Michael is a neglect case from another care facility. When he came in, there was a small hole rubbed away down to the bone on the heel of his foot. It now sports a fuzzy, odd cast which he likes to disassemble at least six times per day. To shower him, we have to put this weird bag with a plastic top over it, which almost pulls off the bandage every time it gets slipped on and off. His bandage has bled through a couple of times.
Michael used to be a limo driver. Being from Nigeria and having no other known family, his former service job is what pays for his newer accommodations as he sees his way towards death. I found it kind of endearing that his ex-boss is what's keeping him on the ups rather than a neglect ward.
Noticeably, he one of two residents whose butt has not caved in to gravity, thus making him one of the heaviest lifts- up to three people if we're not using the lift machine. It's extremely difficult to wheel him anywhere unless you're going very fast, as he will reach out and grab anything and not let go- door frames, the edge of the couch, other people's arms. He has a keen death-grip when being moved, too. Despite being strong as an ox and a big black man, he flinches here and there and cowers down a lot smaller than he is sometimes due to possible memories of abuse from the last home he was in. He can't figure out how to stand up or sit down most of the time. He whispers under his breath and most of all you can hear is 'okay' and 'ohhh'. The only time I've heard him raise his voice is where you ever hear voices get raised- the shower- and it was something along the lines of 'COOOOLD!!!' then '...ohhh.'
Michael is kind of a back-to-basics kinda guy right now. He doesn't talk much or move at all in the course of a few hours, but he's one of the few residents who still jerks off. Sometimes, he'll get his hands on some of his own poop and sit around with it in his hands- smelling it- until a staff member comes by and gets sicked out enough to get two or three other people to wash it off. His hair gets kinda chalky if you let him sit near a window long enough, I don't know how or why it does, but it does. Anywhere he sits during a shower gets poop on it. He's the only guy who will eat his food if it's extra spicy. If there's no pepper or cayenne on it, he won't touch it. His bowels can handle it from what I've seen.
Michael's got a short, greying fro on his head and the bottoms of his eyes sag as low as his lower lip. His permanent expression is one of severe brain damage. But I bet if I tossed the man a Rubick's cube, he'd somehow figure it out. I just get that feeling like he's stuck in some kind of forever Autism until he's not. I mean, he does disassemble his cast, play with it, pick up books, tear all the pictures out. I like to think he's permanently driving anytime he's getting wheeled somewhere. Everything's going by so fast and he needs to stay focused and keep his hands on something or else he's going to crash.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Clara
Clara is the most adorable of all the ladies on the third floor. She is permanently a child who just got over breast cancer.
"My doctor says I'm cancer-free for two years and now I just take things one day at a time!"
"I LOVE apples/tomatos/naps/peaches. Ever since I was a child!"
"My family bought this [item of clothing] for me. It is the warmest thing in my closet!"
"I lost my shoes! I can't seem to find them anywhere!" [Note: they are on her feet, switched, of course]
I got to feed Clara today. Every few bites, she tells me that she can only eat half of what's on the plate. With only 1/4 meal left, she finally realizes that she is full. She can still remember how to drink out of cups, just no memory on how to use utensils. She is always excited to see fresh fruit and vegetables. I tell her that tomatoes are my favorite fruit, and she tells me that she didn't know they were not vegetables.
When I got done toileting Clara and it was time to brush her teeth, that's when lulz ensued pretty hard. She has a false top and partial bottoms. She can not figure out how to take out both. She pops out the top and hands it to me, but then grabs them back and pops them back in to pop out the bottom falsies. Finally, I figure out how this game works as I make the bottoms disappear into the teeth tray and she spits out a leftover strand of food, which lands on my wrist. We both have a laugh and I ask if she remembers how to pop out her bottom teeth. I would reach in and try to grab them myself, but I don't want to risk scraping her gums with my nails because they will bleed forever. Finally, I hold up a toothbrush with some paste on it and she casually hands me her bottom falsies. I drop those into the tray with an A.S. and hand her the toothbrush which receives a vacant stare of utter confusion and I remember that she can't do this. So I brushed the leftover teeth in her mouth, most cased in silver.
Spitting...now that's something I don't think happens unless it's totally unintentional. I keep handing her something to rinse and spit into but it keeps disappearing down her throat. I tell her she did her best and put her into bed and tuck her in.
Clara's room always smells horribly stale because she is roommates with Rita. Rita likes to flood the sink at least 3 times a day. She will sit on the toilet with the water running, unclogged, which makes me think a good dose of Drano may help the whole situation. I'm guessing the water gets left on to help her pee, which is a good method I suppose.
It's always the best comedic act ever when Rita and Clara get together and, as a team, are the most absent-minded form of Alzheimer's I've seen. As I was doing rounds earlier today, both Clara and Rita were prevented from wandering as aimlessly as they do- Rita especially with her robe always shifting off one shoulder or the other- by the 'Life Enrichment and Activities' all-around cutest guy evars, Gabe. Later in the day, they explain 'what a charmer that Gabe is' and I very much agree.
Rita and Clara both told me how much they love having me around and did I know they were friends for 50 years? Isn't it the most insane thing ever that they ended up as roommates after all that time?
Yes, it's the craziest coincidence I've ever heard of or witnessed in my life. You've made a believer out of me, ladies. ;)
"My doctor says I'm cancer-free for two years and now I just take things one day at a time!"
"I LOVE apples/tomatos/naps/peaches. Ever since I was a child!"
"My family bought this [item of clothing] for me. It is the warmest thing in my closet!"
"I lost my shoes! I can't seem to find them anywhere!" [Note: they are on her feet, switched, of course]
I got to feed Clara today. Every few bites, she tells me that she can only eat half of what's on the plate. With only 1/4 meal left, she finally realizes that she is full. She can still remember how to drink out of cups, just no memory on how to use utensils. She is always excited to see fresh fruit and vegetables. I tell her that tomatoes are my favorite fruit, and she tells me that she didn't know they were not vegetables.
When I got done toileting Clara and it was time to brush her teeth, that's when lulz ensued pretty hard. She has a false top and partial bottoms. She can not figure out how to take out both. She pops out the top and hands it to me, but then grabs them back and pops them back in to pop out the bottom falsies. Finally, I figure out how this game works as I make the bottoms disappear into the teeth tray and she spits out a leftover strand of food, which lands on my wrist. We both have a laugh and I ask if she remembers how to pop out her bottom teeth. I would reach in and try to grab them myself, but I don't want to risk scraping her gums with my nails because they will bleed forever. Finally, I hold up a toothbrush with some paste on it and she casually hands me her bottom falsies. I drop those into the tray with an A.S. and hand her the toothbrush which receives a vacant stare of utter confusion and I remember that she can't do this. So I brushed the leftover teeth in her mouth, most cased in silver.
Spitting...now that's something I don't think happens unless it's totally unintentional. I keep handing her something to rinse and spit into but it keeps disappearing down her throat. I tell her she did her best and put her into bed and tuck her in.
Clara's room always smells horribly stale because she is roommates with Rita. Rita likes to flood the sink at least 3 times a day. She will sit on the toilet with the water running, unclogged, which makes me think a good dose of Drano may help the whole situation. I'm guessing the water gets left on to help her pee, which is a good method I suppose.
It's always the best comedic act ever when Rita and Clara get together and, as a team, are the most absent-minded form of Alzheimer's I've seen. As I was doing rounds earlier today, both Clara and Rita were prevented from wandering as aimlessly as they do- Rita especially with her robe always shifting off one shoulder or the other- by the 'Life Enrichment and Activities' all-around cutest guy evars, Gabe. Later in the day, they explain 'what a charmer that Gabe is' and I very much agree.
Rita and Clara both told me how much they love having me around and did I know they were friends for 50 years? Isn't it the most insane thing ever that they ended up as roommates after all that time?
Yes, it's the craziest coincidence I've ever heard of or witnessed in my life. You've made a believer out of me, ladies. ;)
Evaline
So no matter how much I'd ask her to do something, she will refuse unless I pull out my super-disappointed pout face which I've so decently mastered.
This is how I got her into those pajamas she hates so much because everyone else loves them. Not because they're the most stylish silk black and white comfortable things to wear in the world, but only because everyone else loves them.
Evaline, next to Rita, is my most favorite.
I picked all of her scabby gross, dried bits of face off and gave her a good moisturizer for ten minutes since I was assigned to put her to bed. Everyone gives me a cringe when they assign me to help her with anything, but inside, I jump for joy because there's nothing more in the world that I love than dealing with the most 'crotchety old witch' [her own description, not mine].
Where did those nice flowers come from? I keep reminding her that her son gave them to her for X-mas, and yes- she thanked him. Eventually, she says, "Who gave those beautiful flowers to my sorry old ass? Oh, my son?" It only took me about 30+ tries before it finally registered in her brain. I was excited.
Something about "I don't give a Twinkler's Damn and DungFairy such as myself."
Also, I am a good friend. I think my son is married now, I think he was adopted. It's not about who you're related to, it's about who takes care of you- that's what family is, I say. She agrees with me and I give her a good backscratch.
This is how I got her into those pajamas she hates so much because everyone else loves them. Not because they're the most stylish silk black and white comfortable things to wear in the world, but only because everyone else loves them.
Evaline, next to Rita, is my most favorite.
I picked all of her scabby gross, dried bits of face off and gave her a good moisturizer for ten minutes since I was assigned to put her to bed. Everyone gives me a cringe when they assign me to help her with anything, but inside, I jump for joy because there's nothing more in the world that I love than dealing with the most 'crotchety old witch' [her own description, not mine].
Where did those nice flowers come from? I keep reminding her that her son gave them to her for X-mas, and yes- she thanked him. Eventually, she says, "Who gave those beautiful flowers to my sorry old ass? Oh, my son?" It only took me about 30+ tries before it finally registered in her brain. I was excited.
Something about "I don't give a Twinkler's Damn and DungFairy such as myself."
Also, I am a good friend. I think my son is married now, I think he was adopted. It's not about who you're related to, it's about who takes care of you- that's what family is, I say. She agrees with me and I give her a good backscratch.
Hugh
As I write this, I've resorted to referring to any of the residents* as "Mister" and "Miss". I greet them in a manner as if I'm thoroughly excited to see them, as if I've never met them. Most of them don't remember me, although some do, like Rita and Leighanne.
Mr. Hugh is a two-faced old man. There's the Hugh I like, who when I wave to him, his face lights up and he gives me the smile of an elderly man who's never hurt a fly. That's the Mr. Hugh my first impression was easily fooled by. He seems coherent enough like he should belong on the third floor. Compared to most people on the second floor, he's one of the few who walks around, dresses tidy, speaks, and can sit his own ass on the toilet. So why is he on the second floor?
My second day of training answered that question easily when I watched him gain a vice grip on my shift-lady and bend her fingers backward, lurching her back on the bed with a loud scream, making her lose her shit for the first time all day. And when I say 'lose her shit', I don't mean anything by it besides he wiped her game face clean off.
A few moments before that, I watched him give her a few weak punches to the kidneys that only an old man can give and thought nothing of it except, "Shit, I have to deal with this douche at some point."
But Hugh is high up on the incident report list- the list taken whenever someone fucks up. Bleeding, punches, bites, scrapes, bruising, rashing, and other aggression-related happenings that only something like Alzheimer's can bring out of people who are generally well-natured otherwise.
Mr. Hugh, to me is not the biggest dick ever. I think of him as a well-dressed gentleman who used to beat his wife. That's all.
I had to change him one day by myself and, once I finished, thanked him promptly for not punching me in the face. I had to file an incident report after loosening his deathgrip on a resident ladys arm. His other hand balled up into a fist and swung at me, which I ducked and immediately grabbed, giving me enough leverage to lightly toss him on the couch next to her, where he immediately forgot anything that had just happened.
Mr. Hugh is a total jerk, but not the biggest jerk ever. He reminds me of a really old, pissed off version of one of my good friends, so maybe that's why he's not a shit in my book. Also, I haven't had any of my joints broken, been spit on, kicked, punched, or bruised by him like most of the staff yet, so maybe that helps with his image too.
Oh but it will happen. And when it does, I hope I have the decency to not kick his ass, because really- he can't help it. And I would hate to be fired.
*residents are the people who live there. durrr.
Mr. Hugh is a two-faced old man. There's the Hugh I like, who when I wave to him, his face lights up and he gives me the smile of an elderly man who's never hurt a fly. That's the Mr. Hugh my first impression was easily fooled by. He seems coherent enough like he should belong on the third floor. Compared to most people on the second floor, he's one of the few who walks around, dresses tidy, speaks, and can sit his own ass on the toilet. So why is he on the second floor?
My second day of training answered that question easily when I watched him gain a vice grip on my shift-lady and bend her fingers backward, lurching her back on the bed with a loud scream, making her lose her shit for the first time all day. And when I say 'lose her shit', I don't mean anything by it besides he wiped her game face clean off.
A few moments before that, I watched him give her a few weak punches to the kidneys that only an old man can give and thought nothing of it except, "Shit, I have to deal with this douche at some point."
But Hugh is high up on the incident report list- the list taken whenever someone fucks up. Bleeding, punches, bites, scrapes, bruising, rashing, and other aggression-related happenings that only something like Alzheimer's can bring out of people who are generally well-natured otherwise.
Mr. Hugh, to me is not the biggest dick ever. I think of him as a well-dressed gentleman who used to beat his wife. That's all.
I had to change him one day by myself and, once I finished, thanked him promptly for not punching me in the face. I had to file an incident report after loosening his deathgrip on a resident ladys arm. His other hand balled up into a fist and swung at me, which I ducked and immediately grabbed, giving me enough leverage to lightly toss him on the couch next to her, where he immediately forgot anything that had just happened.
Mr. Hugh is a total jerk, but not the biggest jerk ever. He reminds me of a really old, pissed off version of one of my good friends, so maybe that's why he's not a shit in my book. Also, I haven't had any of my joints broken, been spit on, kicked, punched, or bruised by him like most of the staff yet, so maybe that helps with his image too.
Oh but it will happen. And when it does, I hope I have the decency to not kick his ass, because really- he can't help it. And I would hate to be fired.
*residents are the people who live there. durrr.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Lou
Lou is a sweet old lady with short, white hair. It's fixed nicely into a straight bob, unlike the curly old lady hair most women her age sport, sometimes not by choice. Whoever does Lou's hair makes it to where it frames her face in a way that makes her appear years younger than her chart claims- 74.
My first night on the job, I was assigned the task of putting Lou to bed. I probably did not do a good job. I forgot to brush her teeth and change her into pajamas, now that I think back on it. Regardless..
Lou was sitting at the dining table with her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her eyes stared forward, complacently vacant, and I still can't tell if she were thinking of anything at all. I came up and put my hand on her shoulder and asked if she would like to go to bed. "Yes," she replied in an old, feeble voice- making sure to drain away at the 's' part on the end. I helped her out of the chair and held her hand, leading her down the corridor. I asked her if she liked dinner, to which she replied, "Yes."
I asked if she had anything particular in mind that I could do to make her feel more comfortable with my presence, she replied, "Yes." Seeing no response, I asked what else I could do, to which she replied, "Yes."
I paused for a second, still shuffling along to her room and asked her if the only thing she could say was 'yes'. She giggled out another "yes" and I had probably one of the most genuine laughs in a while.
Once into bed, I tucked the covers, one by one, around Lou and asked if she would like me to place her glasses on the nightstand, to which she replied, "Yes." I asked if she would like me to read something to her, to which she replied, "Yes." So I picked up the only book in the room, which happened to be a copy of the Bible. I rolled my eyes in a vague disgust but flipped open to the book of Job, which is my only favourite chapter in the entire thing. So I announced this fact lightly to her and began to read of Job's demise. Less than three paragraphs in, Lou was fast asleep. Upon noticing this fact, I filled her in kindly on my thoughts about the Bible and its demograph of followers. I promised her a better read in the future, perhaps Stranger in a Strange Land or Cat's Cradle. Eventually, I wrapped up my monologue once I realised it began directing itself onto the path it always does and decided to take leave. I turned off the light and set the book down and began to leave, which I suppose interrupted Lou's slumber briefly. I asked her if she would like the lights off and she replied, "Yes." I turned the other light off and asked her if she was comfortable, to which she replied, "Yes." I then told her to sleep well and have fun dreams for me and began for the door.
I asked, "Lou, would you like me to close the door?"
"No," she replied.
I paused briefly.
"You trickster."
My first night on the job, I was assigned the task of putting Lou to bed. I probably did not do a good job. I forgot to brush her teeth and change her into pajamas, now that I think back on it. Regardless..
Lou was sitting at the dining table with her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her eyes stared forward, complacently vacant, and I still can't tell if she were thinking of anything at all. I came up and put my hand on her shoulder and asked if she would like to go to bed. "Yes," she replied in an old, feeble voice- making sure to drain away at the 's' part on the end. I helped her out of the chair and held her hand, leading her down the corridor. I asked her if she liked dinner, to which she replied, "Yes."
I asked if she had anything particular in mind that I could do to make her feel more comfortable with my presence, she replied, "Yes." Seeing no response, I asked what else I could do, to which she replied, "Yes."
I paused for a second, still shuffling along to her room and asked her if the only thing she could say was 'yes'. She giggled out another "yes" and I had probably one of the most genuine laughs in a while.
Once into bed, I tucked the covers, one by one, around Lou and asked if she would like me to place her glasses on the nightstand, to which she replied, "Yes." I asked if she would like me to read something to her, to which she replied, "Yes." So I picked up the only book in the room, which happened to be a copy of the Bible. I rolled my eyes in a vague disgust but flipped open to the book of Job, which is my only favourite chapter in the entire thing. So I announced this fact lightly to her and began to read of Job's demise. Less than three paragraphs in, Lou was fast asleep. Upon noticing this fact, I filled her in kindly on my thoughts about the Bible and its demograph of followers. I promised her a better read in the future, perhaps Stranger in a Strange Land or Cat's Cradle. Eventually, I wrapped up my monologue once I realised it began directing itself onto the path it always does and decided to take leave. I turned off the light and set the book down and began to leave, which I suppose interrupted Lou's slumber briefly. I asked her if she would like the lights off and she replied, "Yes." I turned the other light off and asked her if she was comfortable, to which she replied, "Yes." I then told her to sleep well and have fun dreams for me and began for the door.
I asked, "Lou, would you like me to close the door?"
"No," she replied.
I paused briefly.
"You trickster."
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Evaline
You see a good lot of old wrinkly butts, sagging tits and old balls, poops and pees and screams, so there's a lot to crack away at any jading you may have ever had.
Everyone who works there smokes because even if you've only worked there a day, it makes you never want to get that old, ever. Not even past 50. Die young- because you realize now that the age and ethics we've obtained in our futuresque society defies nature and the process of natural selection. You have to realize at some point that we don't put people out of their misery. Why?
I don't have a logical answer.
So it's not a surprise to me that Evaline is probably someone no one can get used to. People who've worked there for months and years either are too busy and immune to her repetitive phrases or hide their already well-established thoughts behind a cheap laugh, which she hears and despises, by the way. But it's all good. I like her.
Fun Evaline Phrases for Every Day Living:
"Oh I'm so sick! Sick as a Dog!"
"Christ on a Cracker/Mountain/Cheesewheel/Stick!"
"Why don't you just take me out back and shoot me?!"
"I'm just a burden on everyone here!"
"I'm going to die tonight, I hope I die tonight!"
"Will you shoot me? Could you knock me in the head?"
"Cut my head off, there's something wrong with it!"
"I'm so sick and crazy and can't remember why!"
Evaline's roommate's response, "Sick sick sick! Same thing every day, can't you think of anything else? Sick sick sick!"
The answer is no, Evaline actually can't think of anything else because she has Dementia and has a short-term memory of roughly 2-5 minutes. The worst part is not that she walks in circles all day, begging you to kill her, or that she's always yelling the same things over and over. It's the fact that she knows something is rotting inside her head and can't figure out why. And even if you reminded her a million times, it's not like she can remember at all. It's that she knows she's a burden and knows the logical outcome to her predicament, but the world is too stupid for some reason to help her accomplish it.
This is why I like Evaline. Because someone whose brain, which becomes the essence of who you are and why you are alive, is rotting; actually makes more sense than those around her whose brains are in perfect condition. She makes me stop and contemplate the human mind. I admire that.
So I hung out with her last night after her sleeping pill. I kept reminding her that I gave her a sleeping pill, even though it was the nurse who did, anytime she'd jolt awake from her constant muscle spasms and forgot that she had ever taken one. Every three minutes or so, she'd open her eyes to find my face still there, studying her wrinkles, and go "Boo! Aren't I ugly? I broke a mirror once just by looking at it!" And I'd keep combing her hair telling her that she looks as great as the day she were born.
At some point, I felt the bed stop jerking and woke up. I couldn't tell how long I'd been asleep- probably not long- but both Evaline and her roommate were passed out cold so I turned off the lights and went to do rounds.
Everyone who works there smokes because even if you've only worked there a day, it makes you never want to get that old, ever. Not even past 50. Die young- because you realize now that the age and ethics we've obtained in our futuresque society defies nature and the process of natural selection. You have to realize at some point that we don't put people out of their misery. Why?
I don't have a logical answer.
So it's not a surprise to me that Evaline is probably someone no one can get used to. People who've worked there for months and years either are too busy and immune to her repetitive phrases or hide their already well-established thoughts behind a cheap laugh, which she hears and despises, by the way. But it's all good. I like her.
Fun Evaline Phrases for Every Day Living:
"Oh I'm so sick! Sick as a Dog!"
"Christ on a Cracker/Mountain/Cheesewheel/Stick!"
"Why don't you just take me out back and shoot me?!"
"I'm just a burden on everyone here!"
"I'm going to die tonight, I hope I die tonight!"
"Will you shoot me? Could you knock me in the head?"
"Cut my head off, there's something wrong with it!"
"I'm so sick and crazy and can't remember why!"
Evaline's roommate's response, "Sick sick sick! Same thing every day, can't you think of anything else? Sick sick sick!"
The answer is no, Evaline actually can't think of anything else because she has Dementia and has a short-term memory of roughly 2-5 minutes. The worst part is not that she walks in circles all day, begging you to kill her, or that she's always yelling the same things over and over. It's the fact that she knows something is rotting inside her head and can't figure out why. And even if you reminded her a million times, it's not like she can remember at all. It's that she knows she's a burden and knows the logical outcome to her predicament, but the world is too stupid for some reason to help her accomplish it.
This is why I like Evaline. Because someone whose brain, which becomes the essence of who you are and why you are alive, is rotting; actually makes more sense than those around her whose brains are in perfect condition. She makes me stop and contemplate the human mind. I admire that.
So I hung out with her last night after her sleeping pill. I kept reminding her that I gave her a sleeping pill, even though it was the nurse who did, anytime she'd jolt awake from her constant muscle spasms and forgot that she had ever taken one. Every three minutes or so, she'd open her eyes to find my face still there, studying her wrinkles, and go "Boo! Aren't I ugly? I broke a mirror once just by looking at it!" And I'd keep combing her hair telling her that she looks as great as the day she were born.
At some point, I felt the bed stop jerking and woke up. I couldn't tell how long I'd been asleep- probably not long- but both Evaline and her roommate were passed out cold so I turned off the lights and went to do rounds.
Rita
I ease Rita back down on her bed after giving her a new pair of shorts. Her old wrinkly hands aren't as clammy as most others I've held. She tells me she's been here for 2 months- maybe 3. But I don't know that. Could be years.
She also tells me that she's never felt more at home until I came along. This is my first day here. I don't think she is lying but I can't be certain she doesn't say that to everyone all the time. The honesty in her eyes doesn't lie; just her brain does.
She let me watch her brush her 'teeth', which consist of three golden nubs haphazardly embedded in her bottom gumline. I have a good peer around in her mouth after she tells me she doesn't have teeth and say 'Neeeat.' then she smiles and we rinse her mouth.
Her eyes trail away into a distant place sometimes. Not as often as others. I can't tell yet if she has dementia or Alzheimer's. If she has the latter, then she's early onset. I could easily look at one of the charts but I probably won't remember yet. So far, next to Evaline, she is my favorite. She always winks at me and tells me she's going home soon and how awful it is that we can't stay together because she 'likes my outlook on things'. I haven't given her my opinion on anything so far.
She likes to walk around in one of her three housecoats, without a shirt on underneath. She's more coherent than most of the others so if she's missing the belt to tie it together, she just matter-of-fact states, "Well, I've got two hands to keep it together!"
I read a note on the window today about Rita. She only wants female workers to tend to her. She's one of the more friendly ones. And she doesn't trust men.
She also tells me that she's never felt more at home until I came along. This is my first day here. I don't think she is lying but I can't be certain she doesn't say that to everyone all the time. The honesty in her eyes doesn't lie; just her brain does.
She let me watch her brush her 'teeth', which consist of three golden nubs haphazardly embedded in her bottom gumline. I have a good peer around in her mouth after she tells me she doesn't have teeth and say 'Neeeat.' then she smiles and we rinse her mouth.
Her eyes trail away into a distant place sometimes. Not as often as others. I can't tell yet if she has dementia or Alzheimer's. If she has the latter, then she's early onset. I could easily look at one of the charts but I probably won't remember yet. So far, next to Evaline, she is my favorite. She always winks at me and tells me she's going home soon and how awful it is that we can't stay together because she 'likes my outlook on things'. I haven't given her my opinion on anything so far.
She likes to walk around in one of her three housecoats, without a shirt on underneath. She's more coherent than most of the others so if she's missing the belt to tie it together, she just matter-of-fact states, "Well, I've got two hands to keep it together!"
I read a note on the window today about Rita. She only wants female workers to tend to her. She's one of the more friendly ones. And she doesn't trust men.
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