear, returned his gaze and said, “Of course it is. I understand. It’s scary to trust two strangers with your safety. And you’re fearful of getting hurt. You just made up a word that combines those feelings. 'Scareful.' Very clever of you, Wes.”  He relaxed enough for the nurse and I to ease his hip-bones onto the seat.

I wheeled Wes onto the veranda overlooking Rock Lake. Gene, his longtime friend and business associate, of over forty years, was waiting for him. When Wes saw Gene, four decades of recognition washed over Wes. He struggled to straighten his posture. Then managed a warm and animated greeting for Gene.

Gene’s presence brought Wes back to life and the Alzheimer’s dissolved before our eyes. Wes and Gene told stories and joked for the next couple of hours. It was a profound moment, witnessing Gene’s convivial interaction with Wes. I sat in awe of Gene's composure—knowing how difficult it was for him—considering this visit was a final goodbye. I think Wes knew he was nearing the end too, and he handled the situation with grace and courage.

Preparing our leave, Gene choked back the desperate tears accompanying his imposing intention—to give Wes a hopeful sendoff. Gene was successful. I was overcome with gratitude. Wes grinned.

Visiting a person with Alzheimer’s is a spiritually rewarding experience. It’s immediate. It’s significant. It puts life in focus and grants participants the opportunity to connect with the Divine.

Farewell, Wes.

Wes and Gene a few weeks before Wes' death.