The Dementia Stories
ROOM 2 Iris
Iris sat at the dinner table with the usual three women that she ate with at every meal. Feeling ill. Her eyes had a glazed and strange look, as if she wasn't in the natural world. She couldn't focus, her head hurt. She stared. The head caregiver came over to the table and spoke to her softly. She slipped a pair of dark glasses over her eyes. The women at the table were very disturbed by Iris's behavior. And the server, also.
She couldn't stand up or speak but she knew or thought that she knew that it was not her illness that made her feel sick but the medication that her brother put on her. Medication that was in round patches that she found on her arms or on her back. She thought that her brother was trying to murder her. He is killing me, he is killing me, she thought to herself. Then she lost consciousness.
She woke in her bed. She didn't know how she got there.
Iris sat at the dinner table with the usual three women that she ate with at every meal. Feeling ill. Her eyes had a glazed and strange look, as if she wasn't in the natural world. She couldn't focus, her head hurt. She stared. The head caregiver came over to the table and spoke to her softly. She slipped a pair of dark glasses over her eyes. The women at the table were very disturbed by Iris's behavior. And the server, also.
She couldn't stand up or speak but she knew or thought that she knew that it was not her illness that made her feel sick but the medication that her brother put on her. Medication that was in round patches that she found on her arms or on her back. She thought that her brother was trying to murder her. He is killing me, he is killing me, she thought to herself. Then she lost consciousness.
She woke in her bed. She didn't know how she got there.
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