Cognition, the Latest
So the Visiting Nurse Service program is rolling in. Jennifer is thankfully on board, and beginning to look after things. On Wednesday my father went off to his first Senior Center tour. Did not go well. "Senior Center" in this case seems to refer to a sort of warehouse where they feed 70 or so of the isolated elderly, with limited staff and not much supervision. Aides can't sit with the guests because that would, you know, limit the socialization. So everyone sits around and the people who know each other talk to each other and the people who don't know anyone are left to themselves and there's the occasional fall or other medical emergency to liven things up. He got disoriented and alarmed to the point where the aide came over and pulled him out of there and took him to lunch at City Diner, which shows good thinking as far as I'm concerned.
We'll try Senior Center number 2 tomorrow, then probably roll over to some other options.
The sad thing is that my father had gotten the idea that he was going to have the chance to hang out with other WWII vets and tell them some of his stories. He doesn't really remember the stories any more, but he used to tell them a lot and so I do. Which puts me in the odd position of being his memory. So I told him all about his past and he took notes and was all ready to stand up for himself.
Maybe at the next gig there'll be some payoff for all that effort.
Meanwhile the time of day/day of week disorientation continues -- after a good run, we had five straight episodes last week when I tried and mostly failed to convince him that what he thought was morning was in fact the night before. The explanation works up to a point -- he wonders about the strange weather that makes it turn dark all of a sudden, and you explain that that's because the sun set and it's Tuesday night, and he repeats that, then asks you if you're about to leave for work this morning.
And on the other hand... without really thinking about it, I mentioned the other day that I'd seen the little mosaics of hats in the subway station at Fifth Avenue and 23rd, and he explains that the Flatiron district was once the millinery district -- and the millinery beat was the first one he covered when he got out of the service and became a reporter for Fairchild. He doesn't remember the name "Fairchild" but the rest of the details are there.
So it's not a linear process by any means. More a question of which particular centers of information synthesis have been bombed (plaqued?) into rubble over the past few days. The one that takes light and dark and converts them into night and day is shot to hell. The one that handles late-1940's New York City business geography is doing fine, thanks.
There's probably something in this about memory and identity and soul and all that.
And if I had the energy, I'd think about it.
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