Delusions in Dementiaville

Romeo is now having frequent, almost daily, delusions. New behaviors for him begin slowly, an occurrence here, one there, sometimes weeks apart, then increasing in frequency to perhaps three or four times a week, sometimes becoming permanent.

Early on in Romeo's journey with dementia, I could quickly attribute his delusions to minor forgetfulness or misconceptions. That was when he would "confuse" a minor fact or two, a mere fact or two.

Things have changed, and big time. Romeo's recall has now expanded to him "remembering" entire incidents that occurred nowhere else but in his world, in his fractured memory. Some of his remembrances are pleasant, some not.

For example, during one of my recent visits that extended to Romeo's bedtime, he complained (and insisted) that his roommate was having a party and had the TV on loudly and that it was disturbing him. In reality, no such thing was happening. What was really taking place is: yes, the TV was on, but it was quite soft; yes, there were people in the room -- one nursing assistant helping Romeo's roommate to bed. That's it. Nothing more.

So how did I handle this situation with Romeo when he complained to me about it? I agreed with him. Yes, there was a party going on. And I assured him that it would be over in a few minutes. It did the trick. It settled him. Can't help but wonder, however, how he would have reacted if instead I had told him what a friend had suggested. She wondered what he would have said if I had told him, "It's a pity they didn't invite you." Would he have been angry that he hadn't been invited? Would he have laughed? Would it have been so outside of his thought that he would have forgotten about it?

On a more refreshing note, one of Romeo's pleasant delusions involved him taking a ride to the mountains with friends and stopped for lunch, then for tea. This is something Romeo and I did often -- driving into the mountains, having lunch and/or dinner, taking a hike or walk, having tea. On this day, however, there was no such trip. It simply did not occur.

As Romeo told me the story of this most recent "trip," however, there was a twinkle in his eyes and fresh delight in his voice. So of course I went along with whatever he said, enjoying a somewhat normal conversation with him, even if it was about an outing that happened only in his mind.

It did not matter what Romeo said. What was important is what he felt. His emotions, his happiness -- these feed into his quality of life, which can always use some help. This boost of joy and delight, his perceived trip to the mountains, made his day and several days afterward. He buzzed with excitement, and it touched me deeply. My Romeo man-child in near ecstasy.