An Illustration of Dementia

In one of my graduate program courses, I had a visual editorial illustration assignment. Bombarded with dementia issues on a daily basis, I hardly have time to think about other social and human issues. I created the following illustration of how I would describe the disease.

An Illustration of Dementia by Liz Spencer

Dementia is a collection of symptoms including memory loss, personality change, and impaired intellectual functions. Common signs and symptoms of dementia include:

• Memory loss
• Impaired judgment
• Difficulties with abstract thinking
• Faulty reasoning
• Inappropriate behavior
• Loss of communication skills
• Disorientation to time and place
• Gait, motor, and balance problems
• Neglect of personal care and safety
• Hallucinations, paranoia, agitation.

To create the image I combined recent photographs of my mother, childhood photos of her, images of a newspaper article when she was working in the 1980s, and graphics that helped tell the story of how I visually describe the disease. I also incorporated glimpses of images that held a similar emotional connection: an photograph of the May 22, 2011 Joplin, Mo. tornado destruction and a photo of human skulls in the Catacombs in Paris, France.

I found myself this week screaming, "This disease is disgusting. I hate it. I hate this horrible disease!"

The process of creating the image took several days. The closer I got to completion, the more unsettled and anxious I became--realizing the hatred I have for the disease was coming to life.

Reading the description of common signs and symptoms, I am literally nauseous. My mother exhibits every one of those signs, except for hallucinations--at least not to our knowledge.

Telling a visual story of Alzheimer's disease has been an emotional, personal process. Looking at the image that was created, an emotional reaction stirs inside of me.

Agitation, Disorientation, Memory Loss, Paranoia, Impaired Judgement, Imbalance, Inappropriate Behavior, Neglect, Destruction, Death...

Disgusting, horrible disease.

Lunch Lady

She was the lunch lady. My mother was the food service director for the school district when I was in elementary school. She studied food service and hotel/restaurant management in college, but never finished that degree. She had plans to open a catering business. The pots and pans now sit in a shed, rusting as the years layer dust upon dust. She left that position at the school to work in sales and bounced from job to job for years trying to raise my brother and I as a single mother.

My son, her grandson, now attends the same school that I once did. He sits in the same classrooms and eats in the same lunchroom. Last month, I took my mother to eat lunch with him at school. While it has been several years since she has been in the building and the lunchroom, not much has changed. Mom did not appear to recognize the setting. She sat beside my son and struggled to focus on the task of eating her lunch. She seemed confused by what utensil to use for each food. Her half banana was impossible to open, she handed it to me. The diced pears were a challenge--should she use a fork or a spoon? She would take a bite of one food and hover her fork over the next, bouncing back and forth with uncertainty.

My son, left, eats his lunch with his grandmother in the same lunchroom that I ate in as a child, Thursday, Oct. 16, 2014, in Diamond, Mo.

Two little girls behind us noticed that she had missed a belt loop on her pants when threading her belt. She often does. The girls whispered to each other. I felt a harsh stab as they leaned in close together and giggled. My son thankfully did not notice them talking. Although I often feel frustrated with the difficulties of this situation, I feel a protective sense when it comes to my mother. Perhaps this is natural-the urge to protect.

My mother struggles to eat her food as, unbeknownst to her, two girls (left) sitting behind her notice she has missed a belt loop in her pants. The man walking in the far right of the screen approached mom and asked, "Do you remember me?" My mother soon started to appear overwhelmed.

Noisy scenes bother my mother, I am often attempting to keep over-stimulating noises, settings and visuals away from her. The lunchroom was loud that day with a lot of activity and background noise. There was also a staff member that approached her and said, “Do you remember me?” Of course he is unaware of her diagnosis, however his words felt cruel. She said she did and he asked how she was doing. As he walked away, I asked her who he was. She replied, “I have don't have any idea. He knew me, but I don’t have any idea who he is.” Every few minutes, in between bites of food, she would look around the room searching for him. I could see the worry in her eyes. Soon the color drained from her face and a sickening look washed over her. I asked her if she was feeling okay. She said she was not and that she couldn’t eat any more. I told her she did not have to and then she laid her head down at the lunch table. I quickly took her tray and as soon as I said we could leave, she was fine.

Possibly overwhelmed by the loud sounds and activity of the lunchroom, or perhaps worried about not remembering someone who knew her, or even frustrated with the task of eating; my mother started to appear ill and panicky. She laid her head down on the lunch table in a childlike way that shocked and worried me. As soon as I said we could leave, she popped up and acted fine.

Yesterday, we left her at home alone for a few hours. When we returned, we saw lettuce sitting in the sink. We asked her where it came from. “The neighbor brought it over for us,” she said. She left the room and returned not more than four minutes later. She saw the sink and gasped, “Who put this lettuce here?! Why are you leaving this lettuce in the sink?” A sickening feeling washed over me as my husband said, “You just told us the neighbor brought it over. You put the lettuce there.”

Lettuce appeared in the sink when we returned from a short errand trip, Saturday, Nov. 1, 2014. We asked mom where it came from. She replied, "... the neighbor ..." Minutes later she saw the lettuce in the sink and exclaimed, "Why are you leaving this lettuce in the sink?!"

Once a director of a food service program for a thousand people every day, she is no longer able to follow a recipe. She often forgets to eat or is agitated and distracted during meals. Today my son noticed she had not eaten some food in the refrigerator. He asked, "Why didn't grandma eat her food?" I replied, "She cannot remember to eat sometimes, sweetheart." A look of surprise settled on his face, "That's so sad," he said.

Yes it is son, yes it is.