Friday, December 11, 2009

Random Thoughts of the Season Part One: Gifts for People with Dementia

Here's the first in a series of random thoughts inspired by the season, things that have been on my mind: gifts for people with dementia.

While I chose Judaism some years ago, my birth family is not Jewish, and every so often I go back to Toronto to spend Christmas with them. The last Christmas I spent with my mother, we did so at her nursing home, in a private room, where we were able to bring in and serve our own food, decorate and have a little family celebration. She thought she was at my sister's house, where she traditionally spent the holiday, so it was perfect. I showered her with gifts -- clearly dealing with my own issues and not hers. But here's what I have found works for gifts over the years, and not just for the holidays:
  • My bias here tends to be people with moderate to advanced dementia, but here's one for someone in the earlier stages: a computer. I think the HP or Sony (or Apple, again, my bias), touchscreen computer is great as it has a humongous screen (think large text) that can be activated by touching. Why a computer? Cognitive skill-building, that's why, and keeping in touch with friends and family far and near (socializing). It's also a good way for a person with dementia to interact with their child or grandchild as the young one can pass along their computer skills.
  • A Wii. The bowling game will keep two people busy for an hour easily, and is a great common meeting ground for people with dementia and their children or grandchildren.
  • Favourite foods are always a welcome gift. Something sweet and easy to deal with based on what sort of food your loved one is able to eat. For my mother, it was chocolate or cookies, and chocolate cookies were a real hit. Think about your loved one's favourite food, and if possible, make it sweet (or salty if they love salt and crunch). The point is to encourage them to eat by treating them to their favourite snacks, and hey, if they are elderly with dementia, they made it this far so don't be too concerned about the sweet treats.
  • A calendar, clock, or a clock with a calendar on it.
  • A bulletin board on which to post favourite photos, notes, letters, a calendar.
  • Clothing that is easy to take on and off. Sweat pants with elastic or draw-string waists. Tops that don't need buttons to do up. Cardigans for chilly days. Slippers.
  • A gift basket. It can be made up of food, personal items, games... it's just fun for anyone to poke through the contents of a basket and find all the surprises.
  • Jewelry -- not so much. This can be stolen or misplaced if your loved one is in a home. But, if you have a mom at home who loves pretty things, how about a necklace with a chain long enough that it can be slipped over their heads.
  • Cognitive activities: A Life Scenes 1 book (obviously!). But seriously, it's a reading activity for any caregiver, family or otherwise, to do with a person with moderate to advanced dementia. It's a gift that keeps on giving every time you use it. Also, consider puzzles with large pieces, a scrapbook of family photos with room to write underneath (throughout the year, interview your loved one about the photos and "write" a book together). Flash cards, games, anything that requires one-on-one interaction between you and your loved one. Gosh, here's a thought: how about a felt board, one of those designed to tell a story? You could make up a story together using the felt board and pieces. Try an educational store for that one.
  • Personal care items are always needed, especially if they are in a home that does not necessarily supply quality soap, toothpaste, body lotion etc.
One thing you need to keep in mind is that if your loved one forgets (almost instantly) who gave them the present or why, you just need to deal with it. Your enjoyment and thanks will almost certainly be the child-like look of pleasure on their faces when they open the gift. REmember to stay in the present. Don't press them the next day to remember what gift you gave them, You will be setting yourself up for frustration and disappointment. Opening gifts is fun for anyone and everyone, and you will be giving the gift of happiness and love that may only last a minute, but for your person with dementia, that minute is everything.

And don't forget a gift for the caregivers in your lives. How about a coupon for a couple of hours off once a month, when you will come in and take over the caregiving duties? Spa gift certificate? A restaurant gift certificate? A round of golf? Just allow the caregiver to take the time to do something they enjoy doing, guilt and worry free.

Monday, November 30, 2009

What I Would Do Differently for My Mom

I was speaking with my sister on the weekend. She lives in Toronto and I am in Phoenix. We were reminiscing about our mother, who had vascular dementia and passed away in June of 2008, and comparing the dreams we each had about her. I said that I didn't dream about her much, but that recently I had dreamed about our mother being upright, able to walk, vital and alive, talking and joking, but still somehow I knew that she had dementia. And then sometime later in the dream I remember thinking "I will NEVER let her go back there... NEVER!" and I knew that I meant that I would never let her go back to the dementia care facility where she spent her last years.

My sister said, and rightly so, that our mother had lived in a pretty good place and that we did the best we could at the time, knowing what we knew. She's right. We had to act quickly. My sister and my stepfather had a week to find a place after the hospital said that there was no point to extending rehab because our mother, who had had a stroke, wasn't progressing (she couldn't remember that she couldn't walk, let alone that she was in rehab). The place we chose was brand new, and on paper, stated goals that to this day I support. They would involve family and community in the home. There would be visits from local children, who would be integrally involved in the facility. There would be lots of quality activity. They even talked about opportunities for the residents to "give back." Unfortunately not much of it came to fruition, although in the end we all agreed that she was surrounded by people who, for the most part, cared about her (except, perhaps, for the one who stole her ring). And my sister was vigilant against the behaviour-altering medications that the doctor kept sneaking into her care regime.

For awhile, on the phone, my sister and I lamented that our mother could not have lived at home. My sister would have felt better if she had been able to live at home in familiar surroundings, but it had been impossible. Our mother needed to be lifted in and out of bed, to the bathroom, into her chair. She needed care 24/7 and our stepfather was not able to provide this level of care, nor did they have space in their home for someone (or possibly two someones) to live in, and ultimately they might not have been able to afford this level of care for... how many years? I pointed out however, that people with dementia need lots of socialization and she would have been [even more] bored and lonely had she lived at home. I know they would not have had many visitors or gone many places.

And then my sister asked me: Well, what would you do differently, knowing what you know now, after all the research you've done and the places you've visited and the people you've talked to?

Whew, that was a big question. I think my answer to her was something to the effect of "Errrrr, sounds like a good topic for a blog..."

Back when my mother first started showing symptoms of memory loss, or rather, when her symptoms started to get more serious and included forgetting names, repetitively asking questions, and reducing her extensive repertoire of recipes down to applesauce cake (in other words, way too late), I would have been more insistent that she seek a diagnosis. I think I would have flown up to Toronto and taken her myself. Yeah, I know; easier said than done. I still don't have the answer for that one.

My stepfather actually did pretty well, tricking her into thinking she was going to her doctor for a physical, and not one that included a memory test. However, I certainly would have given my mother's doctor a piece of my mind when he declared her memory to be A-OK because she passed the test with a perfect score. We all knew the problems she was having. But we trusted him. Or more truthfully, we were weary of the fight and couldn't deal with getting her to another doctor for a second opinion. If we had had some encouragement, if we were hooked into a community of people who were dealing with the same issues, we might have been able to work up the courage and the strength to have another go at a diagnosis. If we had, we might have found out that she was in fact suffering from the effects of strokes, and we may have been able to take the precautions to prevent the major stroke that finally took the rest of her memory and paralyzed her legs.

Which brings me to the next point. I would have reached out to people who could help. I never knew that there were groups of people on the Internet who were experiencing the same issues that we were. Through them, we could have helped my mother and improve in our role as care partners.

My stepfather did call the Alzheimer's Society once. He put it off for ages because he didn't think my mother had Alzheimer's. He recognized that she had memory issues, but because of the stigma attached to Alzheimer's, he was pretty sure she didn't have THAT and so was reluctant to call. I was not privy to the conversation that he had with the person who answered the phone at the Alzheimer's Society, but he reported back something to do with the fact that she hadn't been diagnosed and so there wasn't much that they could help him with.

This is not a "dis" against the Alzheimer's Society. I am fairly sure that they will help connect people to resources no matter what, diagnosis or no diagnosis. It could just be what he thought he heard and, as I said, he didn't think it was Alzheimer's anyhow, so whatever answer they gave him that sounded like "she doesn't need our services" was probably OK in his books. Now, in hindsight, I know that there is help out there, and I would have milked it for all it's worth. As the child of someone who had dementia I could have called them myself. In fact, I had their number and picked up the phone a couple of times, only to slowly put it back in the receiver. Why? I have no idea.

If I could do it differently, I would have tried harder to talk to my parents about planning their future before my mother's future was planned for her. Again, easier said than done, but I would have tried, and I would have read some books to learn how to broach the subject better, or I would have tapped into the Internet support group that I would have joined. The care facility that they had wanted to go to was, a continuing care facility, with independent living apartments, assisted living, skilled nursing and a memory care unit, all on the same campus. My parents were on the waiting list for independent living, and two years later, when my mother needed to be in a memory care unit, or at least a skilled nursing facility, they were no closer to the top of the waiting list. Waiting until they were in their early 80s to get on the list for ONE place was not great planning, but our family let it happen. They/we should have faced the reality in their mid-70s that eventually they would require some sort of care or in-home support and THEN researched possible future homes or made the decision to age in place and make sure they were in a home that would allow for 24-hour care if required.

For sure, if I could do it differently, I would know about the wonderful and sophisticated level of memory care that IS available in facilities such as Lakeview Ranch and Silverado. And I would have found the Canadian equivalent and done everything I could to get her into it. My mother was "promoted" to the locked dementia care unit at her long term care home because of her behaviour. She was not violent or angry, but called out many many times during the day and night for her husband as he was the only person she recognized and trusted. Because the staff didn't have time to constantly answer her calls for "help" or "John," and because her calling out was disturbing to other residents, she was moved to dementia care. This move contributed to her rapid decline, but we didn't know that better dementia care was available, or what even constituted better care. We didn't know what we were looking for or that we should be looking for it in the first place. Now I do.

Finally, here's what I would do differently, and what I grieve for the most. I would have made sure she was doing some sort of cognitive activity every day. At some point during her time in dementia care, I realized the potential that existed within her to do, to give, to be, no matter what the state of her memory or confusion. Living thousands of miles away, it was difficult to ensure that she was engaged in sustained quality activity. When I was able to visit and when I was able to spend an hour doing things with her that were in some way cognitively challenging, she came alive. The results were even better when I could do this activity each day for the few days that I was in town. It was seeing this life in her, this possibility, that motivated me to create my book, Life Scenes 1, a reading activity for people with moderate to advanced dementia. But basically, I did too little, too late.

What I grieve for is that, with what I know now, her life could have been so much richer and happier had I known what she was capable of. Instead I allowed the stigma of dementia to define my perception of her abilities. I would have done activities with her to exercise her brain. I would have read with her, cooked with her, written notecards to family and friends with her. I would have sang songs, tried a new musical instrument, done puzzles, gardened, played games, recited nursery rhymes, counted to 100... all the things she liked to do. I would have turned off the )(@*!)#*!@# TV, and, for that matter, the radio too. I would have found a way for her to start enjoying the hobbies that she used to love but gave up in a haze of confusion. And I would have "trained" my sister and stepfather so that through our separate times with her we were building a program that provided sustained cognitive activity for her.

And, I would have hugged her more and kissed her more, and made sure she had physical contact every day, because this love (as someone in a LinkedIn group that I belong to said regarding her husband) brings a person with dementia back to the present, or at least, makes them present with you. And you know, even with dementia, my mother was still my mother, and even if sometimes she couldn't quite figure out where I belonged in the family unit, she knew that she loved me and that I loved her, and these hugs and kisses are what I carry with me today.

Well, in any case, I can't do it differently. But my hope is that people can learn from what I didn't do and what I would do differently if I could.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Dementia Through the Eyes of Someone Who Has It

It was really just a case of being in the right place at the right time.

Those of you who read last week's blog about Lakeview Ranch in Minneasota know that I spent an enjoyable afternoon sitting on the lawn during and after the pet therapy session with a group of lovely people who just happened to have dementia.

For a time I was sitting with a lady whom I'll call "Jen." Jen has what I would term moderate dementia. She is not as mobile or "present" as someone in the earlier stages, but we conversed about family and her farm and it could have been her farm in the 1950s or it could have been now, but you know, it really didn't matter.

Every so often Jen looked up and turned her head to gaze at the other residents seated around the lawn. The sun was shining, cars drifted silently down the distant highway, trees swayed in the breeze. And Jen said "It's like it's all a dream..."

You know I just feel so fortunate to be able to be present for these sound bites, kinda like the "WOO HOO" experience from a few weeks ago. They provide me with so much insight into the world in which a person with moderate to advanced dementia must operate. Is having dementia like being in a dream? Not for the person in the earlier stages of the disease. But for a person in the later stages? Perhaps it's worth considering as a way of understanding what it is like to have dementia in the later stages.

Have you ever had a dream that, when you wake up, you think it was real? I know I have, and it's very disconcerting. The colours, the people, the things I see, the places I go. I actually wake up missing people, even if I've never met them!

But while I'm having that dream, as real as it is, and as much as I am a participant in the dream, I'm on the outside. I'm really only an observer, even if one of the people I am observing is me. I have no control over the me in the dream. I can't control where I go, what I am doing, who is with me. I can't tell the Dream Me to move my hand or walk down a road. And the dream is all a little hazy, and events happen so quickly and many times, have no logical sequence. I can be in London one minute and then Toronto the next. My father can be in the dream even though he has been dead for over 20 years. I can be having a conversation with him. A friend whom I haven't talked to in years might play an active role, and we might be talking about something that just happened yesterday (in dream time). In fact, in a dream, time has no meaning or relevance. There is no rhyme or reason as to why the people who are in the dream are in it, and no cause for what is happening and no hint of what might happen. It's all a dream...

So I wonder if a person with moderate to advanced dementia passes back and forth between the present and something that can be best described as a dream state?

Bob DeMarco, author of the Alzheimer's Reading Room, posted a most excellent blog today, entitled "Alzheimer's Caregiver Lament -- This is Not the Person I Knew." This article is a must-read for those of you who are interested in what a person with Alzheimer's must be dealing with. In it Bob says that the person with Alzheimer's is the same person you always knew, but is now a person with a disease, and this disease is called Alzheimer's. He talks about the "cognitive dissonance" in the mind of a person with dementia and the effect that the dissonance has on the person's personality as they attempt to deal with the frustration and confusion it can cause.

A person with moderate to advanced dementia is a person who is struggling more and more to stay present, and in many cases, has lost the battle. Once we understand what it is like for the person with dementia to operate in the world and what lense they see the world through, we can start to make real progress in working with them to live their best life.

In writing this blog, I just had an "A HA" moment. I have been using the words "stay present" and "staying in the present" interchangably. But they are actually very different.

While it's important to a person with mild memory issues that we assist them with any means possible to operate IN the present, there is little value to helping a person with moderate to advanced dementia stay IN the present. We who have been care partners to someone with moderate to advanced dementia know the frustration caused for all involved when we take the path of constant correction (No Mom, Dad passed away last year!), and really, it's just a non-starter. There comes a point where one must ask one's self, "Is it more important to ME that my loved one stays in the present, or more important to him/her?"

However, there is immense value in helping a person with moderate to advanced dementia stay present. Staying present in the moment means that the person with moderate to advanced dementia is available for interaction with another person right here and right now. It means that only this moment matters, not what happened 10 years ago, and not what is going to happen in 15 minutes. Whether the person with dementia is in a dream that places them in the 1940s with people who no longer exist is irrelevant. To us, as care partners, it means setting aside who that person WAS and working with the person as they are, no matter what dream they might be in at the moment. It means acceptance.

I don't have the answer to the question of what one must do to help someone stay present. My own personal tact is to recognize that the person is the same person he or she always was (unless it's a person I've just met!) and to treat them with the love and respect due to them. I will "step into their reality" (who really cares what year it is) and thinking as their reality as something akin to a dreamstate helps me to understand what their reality might look like, at least part of the time.

I like activities that play up the person's skills, as skills are not time-based and playing upon those skills can add to a person's self-worth. I also beleive a person should never stop learning. I like activities that allow the person to contribute to the community, and that provide opportunities to interact with people rather than things (particularly one-on-one interaction), as interaction with a live being demands response, which helps us to stay present.

This of course means that activities must be active, and not passive. Examples of such activities are:
  • One-on-one reading (I had to say that!)
  • Pet therapy, but actively caring for the pet, not just petting it
  • Vegetable gardening, where the gardeners are involved in the harvest and the community reaps the reward of fresh produce
  • Helping to prepare a meal, cleaning house, arranging furniture...things you would do around a house
  • Singing or playing music as part of a group
  • Helping in a preschool (how about onsite preschools and intergenerational learning?)
  • Laughter yoga, the only exercise class I have seen that demands in-your-face interaction that actively engages participants and literally brings them alive
  • One-on-one sessions with flash cards, games and puzzles that also require interaction and participation.

Of course, participation in such activities depends on each person's abilities, likes, dislikes and how their cognitive dissonance might manifest itself. For example, a person with moderate dementia who doesn't like children and lets everyone know it, might not do well with preschoolers, but you get the picture.

If it's like a dream, at least let's make it a good one!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Pure Magic at Lakeview Ranch

This time last week I was sitting with a group of people on the lawn outside a house in Darwin, Minnesota, enjoying the last throws of an unusually warm streak of weather. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the grass. Trees waved in the gentle breeze, and newly plowed fields waited expectantly for the coming snow. Conversation was muted as befit the gentle surroundings, with laughter and the bleating of baby goats occasionally breaking through. Laurence and Mel* talked about fishing while Cathy snapped photos. Bill debated how he could get back to Cokaeto, and George wanted to know what highways were around the town. Jen watched the group with a bemused expression and Joe slept on. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine that I was at a family gathering or a bbq with good friends. It was a lazy Monday afternoon on the ranch.

Except that this is no ordinary ranch. This is Lakeview Ranch, a magical place and home to 30 residents with dementia. I was there with the documentary photographer and author of Alive with Alzheimer's Cathy Greenblat and Laurence and Kathy Harmon, owners of GreatPlaces. The occasion was a pet therapy session, held on the lawn to take advantage of the warm weather. Mel, Bill, George, Joe and Jen have dementia, and yes, Bill was asking for the sixth time how he could get back to the town of Cokato, and George was worried about getting back to his farm and wanted to know the best route. But the staff expected these questions and worked to avert any stress that might be caused by non-answers.

Lakeview provides specialized dementia care for people who are at high risk for repeated hospitalizations due to challenging and often violent behaviours resulting from their dementia. Prior to relocating to Lakeview, most of the 30 Lakeview residents had been moved repeatedly from care facility to hospital to care facility, causing untold stress on the resident and anguish for the families. In addition, the residents had experienced restraints and behaviour-controlling medications. For these residents, a move to Lakeview means a move to a permanent loving home, where they can live a peaceful, active, and restraint-free existence with minimal use of psychotropic drugs. For families, it means seeing their loved ones treated as humans, and seeing their loved ones acting as humans as a result.

How does Lakeview do it? By showing respect and love, and taking care of emotional, spiritual and physical needs. I asked two of the staff members, both RNs, what they considered the philosophy of Lakeview, or the main operating principle. One answered that they do not want the families to worry about their loved ones, that their family members with dementia are loved and well cared for. The other nurse concurred and added the principle of respect for the person with dementia.

Lakeview staff know that most often there is a reason for a challenging behaviour in a resident, and that if you fix the cause, you fix the outcome. A great example of how Lakeview staff handle challenging behaviours such as agitation that presents itself at the same time each day, is the story of the resident and the cows. One resident would become agitated at approximately 3:30 a.m. each morning. In reviewing the man's life, work and habits, the staff discovered that he was a dairy farmer who milked his cows at that time each day for untold years. He continued to be concerned about his cows. Staff were able to assure him that the cows were being milked and not to worry -- problem solved. The fact that they are willing to repeat this action every day rather than turning to behaviour-modifying meds to control his agitation is what differentiates Lakeview from many other facilities.

Lakeview Ranch is the passion of Judy Berry. When Judy first started working towards establishing her vision of a better place for people with dementia, she had no experience other than the knowledge that there had to be a better way to care for people like her mother. Her mother had Alzheimer's disease and during the last seven years of her life was "bounced around" from one facility to the next due to her somewhat challenging behaviours before her death in 1996. According to Judy, her mother spent the last year of her life strapped in a chair and drugged to make her behaviour "compliant." Judy was determined that no other person with dementia have the same experience.

Judy spent those years with her mother in frustration, anger and heartbreak as she searched fruitlessly for help and appropriate loving care for her mother. She already had a vision of the type of care she would like to find for her mother, but was told by nursing home administrators that the care of her dreams was exactly that: a dream. It was not possible, it wouldn't work and it was too expensive. As a result, at age 55, Judy decided to use her life savings to start Lakeview Ranch.

The first facility opened in Darwin, Minnesota and Judy later built another facility a few miles away in Dassel. Between the two locations, Lakeview Ranch now has a total of 30 residents (15 in each) and 85 staff. Judy's staff to resident ratio is 1:3: that's 3 residents for each staff member, plus RN's and activity directors. The high staff to resident ratio -- in addition to ongoing specialized training, mentoring of support staff, and in house RN coverage -- allows Lakeview to provide the specialized care for which they are becoming famous.

Let me tell you what I saw as evidence of how the Lakeview model of care plays out. What does this model really mean to the residents?

First, each of the facilities looks like a house, albeit a house with two kitchens and two wings of bedrooms. There is a huge living room with couches and a TV (it's not turned on very often, but some of the residents like to watch Wheel of Fortune). In the corner of the living room is a stack of bright homemade quilts threatening to topple over. The equally large common room is bright and airy, with large windows and skylights allowing the natural light and sunshine to stream in. Judy felt that darkness contributed to depression in the elderly, and so wanted to ensure that the interior of her homes were as bright as they could be. Indeed, all of the bedrooms have large windows allowing in a lot of natural light.

Besides the brightness, I was struck by the fact that all rooms were carpeted, with the exception of the common room and kitchens, lending to the home-like (non-hospital) feel of the place. I was also struck by the sheer quantity of common space. The living room and common rooms were true gathering spaces for residents, staff, family and friends.

There are two twin beds per room, in the belief that people in the later stages of dementia find it disorienting to wake up alone. The staff make provisions for people who object to sharing a room at first, such as putting up a moveable screen between the beds. However, the sheer size of the rooms ensure that residents will not be tripping over each other in the middle of the night. Furnishings are simple and all beds are festooned with homemade quilts and/or favourite quilts and pillows from home. Large bulletin boards on the walls are used to display photos, homemade cards from grandchildren and reminder notes.

Bathrooms are shared, and each wing has a large bathroom with bathing/showering facilities. Each location has a state-of-the-art bathtub that lowers and raises for accessibility, has a door that drops down... well, it looked like a space ship. At Lakeview, residents can choose whether they would like a bath or a shower. As a side note, staff at one of the homes raised the money for one of the special tubs.

The kitchens are large, functional, and each contains a table and chairs so that residents can eat family-style rather than restaurant-style. Here in Minnesota, coffee is drunk with every meal and in between as well, and so, the coffee is always on!

When staff interact with the residents, they always look them in the eye even if that means getting down on the knees to do so. They don't "schlepp" people around like inanimate objects, sending them off to one activity or another or rolling them over to the dining room for meals. I also realized that staff always moved residents themselves rather than with the assistance of a mechanized lift. I remembered that the home in which my mother resided had a policy about lifting residents: if a resident required lifting and more than one person was needed for assistance in lifting, then a mechanized lift had to be used to lift the resident (note that this does not necessarily translate into a safer lifting experience for the resident!). My mother, because she could not support herself with her legs, was deemed a "two-person lift" and so was always hauled out of bed and into her wheelchair with a big lifting machine. She never had the benefit of someone's arms around her to lift her up, and she wasn't a large woman.

Lakeview staff also know when and how to intercede before an event can take place. For example "Jen" didn't like having "Bart" close to her at dinner. Before things could escalate, a staff member dropped down between Jen and Bart and brightly said to Jen, "See, I told you I'd sit next to you at dinner!" Problem solved.

Judy believes in appropriate, frequent and engaging activities and doesn't hesitate to take a chance on something new. While we were there, and at the insistence of Cathy Greenblat, some of the residents took part in what we think might be the very first "Laughter Yoga" session ever held with people with dementia. It was a total success and the subject of a future blog. In the summer, Judy takes residents out fishing in a boat on the lake outside of the Dassel home. They have been known to go ice fishing in the winter. Residents also help out with the animals in the barn at the Darwin home, a boon to residents who used to farm. In addition, Lakeview recently acquired a bus, which they use to take residents on frequent outings to parades, local events and DQ.

But what struck me most was the overwhelming sense of peace, tranquility and positive energy that flowed all around. There was none of the noise of people in distress that one hears in many dementia care facilities. Staff speak normally and respectfully to residents, without shouting or speaking in simplified words as if the resident can't hear or understand. The decor is best described as comfortable "shabby chic," with china stacked up in china cabinets, overstuffed couches inviting people to snuggle under homemade quilts, and magazines, books and newspapers strewn around, waiting for a reader. There is always a bustle going on somewhere, and residents are welcomed to get involved. The food is homecooked and rib-sticking. Family visits are encouraged at any time, and family involvement is taken seriously at Lakeview rather than given lip service. And when family do come, they can expect their loved one to be happy, alert (unless they're asleep or in the final stages of the disease) and not demonstrating the behaviours that families find so distressing to see in their parents.

I felt as if I was in someone's home, and I was tempted to flop down in a chair and put my feet up on the coffee table as if I was at my parent's house. I've never felt that way in a dementia care facility before.

Of course, specialized dementia care costs money. Lakeview's per day cost is higher than most facilities, but the resident (and the family) get SO much more for their money. And, Judy will never turn away a potential resident because of inability to pay.

The 2009 Alzheimer's Facts and Figures report that Medicaid payments for this population (elderly with dementia and significant behavior) are nine times higher than for elderly without dementia, and that healthcare costs for seniors with dementia are three times as high as for those without dementia. The Lakeview model focuses on pro-active disease management and prevention. St. Cloud State University research has shown this model has proven to reduce behavioral hospitalizations by 93.3% while reducing psychotropic medication use by 36.1% in this high risk population. This high success rate translates into less money for Judy. According to an excerpt from a recent article by Judy:

Our current healthcare system funders and case managers doing assessments for Medical Assistance clients do not recognize this added value approach or fund -- Pro-active Disease Management and Prevention as an effective way to enhance quality of care while significantly reducing healthcare costs. In fact, Lakeview Ranch endures repeated cuts to low income residents Medicaid payments simply because they manage to do a better job, and are successful in reducing the aggressive behavior of their residents. Significantly higher payments are available for residents with ongoing aggressive behavior. In a nutshell, under our current Healthcare Delivery System, the better care you provide, using appropriate higher staff ratios of specially trained staff, and the more pro-actively you manage disease and "prevent" other acute medical emergencies that require high cost hospitalizations, ER visits and unnecessary testing, THE LESS YOU GET PAID.

To try and shore up the gap between revenue (from private pay residents and Medicaid) and expenses, Judy started the Dementia Care Foundation. She relies heavily on donations to the fund to provide "scholarships" for residents who cannot afford the care at Lakeview. Once again, note that Judy will never turn away a resident who cannot pay. With the downturn in the economy this past year, donations are way down and Judy is uncertain as to how she will close the gap. However, Judy takes it a day at a time, keeping her eye on the goal of providing quality specialized dementia care, and trusts that things will work out.

Help make sure that more people and families with dementia can experience the magic of Lakeview Ranch and that that magic is never extinguished. Make a donation to the Dementia Care Foundation.


*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of Lakeview residents.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The Future of Dementia? Get Rid of the Stigma First

I had the most extraordinary experience the other day...

I visited the Silverado Senior Living home in Scottsdale, AZ on Tuesday. With facilities in four states, Silverado provides assisted living communities for people requiring specialized memory care. If I told you that Silverado is the only memory care unit where I can recall hearing words such as "self-actualize," "purpose," "productive" and "success" in reference to seniors with dementia, I think you would begin to understand what makes Silverado different from many memory care facilities.

However, this is not a blog about Silverado. If you would like more information about Silverado facilities, I advise you to go to their web site, www.silveradosenior.com.

I was sitting with the administrator in his office. Silverado has an open door policy; all doors are open unless the open door presents a safety harzard (i.e. the door to the street!). The residents are free to wander in and out of rooms as they wish, including the offices of the staff.

Silverado is in the process of redecorating this particular facility. In the hallway outside the administrator's office, a painter was putting up butcher paper to protect the molding on the wall from paint splatters. Down the hall came CJ, a senior lady with dementia. She noticed that the painter was having some trouble taping the extraordinarily long piece of paper to the wall. He had tape on the first bit of paper, and the rest of the strip was peeling off the wall faster than he could secure it. CJ went over to the wall and held the paper to the wall until the painter could afix it with tape. The painter thanked her profusely for her assistance and she said (and I quote):

Well, why not? The Lord put me here to do something!

And she followed that up with a victory punch up into the air and cried "WOO HOO!"


From babyhood to death, it is our human nature to want to improve, to grow, to work, to contribute, to have purpose. Without this drive to improve, to increase our knowledge, humankind would still be eating raw meat in a cave. However, when someone is diagnosed with dementia, our belief is that the person's life with purpose is over, and we treat them as such.

Part of this tendency is due to our perception of dementia; due to the dementia, this person is acting differently, outside of the norm. We don't like to be outside of our comfort zone. To be outside of our norm is to be weird, to cease to be human. And when a person ceases to be human, they cease to need to develop.

We need to stretch that norm and expand our comfort zone.

In addition, the elderly who have dementia also deal with the stigma of being old. We consider the elderly person's life to be at its natural conclusion. Their potential to improve, to grow, to work, to contribute and to have purpose is limited. They are going to die soon. They aren't really worth our time; if we are going to invest our resources we are going to invest in someone who has potential. (Think of the opposite, a child. We consider a child's life to be FILLED with potential).

We need to think that a person has the potential to change the world even if they are 99 years old; even if a person has 5 more minutes to live, they have the potential to change the direction of someone's life.

Combine the two stigmas, and you have an elderly person with dementia who is outside of our pre-defined norm and has little to no potential. They are not worth our time.

This is what I want to change. I want us to see an 85-year-old person with dementia and see the potential in that person. We need to understand that even a person immobilized by dementia has the potential to change a life with merely a glance or a touch.

I firmly believe in the power of cognitive activity, physical exercise, one-on-one interaction and socialization, living with purpose and feeling needed as a way of slowing the progression of dementia. Once we see the potential, we will see real work being done with people with dementia rather than merely continuing to meet their basic needs of food, shelter and safety while ignoring their higher human needs of self-actualization.

It all starts with you. Help us get there. Expand your norm and see the potential in every human being.

WOO HOO!

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Shifting Perceptions About People with Dementia

If you are at all involved in the world of dementia, either as a person with dementia, a care partner, a professional in the field or just an interested party, I'd like to know what goes through your mind when you read the following paragraph:

The person with dementia remains the same, equally valued person throughout the course of their illness, regardless of the extent of the changes in their mental abilities and other functions.

Or this one?

We are all dependent to some extent on one another (a concept often referred to as ‘solidarity’) and people with dementia are fellow citizens. We therefore have a responsibility to support people with dementia, both within families and in society as a whole.

Or, finally, this one?

...we also have a growing awareness of the abilities and emotions which are retained long into dementia, despite serious cognitive losses. This increased understanding poses a strong challenge to past ideas of dementia as a "death that leaves the body behind" and raises important questions as to the way in which people with dementia are currently regarded and respected. Yet this increase in knowledge has not yet delivered treatments which have more than a temporary effect. This lack of a 'quick fix' solution challenges us to look more closely at how people can be supported to live well with dementia, how their experience of disability can be minimised, and the implications of this for both services and research.

OK, just one more:

There is ample evidence that, in many cases, people are presented with a diagnosis of dementia and simply told to come back in a year's time. It was argued forcefully in one of our fact-finding meetings with people in front-line dementia care that such a lack of information and support in the immediate aftermath of diagnosis is simply morally wrong. We agree.

While it's fun to catch people (particularly myself) doing things wrong, it's even more exciting to catch someone doing it RIGHT, and the organization that produced this report is definitely doing it right. These paragraphs are from the report entitled "Dementia: Ethical Issues," published on October 1, 2009 by the Nuffield Council on Bioethics.

The who?

The Nuffield Council on Bioethics is located in London, England. Its mandate is to identify, examine and report on the ethical questions raised by recent advances in biological and medical research. It is required, in its terms of reference, to investigate and report on the ethical aspects of new developments in medicine and biology. The Nuffield Council has developed an international reputation for thoughtful and critical reporting on ethical issues in cutting edge topics and in providing advice that helps shape public policy.

With this study, the goal of the Nuffield Council was to create an ethical framework for decision making that can be used by care partners and professionals to help them decide the right thing to do in certain situations. For example, a care partner might be faced with the following decision: "I'm afraid my wife may wander. Should I lock her in?" It's a terrible decision to make, but an ethical framework can help the person who must make the decision consider all aspects of the situation and the way in which the person with dementia can be best supported. It may also help them to consider other alternatives to their first solution.

In 2007, the Nuffield Council formed a Working Party with the "aim of highlighting ethical issues that arise because of dementia; to provide some analysis of those issues; and to offer some general guidance as to how to approach them." The Working Party first met in November 2007. From May through July 2008 they held a public consultation, which, with 200 responses, received a higher response rate than any of their other consultations. They realized that they had hit a nerve.

In addition, they met with professionals involved in dementia from around the UK and, interestingly enough, also met with 50 people who had no direct experience with dementia to gain their insights into ethical decision making around the disease. I am sure they gained great insight into the stigma surrounding dementia in general society. Representatives of the Working Party also visited an Alzheimer's Cafe to speak with people with dementia and their care partners.

The materials resulting from the public consultations, in addition to the full report, the executive summary, a one-page summary and a booklet are available from the following web page: http://www.nuffieldbioethics.org/go/ourwork/dementia/publication_530.html.

There are many many recommendations in the report, in addition to their suggested framework for ethical decision making. Recommendations such as the following made me jump up and down with joy:

We endorse the plans in England, Wales and Scotland to improve public awareness of dementia. However, information campaigns are only one part of the story. For dementia to be truly ‘normalised’, it needs to become an accepted, visible part of our society, in the same way that physical disability is increasingly recognised as ‘normal’. People with dementia need to feel comfortable carrying on with their usual activities, such as going to a club or out to lunch, participating in church activities, or taking part in voluntary work. “Service providers” such as shops, leisure facilities and restaurants have a legal duty under the Disability Discrimination Act to make “reasonable adjustments” to enable people with dementia to use their services.

I am a strong believer that people with dementia are capable of so much more than we think they are. The brain is a powerful organ, and we really have very little understanding of how it works, and even less understanding of how it works and how it can function when under the siege of such dementia-related diseases as Alzheimer's disease and vascular dementia.

When I first put together my book to help people with dementia enjoy reading again (www.eldercareread.com), I did so in the belief that people with dementia want to read, are able to read and want to learn new skills. They just aren't reading or learning in the manner in which is normative in our society. People with dementia may stop reading simply because they can no longer process the information in the way in which we in general society present it. Because we think that they can no longer read what we give them, we don't even try reading with them.

If, as in the recommendation quoted above, dementia is treated as a disability that is perceived as normal, we can start trying to find workarounds to the disability. Much in the way that people in wheelchairs now have ramps to sidewalks, buttons to press to open doors, lower counters, access to buses and many other workarounds, we can start thinking about how to make life more accessible to people with dementia.

I know that with recent developments in technology, many people are already thinking along those lines. But I think that to truly set people with dementia free to live their lives openly, we will have to depend on people themselves, the frontline people who come into contact with people with dementia on a daily basis.

Let me give the following example that I heard from a care partner and her husband, who has moderate Alzheimer's. They made the decision early on to let everyone know about his dementia. They went so far as to have their story printed on the front page of the local news. They had no hesitation in letting friends and neighbours know that he was fine, he was healthy, he was just the way he had always been, with a few exceptions. For example, he might wander. End result? He decides to see what is on the other side of that funny looking board with the handle. He tests out the handle, finds that the board opens to a whole new world, and is inspired to explore, or, to look for his wife who appears to be missing. Maybe she walked out here? He wanders a bit, and the neighbours two streets over notice him, and, knowing that wandering is to be expected, go over to him and work with him a bit to turn him around and set him on his way home. Helped along the way by like-minded neighbours, he eventually finds his wife in a house that looks suspiciously familiar.

We are very very far off from this level of support and understanding in most communities. Not only must we must first work on the stigma (people's fear of the reaction from others prevents many from letting anyone know they have dementia or indeed, in even finding out themselves that they have dementia), but in addition, a huge amount of community redesign is required. However, reports such as the one just published by the Nuffield Council are a good start.

Cathy Greenblatt: Photographer Extraordinaire

Please read the following article for inspiration on following your passion AND making a difference in the world. Cathy is an amazing woman and I am SO excited to be meeting her in person (and Laurence and Kathy Harmon: http://www.greatplacesinc.com/) in a couple of weeks when we visit Lakeview Ranch.

Retired Rutgers Professor Forges New Career as Documentary Photog