B.P.s Report

If you have been following this blog you know that we have two college student companions spending time with Gregory when I have "stuff to do," meetings to attend, or just need time to get away from the 24/7 of Alzheimer's to play. Each companion spends 4 to 8 hours with Gregory per week.

I asked each of the companions to write about the time they have spent with Gregory up to now. I wasn't sure what I expected or wanted them to write about but I was hoping for a perspective through their eyes of the time they spend with Gregory.

B.P. is a senior at Roosevelt studying Psychology. This is reproduced with his permission. K.C.'s report will follow in a few days.

• • • • •

I am a senior student at Roosevelt University and psychology major, and I play music on the side [cello, guitar, bass guitar]. I sit with Greg about once a week, usually for four or five hours, sometimes longer.

            
Most of my days with Greg follow something of a pattern. Once Michael leaves (usually with an affectionate kiss and “I love you” to his husband), Greg and I go for a walk. He usually seems best in the mornings, perhaps half an hour after I arrive. As we walk, Greg will point out various buildings that he enjoys or disapproves with observations of “Oh what a hoot!” or “What a little shit!” While many parts of Greg’s personality and intellect may be deteriorating fast, his sense of aesthetic opinion is very strong. I often try to elicit an explanation of why he likes or dislikes something and this seems to fumble him. He can’t exactly put his finger on exactly why he feels one way or another about a building, rose, or “piece” (which can refer to a great number of different things from music to movies to sculpture). I don’t think that this artistic sense of personality is going to go anytime soon. I could certainly be wrong, and I was proven wrong before with my grandmother who also had Alzheimer’s, but I feel confident in my instinct.

            
Lately, our days have been a little simpler. In the beginning of the summer, we would go for longer walks, come back and I would very earnestly try to keep Greg very occupied. We still go on walks most days, but now they are kept short, and the rest of the day is more quiet. One day, we did nothing but go to the library, read for an hour and a half, came back and listened to music for the rest of the day. He loved it. (Telling Michael “We listened to music the whole day!” with something near glee) It seems that variety is very healthy, some elements kept consistent, but no day being completely and totally patterned.

            
Some things do seem to help every day that I am with Greg. Going to the lake always seems to calm any agitation that might be present in the beginning of the day. Watching the dogs at the park has the same effect. The rose garden also seems to help, but doesn’t seem to produce as consistent results. While variety is certainly a virtue, so is consistency. The trick is to practice both in moderation.

            
Patience is a finite virtue, and I imagine that ten years of caring for Greg have taken a serious dip into Michael’s reserves. To my mind’s eye it is here clear that I provide some substantive help for both men. For Michael, I provide a chance to escape from his duties and replenish his stores of patience. And for Greg, I provide a company that is perhaps less easily frustrated and thus, a little less demanding. 

At the same time, I am provide a different set of demands: my knowledge of their house and the layout of the general area isn’t great and so Gregory has to work to recall these pieces of information. As I gather, this process of recall can take some time, and often, Michael will get frustrated and say “Let me do it” (with equal parts love and exasperation). On the other hand I will simply wait and casually look the other way. In fact, I make it a point to do this as much as possible. I think that it is important for Greg to frequently exercise his memory. If he doesn’t, I feel the results will be like that of a man who is bedridden for several months: the muscle will deteriorate. The same will happen to his memory, and at this point, nothing new can be made anymore: no new memories are created or preserved. This is especially apparent with smaller, less significant pieces of information. 

For example, Greg once answered a phone call from Michael, and I heard him say “500 people?! Wow…” Less than five minutes later when I asked him about the call, he said that Michael had had a lot of museum visitors, but he couldn’t remember the number. The insignificant things, those that aren’t immediately important to impact Greg’s daily living get dropped by the wayside within minutes. It seems clear to me that those pieces of information that are significant enough to still be recalled must be brought up regularly.

            
A prime example of this occurred the other week. As I gather, some of Greg’s family had come to visit for a few days, and thus Michael had coordinated all of their meals, including lunch. Normally Greg has a salad for lunch most days. This seems like a very good exercise of memory to me. He has to remember where all of the necessary ingredients and utensils are and has to figure out how to put them together. On an average day, he can work this out with few hiccups, though for whatever reason he seemingly can never remember to get a fork out or even where the forks are. 

The first day that I saw Greg after this stay with his relatives, Michael suggested that we stay in for lunch, and so we did. Greg had enormous difficulty making his salad. It took a large number of suggestions from me, and my getting out the salad drawer from the refrigerator. The endeavor also took significantly longer. It is worth noting that he still did it by himself for the most part. Once again, I simply sat back and ate my own lunch and let him work things out on his own. [It is also worth noting that in the beginning of our sitting relationship that I tried to make sure that he ate or at least prepared his lunch before me. Now I realize that I need to take care of my own needs in order to be patient, and that this patience is much more important than any misguided notions of manners that I had.

            
It seems that while Greg can’t make new and lasting memories, many of the old ones are still much intact. As Michael mentioned on the first day, the memories and the words are there, it is the trigger that is difficult to find. A prime example is seen at the beginning of nearly every day that I see Greg. He can very easily find his way around the city in terms of direction (watching for cars and knowing when to not cross the street are different matters).  Occasionally, he’ll get stuck at the beginning, not entirely sure how to start, or caught up in the delusion that things have been “moved” (for instance, there is a curiously persistent notion that the lake has been moved and thus it isn’t to the east anymore) But once he actually gets going, Greg is absolutely fine. 

The same is true of unlocking the door to their apartment. As I’m sure the reader is aware from personal experience, every door is a little different, and every lock requires its own special jimmy to actually trigger the mechanism. It always takes him a moment to figure out where the necessary key is, and which one it is (even getting it into the lock sometimes presents a challenge) but once these obstacles of recall are overcome, his hands seem to simply know what to do. One day when I perhaps pushed Greg a little too far on our walk (it was quite hot that day and he doesn’t respond well to heat) he had significantly more trouble in getting the door open. But once he had a glass of water and laid down, he seemed fine. 

Things like engrams aren’t affected in nearly the same way as more typical memories. But the point remains the same: the greatest obstacle in retrieving a memory is locating the trigger and taking the first step. Once that is accomplished, feats of remembrance of far greater magnitude are possible. It seems clear to me that triggers must be regularly exercised, and this is the main thing that I try to do throughout the day (besides keeping him safe and at ease)  

            
Throughout this report, I’ve gone over the ways that I feel I help Greg and Michael. But there are certainly ways that I too benefit, and there is one small way in which I have gotten something that I did not expect. Greg seems like a very confident person. When asked about music or his career as an architect, he stresses his ability to simply do  these things. For example, when I have asked how he would approach playing music or designing a particular building he always responds the same way: “I would just sit down and it would flow out of me.” To the unfamiliar, this may seem like bragging, but in all reality, I think Greg is simply being honest, and when the sheer elegance and excellence of his work is considered, it fits. 

The reason that I bring this up is that I have never been like Greg. I am far more self-aware and anxious. I almost always feel unbearably self-conscious when I show people any creative works that I have produced. And so I feel that I too get something out of my time with Greg. One day when I had my cello over at the apartment, I mentioned my anxiety and apprehension about playing in front of others. In a very matter of fact way, he said that I sounded just fine. To me this is high praise, considering the caliber of musician that he once was. I know that he won’t sugarcoat his comments on my playing, so I don’t worry. 

In essence, I very much feel that I too am getting something out of our relationship, and on some level, I think Greg is aware of this. I think this symbiosis is a very healthy thing, as I imagine many of his day to day relationships to be rather one-sided which can certainly present frustration.