The Isolated Mind
Here he goes again; every time someone comes in he repeats the whole spiel.
He’s sick of this, bored at home, tired of having to wear a mask, annoyed he can’t visit more often and it’s all the fault of his least favourite politician, he says.
He told me about Covid-19 and that he’s only allowed one visit a week. The whole state is in home isolation, only work, shopping or exercise allowed. I wish I could go for a walk.
He spoons another mouthful of pureed vegetables into my mouth. ‘She likes her vegetables,’ he says to the retreating nurse, as if I’m not even there. Then tells me the whole saga again.
I want to tell him to stop complaining! Restrictions might save lives; maybe mine, maybe his. And as for staying home in isolation, how does he think I feel? My mind’s been isolated in my Alzheimer’s ridden body for…years!
He calls our daughter on his mobile phone. Tells her I’m having a good day today. ‘Do you know who this is?’ he asks. Of course I do. It’s my daughter who’s just as frightened as I was twenty-five years ago as I watched my mother succumb to Alzheimer’s.
I recall the last time she visited with my granddaughter and great-granddaughter. What a cutie! Although everyone thinks I’m oblivious, I didn’t miss the sad look on her face as she watched me cuddling the baby. And the fear in her eyes.
I know she remembers when we visited my mum and I told her I hoped it didn’t happen to me. ‘They’ll have a cure by then,’ she said. I prayed for it, but it didn’t come.
Another mouthful of mush and he’s off again when another nurse brings my pills. Oh, do be quiet!
I’m dependent on everyone and I can only pray in my isolated mind that my dear daughter doesn’t waste too much time worrying, enjoys what she has, makes every minute count and hugs that beautiful baby as often as she can.