Free Too Near the Edge by Lynn Osterkamp Page A

the
problems Grampa had with Gramma wandering out in the evenings and
nights before she moved to Shady Terrace. Alzheimer’s patients are
at their worst after the sun goes down. In fact, it’s called
sundowning. So I knew what the staff were up against. But I didn’t
want to dope her up and lose even more of her essence. And in my
mind, Dr. Ahmed was all too willing to sedate the residents.
    “Cleo, I understand that you don’t want her
medicated,” Tanya said. “But we have to try something to change her
nighttime behavior. I don’t want to wait until another resident
gets upset and hits her. We know she doesn’t mean any harm, but
there’s no way to explain that to them.”
    I tried to make eye contact with Dr. Ahmed as
he continued to page through Gramma’s chart. “What about trying
some herbal products?” I asked, thinking of Erik’s roots. “That
fitness trainer and nutritionist who works in your Wellness
Center—Erik Vaughn—tells me that valerian helps people sleep
without drugging them.”
    “We can’t use herbs like that here,” Dr.
Ahmed said, finally looking up. “They’re not FDA approved, and we
have no idea what side effects they might have. And it makes me a
little nervous that we have some nutritionist going around here,
making suggestions about medicating our residents with herbs.”
    “He didn’t suggest valerian for Gramma or any
resident,” I said. “He talked about growing it, and I asked him
what it was used for, and he told me. If I sign something waiving
liability, couldn’t we at least try it? I think Gramma would want
to if she could decide for herself. You know my grandfather was
very interested in herbs. He grew lemon balm, and mint and
chamomile, and made teas that they both drank. I wouldn’t recommend
those teas for taste—personally I prefer coffee—but they both swore
by them as a daily tonic.”
    Suzanne from Dietary rolled her eyes. “Cleo,
if you want to feed your grandmother herbal tea we have no problem
with that. In fact we have a selection in the kitchen,” she
said..
    “We’ll start her on Ambien and see how it
goes,” said Dr. Ahmed, closing the chart and the subject.
    “Do you have any other concerns, Cleo?” Betsy
asked, giving me a sympathetic look..
    “No, that’s all I have, Betsy,” I said. I
knew she was trying to validate my concerns, but I was fed up with
Ahmed and Tanya by then.
    I knew there was no point in arguing with
them further, so I got out of there as quickly as I could and
headed over to the Alzheimer’s unit to visit Gramma. Some of the
residents were already seated in the dining room even though lunch
wouldn’t be served for at least 20 minutes. Others were parked in
front of the TV in the main room or pacing in the vicinity of the
dining room door. Dianne Amball, slumped in her wheel chair, called
out over and over, “He-el-p me! Somebody hel-l-p me.” This was her
standard refrain, which wasn’t a cry for help in the usual sense,
but rather her way of making contact. Nothing anyone did ever got
her to stop for more than a few minutes, so no one rushed to her
aid.
    Loretta, one of the newer residents on the
unit, shuffled slowly over to Dianne. “I can’t stand whiners,” she
said. “I’m a school teacher and I expect adult behavior.” I thought
to myself as I often do when I hear the confused residents speak
out this way that dementia frees people to say what most of us
merely mutter to ourselves.
    Dianne ignored her and continued calling out
for help. Soon an aide appeared and wheeled her into the dining
room. Meanwhile some of the residents who had been seated in the
dining room drifted out into the main room, perhaps forgetting
lunch hadn’t been served yet. The aides gently directed them back
into the dining room, as if they had simply taken a wrong turn. I
reminded myself that taking care of these confused people is a hard
job, and I should be more patient and understanding of the staff.
As nursing homes