Feeding Time in Dementiaville - Part 2

Romeo complained today again about not being able to feed himself. He says he can't put food on his fork or spoon and lift it to his mouth.

"Someone has to feed me all the time now," he tells me. He is fine with this. He almost seems to be proud that someone must feed him now.

A few minutes later and I am able to slip away to talk to his nurse about this. In Romeo's private brand of dementia, once he stops performing an action (like tying his shoes), he loses the ability to do it ever again within a matter of weeks.

I visited Romeo at dinnertime last night, and I watched as he fed himself until he was full. Although I'm sure that Romeo can still feed himself and does, I am a ball bouncing back and forth between Romeo in Dementiaville and his nurse sitting at the desk.

"No, no," she says. "He tells us that he can't feed himself, but he can. I tell him that he can do it, and we leave him be. He feeds himself fine. He makes a little bit of a mess, but that's okay."

And I agree. We help him by doing whatever is necessary so he can keep his remaining skill as long as possible. Romeo's ability to feed himself will go away soon enough, even with this prodding.

Feeding Time in Dementiaville - Part 1