For Beulah Foelsch, life is circular. At 88 years old, the
former Wisconsin dairy farmer spends her days moving her wheelchair through the
never-ending hall of the main building at Juniper Village in Aurora.
Barbershop,
gym, health care office. Barbershop, gym, health care office. Barbershop, gym,
health care office.
Those are the
places she passes every day. They never change, but they’re always new.
Like all the residents at Juniper’s Aurora
location, Foelsch’s memory is hazy, filled with distant tidbits and foggy
factoids that whimsically arrive and sadistically disappear, coming and going
as they please.
Some days are
good. Others aren’t. That’s the cryptic, devastating way in which Alzheimer’s
disease works, as the families of the some 5 million Americans who live with
the disease know painfully well.
“I’m too old for shocks,” Foelsch says after
seeing a group of strangers approaching.
Her face is
distraught and her brow stuck in an upward furrow. Clearly confused, her eyes
are worried, scared and glassy.
“Where’s my
daughter?” she asks as Valerie Valdez, executive director of Juniper’s Aurora
location, approaches and gently slips a pair of headphones over her ears.
“Let me know if it’s too loud,” Valdez whispers before
hitting the button on a lime green iPod with a small triangle on it. As soon as
she does, something changes in Foelsch’s demeanor. Something profound...
By Quincy Snowdon Aurora Sentinel Staff Writer
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