Flava’s Health and Wellness

What Dementia Taught Me About Care, Patience, and the Human Spirit

Last night I came across a woman who specializes in Dementia and Alzheimer’s care, and it stopped me in my tracks. As she spoke, I found myself back in Las Vegas, thinking about the elders I cared for — and how right she is when she says this kind of care is not easy. It is emotionally demanding, deeply personal, and at times, spirit-draining.

I was blessed during my time working in eldercare and at Encompass Health in Las Vegas. Those years gave me a real understanding of Dementia, Alzheimer’s, and sundowning — not just from a textbook, but from living it day after day. I learned quickly that correction doesn’t work. Redirection often doesn’t either. What does work is going with the flow of the conversation, meeting people where they are, not where you wish they were.

I learned techniques to keep patients calm.

I learned to lower my voice instead of raising it.

I learned that music is medicine — especially when someone can still tell you what kind they love.

Music reaches places memory no longer can.

My Auntie Michi passed from Alzheimer’s. From what I understand, she was forgetful, but she never became agitated. By the end, she didn’t know who I was. She told me the same stories over and over — about being sent to Japan for a time, about how her brothers were allowed to go to school while the girls worked in the rice fields.

She remembered her past clearly.

She just couldn’t place me in her present.

That’s one of the hardest truths about Dementia and Alzheimer’s: people can remember then, but not now. They may forget your name, your face, your relationship — but the emotions tied to safety, fear, comfort, or distress remain very real.

I’ve been yelled at.

I’ve been cursed out.

I’ve had patients scream at me in pain and confusion.

There were three clients I had to walk away from — not because I didn’t care, but because the care was draining my spirit in ways I couldn’t recover from. And there were two patients I cared for who eventually passed away from Alzheimer’s. Those losses stay with you.

I was blessed to be given books so I could understand what was happening from a medical perspective — not to harden myself, but to soften my response. Understanding the disease helped me not take the behavior personally. It helped me show compassion instead of defensiveness.

Dementia is not a single disease. It’s an umbrella term for conditions that cause severe cognitive decline — memory, language, judgment, and the ability to manage daily life. Alzheimer’s is the most common form, but there are others, including vascular dementia, Lewy body dementia, and frontotemporal dementia. None of them are easy. None of them are “just aging.”

And while there is no cure, there is care.

There is dignity.

There is humanity — if we choose to lead with patience.

If you’ve ever cared for someone with Dementia or Alzheimer’s, know this:

Your exhaustion is valid.

Your grief is real.

And your effort matters, even when the person you’re caring for can’t say thank you.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is stay calm in the storm — or know when to step away to protect your own spirit.

That, too, is care.