What does an Alzheimer’s friendly community look like?
Those of us aching for the day that people with Alzheimer’s are truly integrated into our communities coined a phrase: we want communities that are Alzheimer’s friendly. After all, the disability community has led the way. Just look at curb cuts and public buses that can accommodate wheelchairs. Hurray! But because not everyone recognizes what Alzheimer’s really looks like, people shy away from someone whose behavior doesn’t fit the mold. Not a good situation.
For some time now, we’ve thrown out ideas as to what an Alzheimer’s friendly city would look like. I found a perfect example in last week’s Metropolitan Diary section of the New York Times. This is a weekly piece printed every Monday that resembles letters to the editor, but the subject has to be specific to the quirks of New York City. I love it. Sometimes the letters leave you with a smile but more often than not they are truly laugh-out-loud funny. I think you’ll understand why I want you to see this one. Pay attention to the two last paragraphs. Here it is:
Dear Diary:
My son and I “” he in his 40s, I in my 70s “” were on Second Avenue heading for a Saturday matinee. We had some extra time, so we decided to stop at a small sushi restaurant for a quick bite. A diminutive young waitress brought us our menus, and I asked for directions to the bathroom.
“It is downstairs,” she said, “but they just washed the steps and they are slippery. I’m afraid you will fall.”
“That’s all right, “I said, “I can wait.”
“But you can go down another way,” she said. “Go outdoors and down those other steps. They are not slippery. I will show you.”
With a sweet smile, she led me outside and down several stone steps. They opened onto a corridor, with the bathroom at the end. When I came out several minutes later, she was standing nearby.
“Thank you,” I said, “but you didn’t have to wait.”
She replied, still smiling gently, “I was afraid you might get lost, and if you got lost, who would be responsible?”
She carefully led me back into the restaurant, where she delivered me to my son.
-Joan Potter
I met a wonderful man because of Metropolitan Diary. After reading an extraordinarily funny letter he wrote to “Dear Diary,” when he was in his mid-80’s, we connected. He lived in a nursing home here in San Francisco and was a fascinating man. Milton and I became fast friends and over the years I witnessed, with sadness, him losing his formerly sharp mental faculties. I got to know his family and saw their struggle as his once brilliant wit slid into dementia. He passed away at 94.
Every Monday, I read Metropolitan Diary. It helps me remember my friend, Milton. And, very often, you find a gem like this one. I hope you liked it.
