The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2022

The Meadow 109 her the first time, negotiating a six-lane highway two blocks away. The second time a waitress calls them from a deli after checking the ID that loops Fran’s neck. Soon it’s Lisa’s turn to meet with Dr. Gonzalez. “Your mother, more or less, is in an interim stage of the disease. An assisted living facility is limited. In the number of staff, in the way they implement their safety protocols. Many of the people living there have only physical disabilities. Your mother’s situation is different.” Lisa takes a closer look at the diplomas on the wall. None of the universities seem remotely familiar. “I’ve been in those Alzheimer’s wards,” says Lisa. “They’re nightmares. People wear diapers and bibs. And the smell. One place I visited didn’t even have beds. Instead, they put mattresses on the floor. Mattresses! People were writhing on the carpet.” Gonzalez nods. “In the old days we used restraints. Medieval, right? But when we did away with restraints, patients bolted. Leapt over bedrails. Broke pelvises and hips. Of course, we have pressure pads to alert the staff when someone gets up. But you’d be surprised by how quick an eighty-year-old can be.” Lisa blinks. “So sleeping on the floor is your clever solution?” “It’s ingenious, really,” says Gonzalez. “It’s awfully hard to get up once you’re down.” Lisa grabs her purse. Then heading toward the door, she pauses. “It’s barbaric, if you ask me. These people were teachers and lawyers and accountants. What about dignity? Dying is easy if this is what living looks like.” Lisa is nothing if not determined. When her daughter Ashley wanted to be a cheerleader, she hired a gymnast to train her. When Heather wanted to ace the SAT’s, they found the best tutor in the business. So she approaches her mother’s condition like a project.

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