Conversing in dementia

My best friend Kim let me know last week, in case I had forgotten, that my life is frought with irony. She's right, and what's even stranger is that irony was one of my favorite devices as an English major at Rutgers when I was an undergraduate. I lloked for it in every book I read, anticipated it. When I went to film school after I graduated, it was the same thing, but with a keen critical eye.
Last week, my nana who is an old Italian lady of 89 years- soon to be 90 in June, experienced another mini-stroke. I am the primary care taker of my grandmother, my sister is also a caretaker, but I think it is fair to say, I shoulder much of the burden of caring for my grandmother in a big picture sense, in other words, I am a problem solver, I make things happen.
So when I got another one of those dreaded calls one who is in the position of responsibility gets in the early AM, I leapt into action. Alexis was right by my side- no hestation, wow, thank you, really.
I called my sis and we all converged on Somerset Medical Center, as my nana was found "unresponsive" for a bit and then came around later, she was out long enough for a trip to the hospital.

When I saw nana, her face lit up, although she did not recognize me fully, it was enough that I was a familiar. My grandmother has the condition of non-stop speaking stream of consciousness and asking questions. This was very entertaining and I'm sure helped me define my critical eye when I was younger, now as a 40 year old woman, it is interesting to be present to the same questions I have been getting for years. I found myself answering her, comforting her, tending to her, the routine I have taken up as her granddaughter. I knew she would be confused in the hospital, an unfamilar, unfriendly environment, and I did not want her to be there long without me, so I could converse with her, answer her questions, let her know that she is not alone.

It was interesting fodder for a script I may write someday, if I bring myself to it.

You fainted and that's why you are in the hospital, to make sure you are OK.
No, this isn't the morgue, you are not dead.
You are not bleeding downstairs.
You have enough money to be cared for, for the rest of your life.
Your husband died 5 years ago, I know it must be hard to want to remember that.
I'm Jackie Anne, that's Lisa.
This is not Raritan, but it's close.
You are not alone, we are here.