I had one of “those” experiences last week.  I went in to see a new patient, she lives in a dementia unit in an assisted living facility.  She has pneumonia.  Apparently just three weeks ago she was walking around with her walker but without human assistance.  Now she just sat in the chair all day.  The staff was concerned, and  I was called in to see if I could help.  Before I could get back for a second visit, her condition worsened.  In the meantime her daughter had been considering hospice, and it certainly appears that it will be moving in that direction.

Which brings me to a fact that has fueled my otherwise waning passion for my profession in the past few years.  I am often among the last 5 or 10 or 20, even sometimes among the last 2 or 3 people that a person interacts with before they leave this earthly home.  I have been given a great gift and great responsibility in this way.  This particular woman challenged me  – she sat in the chair and answered my questions in one word answers, or just shook her head if she didn’t know the answer.  Like many with dementia, she remembers distant past – she was born in Aurora, Colorado.  She sold boys pants at a department store for many years.  She had one daughter, and oh yes, one son.

When a demented person has not been walking, even for a short time, they become fearful, not to mention stiff all over.  The first step is  “rowing” the boat – rocking forward to loosen up the trunk.  I asked her to give me her hands, which she did.  It was obvious she was cared for – her fingernails had a fresh coat of burgundy nail polish on them, a sure sign that someone still regarded her as her even though she might not still be able to sell pants. Someone respected her enough to do for her what she would have done for herself if she could.

She gave me her hands but would not lean forward.  I put my hands on her shoulders to help a bit to no avail.  Finally I sat back and decided to just look into her eyes. I was getting nowhere, but I wasn’t ready to leave.   And what eyes they were!  Blue, ice blue like the sky on a sub-zero Colorado winter morning.  Her pupils were just pinholes, no light emanating from them despite their piercing color.  I just kept looking as deep into those eyes as I could, to try to find the human in there.

We stared at each other for what seemed like eternity, but was really only probably 45 seconds.  I “won” the staring contest – she suddenly glanced downwards, and almost as quickly looked back at me.  I was still looking into her eyes and I smiled again.  I saw her relax, almost as if she understood I meant no harm and it made no difference if she moved with me or not.  I selfishly only wanted to connect with the human soul behind those eyes.  It is an experience I have had many times before, simply by forgetting that I am a physical therapist, and remembering that I am just a human being, no more no less, than those with whom I am working.

Then we began to “dance” – we had been holding each others’ hands this whole time, and now she followed my lead as we rowed the boat.  Eventually she stood with me and a helper, and we walked – she even tried to raise her knees higher when I asked her to.  I left after giving the caregivers instructions not to be afraid to try to help her walk again.

I probably will not see her again.  I arrived on Monday morning to hear she had been hospitalized.  Hospice will most likely be called in, which means therapy and heroic efforts to prolong life cease.  I will forget her name, that is a given, but I am so glad I stopped for those moments to gaze into her eyes, not because she eventually participated in my grand plan for moving out of the chair, but because I will keep a piece of her soul here on earth and she will take a little piece of mine with her when she goes.  Aurora, Colorado will always remind me of an experience at the end of a long day with a person I didn’t know, but whom I knew oh so very well.