Alzheimer’s & Dementia Stories

A Bell On A String

/ Amy Moloney / Leave a comment

ae74f33b3298c81a3bafa529df9f261eThe story of a Bell on a String

A few days ago a resident gave me a small bell tied to a string. She said that I should ring the bell to know what I mean to her.

This is what that bell tells me every time it rings: “I may not remember your name but thank you for being here for me, keeping me safe. I may not know exactly what you do for me but I do know that when I see you I smile and I laugh. You may fade from my thoughts when you walk away but you are always in my heart guiding me to experience joy in my every day. And when you leave here after a long shift feeling as though you may never recover from the exhaustion of being a nurse, ring this bell and know that you made a difference in one life today.”

I keep this tiny bell on a string in my car so that every time I leave the office I am reminded of making a difference in at least one life every day.

Every Minute is a New Day: Help Publish the Book

/ Amy Moloney / Leave a comment

imageHelp fund the publishing of Every Minute is a New Day: The Language of Dementia on Kickstarter today. Only a week left to help. We’re halfway to our goal. With your help we can make it by the 22nd of August.

All funds go directly towards the publishing and marketing of the book. Once the book is published 20% of all royalties will go to support Alzheimer’s research and education. Every dollar counts. Tell your friends and coworkers to give $1 or $5, no more than a latte.

Together we can ensure that the people have a positive message about dementia so we can change the conversation, challenge the stigma.

Click here to back Every Minute is a New Day: The Language of Dementia.

Thank you all do much for your ongoing support.

-Amy

 

Every Minute is a New Day: 17 Days Left

/ Amy Moloney / 1 Comment

“Hope is a force as fragile as it is enduring. Hope and fear are forever entwined, not always on opposite sides of the spectrum. Hope can fuel fear and fear can fuel hope.” -Every Minute is A New Day.

17 days left to help fund the book.

Tell your friends, tell you mom. Let’s make this happen. Be a part of this message of hope.

Click here to help fund the book. As little as the cost of a latte can help.

Happy new year.

Thank you.

Be a part of Every Minute is a New Day

/ Amy Moloney / Leave a comment

Ladies and Gentlemen,

My book Every Minute is a New Day has a crowdfunding page on Kickstarter. Please help spread the word and/or help fund this project. You all have my deepest appreciation. Visit https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/fuzzylizzard/every-minute-is-a-new-day and read about the project

Thank You,

Amy Moloney

Bitterpill News

/ Amy Moloney / Leave a comment

Dear Beautiful Readers,

I would like to take a moment to announce that Nurse Bitterpill is in the process of publishing a book based on this blog. It will focus on the language of Dementia. Stay tuned for more information as this process unfolds.

Thank you all so much for the constant love and support you have given over the years. My hope is that this book will help families, friends, nurses, caregivers, doctors, and everyone better communicate with those affected by the many forms of Dementia.

Please feel free to submit quotes and/or stories about Dementia to NurseBitterpill@gmail.com and I will submit them on the blog.

Love,

Amy

The Cat’s Meow: A Short Story

/ Amy Moloney / Leave a comment

1-Helki asleep

A Short Story inspired by a few of the women I cared for. 

The Cat’s Meow 

By Amy Moloney

 

 

Lilly loved to dance. She would spend her days swaying to the rhythm in her mind. When she was not dancing, she would care for her neighbors. That is after she finds the cat meowing for his dinner. The old folks around her were always in need of assistance. Lilly felt it was up to her to help.

When she heard the baby crying she would spend hours holding the child in her arms. Lilly took great care to make the sure the child felt loved completely. But again the cat would meow to be let into the house. Where is that cat, she wonders.

Somehow the doors are all locked. The cat continues to meow. Oh well, Lilly thinks, after dinner the cat can come in. After the meal arrives she helps the nice young girls with the dishes until all of the tables are clean as a whistle. Then when everyone was settling down for the night Lilly helps tuck them in. She hears that cat meowing again. Maybe he needs some milk, she concludes to herself.

There he is all curled up in the corner, Lilly notices. She continues thinking about what a sweet cat he is.

“Lilly,” she hears someone calling for her. “Lilly, it is time for bed.”

Oh, so soon? Lilly thinks to herself about how she just got started on the day. She hasn’t even found the cat yet. He keeps meowing to come inside. “I’m not tired, dear. Can I make you a nice cup of tea? We can sit and play with the cat for a while.” Lilly motions for the young girl to sit beside her.

The young girl smiles at Lilly and agrees to sit with her. Lilly hears the cat scratching at the door again. “Do you hear the cat scratching to get in?” Lilly asks the girl.

“No Lilly, I don’t. Do you want me to go check for you?” She asks politely.

“Thank you, dear. I think the cat may be getting cold, being outside for so long. Oh my, I hear the baby crying again. Do you mind if I go check on her? She is probably hungry.”

The young girl walks with Lilly to her bedroom. Lilly finds herself feeling tired. But she cannot quite remember why she should be so sleepy. There is so much work to do. Feeling tired just is not an option in Lilly’s mind.

She asks the young girl with her, “Dear, what time is it? Should I feed the cat? It must be early. The sun isn’t out yet. Is my husband home from his fishing trip?” Lilly feels a little foolish for not knowing. She has been working so hard lately with the babies and has the farm to care for. Lilly rationalizes that the stress is making her a bit forgetful. There is so much on her mind; sleep will have to wait until later.

Lilly lies down on the bed that the nice girl turned down for her. Lilly decides to indulge the girl and sit there quietly for a little while. The girl promised to watch after the babies while she napped. Such a sweet young lady, Lilly thought.

Lilly closes her eyes for a moment like the young lady asked her to do. There goes that cat again. Why is that silly old cat meowing so loudly, Lilly continued to ponder. Lilly wants to get up again to check on the cat. But her eyes are so heavy. Oh, the cat will be fine outside for one night. If only the cat would quit crying, she could let herself fall asleep. It must be morning by now. The cat has been outside all night. Lilly tries to get up to check but a sweet young woman encourages her to relax in bed for a while longer.

Lilly falls asleep as the nurse turns out the lights.

The nurse smiles and walks out of the room knowing that Lilly will have the same day tomorrow as she had today, hopefully with a bit more dancing.

So is life inside the world of Alzheimer’s.

 

 

*This is a fictional story of a woman with Alzheimer’s.

 

Bittersweet Forget-Me-Not’s

/ Amy Moloney / 2 Comments

This post has taken me a week to write because it is such an emotional transition in my life. I am sorry if it seems disconnected and rambling, as I am typing this with a quivering lip and watery eyes.  I am also going to cross post this to my personal blog, amymoloney.com.

“You’ll make it wherever you go because you can make people smile.” –One of my favorite patients when she heard I was moving to Texas. What breaks my heart is that she will not remember that she and I used to dance around the dining room like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire while I sang made-up songs to her on nights she could not sleep.

It is with a heavy heart that I tell my patients that I will be leaving them. Most will not remember I told them by the time tomorrow comes. Other will not remember I was even their nurse after I’ve gone. But a few will know, will feel my absence even if they are not exactly sure what it is that is missing.

Nurse Bitterpill is not just a character I created; she is a vital part of my life. She is me. We are a symbiotic force that takes great pride in the healing we bring to our residents. She is a part of the fabric of my soul. These crazy, beautiful demented old folks have become my children. I protect them as I would a child. Some of my co-workers even refer to me as Mother Hen. And I am.

I have had a lot of people comment on my nursing style, mostly because I always put my patients first, which seems to be a rare thing to be able to do these days. They are humans not diseases. They are faces not insurance policies.

I was once called the Patch Adams of nurses. Which is one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received. And tonight one of my nurse’s aides told me that when she enrolled in nursing school she didn’t know what to expect. The other nurses she worked with scared her to the point that she about to change her mind. Then when she started working with me she continued with her plan of becoming a nurse. She told me it was because she saw how I treated my patients; how I showed her what kind of nurse she would want to be. I am practically in tears to know that it was my actions that inspired someone. Not just my words, but the observation of how Nurse Bitterpill cares for her children.

I have spent a lot of my recent days thinking about what it takes to do what I do. I fully comprehend that not many people on this big rock could do it. Each moment of my work day is different. Nurse is only a small part of what it is that happens on the job.

These are a few of the things that you need to embody to be able to be an Alzheimer’s nurse:

  • Therapeutic Liar
  • Improvisational Actor
  • Accidental Acrobat
  • Ballroom Dancer
  • Hostage Negotiator
  • Ninja
  • Secret Agent
  • Midwife (usually for invisible babies)
  • Prison Guard
  • Referee
  • Cafeteria Lady
  • Wild Animal Wrangler

There was a whole lot I was going to write about, but it seems that I am having trouble putting it all into words. Thank you all for supporting Nurse Bitterpill and the Alzheimer’s quotes. I have every intention to continue the blog. I have a stockpile of quotes that have not been uploaded as of yet. And I would also like to invite you to submit quotes and stories for me to post. It would be nice to make Nurse Bitterpill an interactive site where we can exchange stories and hope.

I would also like to announce that I plan on working towards turning the Alzheimer’s blog into a book.

“Tomorrow is a state of mind. And around here you can have up to 300 tomorrows in one night.” –Nurse Bitterpill

Spotlight on Alzheimer’s: Dear Abby

/ Amy Moloney / 1 Comment

I don’t often post from outside sources, but I wanted to highlight this from the Dear Abby column. It stresses the importance for caregivers to accept that they sometimes need help when a loved one has Alzheimer’s Disease. It is sometimes the only option to keep a loved one safe. And to keep a caregiver from being overwhelmed to the point of creating illness in themselves. There is support out there for those caring for elderly dementia patients. If you are unsure of where to go in your community, please contact www.alz.org.

DEAR ABBY: My mother’s Alzheimer’s became apparent after she was in a car accident. I should have noticed the signs earlier, but I didn’t. Her body recovered, her mind did not.

I built a new house with a separate suite for her. My wife and I tried to care for her for a year, but I’m disabled and Mom was afraid of my wife. There was never a moment’s peace. Fearing for our collective health, I finally placed Mom into an assisted living facility. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life.

My children criticized me but offered no alternatives. I visited her as often as possible. Because I could no longer drive, I sent someone with gifts and treats for her. Mom died in 2007 after 10 years in the facility. The last few years she didn’t know me from a doorknob. Her disease left my wife and me drained emotionally and financially. I still feel guilty for not doing more. The look of fear on her face haunts me still. Is this normal for someone in my circumstances? — ONLY CHILD IN FLORIDA

DEAR ONLY CHILD: Yes, it’s very common. I’m sorry for your mother’s passing and the difficult years you and your family experienced because of her illness.

Given the progressive nature of Alzheimer’s, it can be extremely taxing and affect the physical, mental and financial health not only of the person with the disease, but also his or her caregivers. When caregivers attempt to shoulder these responsibilities alone, they put their own health at risk. Moving your mother into a residential facility was a way to ensure she got the care she needed and take care of yourself at the same time.

Alzheimer’s disease is often referred to as a “marathon, not a sprint.” That’s why it’s important for caregivers to get help — whether it’s a residential facility, professional in-home help or family and friends. If they don’t, the results can be disastrous.

It’s common for caregivers to feel guilty and wish they could have done more, but it’s important that you let these feelings go. You did everything you could to ensure your mother received the best care possible. If you need to talk to someone about your feelings, call the Alzheimer’s Association toll-free 24/7 helpline at 800-272-3900, or visit alz.org online to find a local chapter or support group.