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This morning I awoke with the dream still in my head – and in my body for that matter – trying to identify the client who I visited in the nursing home in the dream. She had two caretakers now, because two were needed to transfer her. I had been in the same facility on an emergency call in what appeared to be my room at home – it had my bedding, but there was an old man in it who was not responsive. He lay against me like the cat. That was my comfort to him. I changed his underwear several times but later noticed that there were still some stains on the sheet. My agency asked me to take this assignment and I was not uncomfortable with it. He did not communicate except that sometime early in the morning he said “I hurt.”   I was glad to be able to comfort him.  (It felt like the fulfillment of some idea of what I wanted to be. When I was in my twentys I wanted to be the first sexual experience for the boys in J’s group. I loved them –like their older sister and felt like it was something I could do to educate them and make the experience easier for them – a gift, an education.)

When the old man’s relatives – two men and a woman checked in the morning, I tried to offer the man, who appeared to be the authority, my services as a private caretaker part time, as needed.  I tried to find out whether the client communicated anything other than that he was in pain. The son (I suppose) was not particularly interested, acting as if I were intruding, and did not try to answer my questions. He seemed annoyed and asked if I didn’t recognize the other caregivers from my agency that were in the hall (as if I thought I were superior to them?)  Apparently 2 young woman of color were there to care for someone else. I had never met them before, but when I went to talk to one, I found out that they were caring for an old client of mine. I went into her room. The girls seemed cowed by her and had concerns about me startling her or acting outside of her protocols, but I persisted and when I spoke to her, she responded as I might have wished. She was waking from night sleep, but looked more beautiful and younger than I ever remembered her. Her face was unlined, her hair was silver, thick and well styled and she was wearing a pink hat that made her glow (I think she may be associated with Prue Leith from the British Baking Show, whom, I just found out, is 80 years old.)  I could not sit on the bed because I had no pants on, only a camp shirt that I tried to pull around me to cover me as much as possible (perhaps this related to going to the back door for neighbor in my big bath towel, but I am often inappropriately exposed in my dreams). The old woman in the bed looked so beautiful; I was elated to see her. (J who went into assisted living two months ago? I miss being with her) I was ecstatic. The other care takers appeared to think I was out of my mind. Sometimes I think that too.

Then I woke up. It was 10:40 standard time.  I have to vote today, and N is coming over for dinner and the apartment is even more than usual a mess. I had wakened an hour earlier and gone back to sleep. I often feel guilty about sleeping so late, but I didn’t.

The sun is shining. It looks wonderful outside. N and LW’s little trees are still blazing orange. I felt unusually well rested and refreshed. And I immediately tried to identify the client in the bed in the dream, feeling sure that I really knew her and she had been a client. I went back in my mind to Life Stages and realized that I was never a care giver in Baltimore, which in the dream was my home, and that this client was a dream.  My dreams run into my waking times these days.  I am so curious to know if that is common in old people or whether I am returning to childhood or whether I am moving into dementia.  I am grateful for the experience.