"I Can't See Anything When I Sleep!"

"Hey, woman!" she heard through her uneasy frequently interrupted sleep. "Womaaaaaan!"

She sat up on the sofa to check on her 78-year-old aunt.

"Are you calling for me?" she asked groggily, trying not to wake up the others.

"Yes! There's no one else here, is there?"

Oh, the sarcasm. It's gonna be a long night, and it's just 1:30 am, she thought and said out loud, "Don't you know my name?"

"Of course I do. I'm not crazy." Her aunt said her name.

"That's right, that's my name. So what bothers you now?"

"Can you call that boy for me?"

"Which boy?"

"The little boy over there. He will help me."

"What do you want help with? Can I help?" She already learned to ignore her aunt's nightly hallucinations. There was no one in this room. Her mom and nephew were sleeping in the other two rooms with their doors closed.

"No, you can't, only that boy can help. I can't pee or poop."

Aha, the fixation on peeing and pooping again, she thought wearily and said out loud, "I just changed your diaper half an hour ago."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"Can you check if it's full?"

She got up, turned on the dimmed light and came up to her aunt's bed, checking her diaper. "It's not full. It's dry."

"See, you can't help me. It's dry, it means I can't pee or poop. Call the boy."

"Which boy?"

"That boy over there," her aunt points at the corner of the room where there's no one. "He can help me to take the poop out. I can't poop."

"Yes you can. Your body knows how to poop, it's an automatic function. You pooped half an hour ago. I changed your diaper. I just checked it, it's dry."

"See, you used to be different. You were a kind, understanding little girl. I used to love you, we talked for hours. Now you don't understand me. You just don't understand my pain. America has changed you. You shouldn't have left me for America. You are mean now. Am I asking too much?"

"You are asking for something I can't do. I'm trying to do everything I can for you. What bothers you now?"

"I can't poop. My tummy's hurting, the poop is frozen there."

"Would you like me to put a warmer on your tummy, to unfreeze it?"

"Yes."

She went to the kitchen and returned with a pad warmed in a microwave. She put it on her aunt's tummy, "Is this better?"

"It feels good. But it's still frozen there."

"Auntie, you are not a freezer or a fridge. Nothing is frozen there."

"Don't cling to my words! It's not frozen, it's.... what's the word for it... stuck!" Oh, the moment of clarity with words... Small victories of an after-the-stroke mind. It could be so so much worse... And her aunt is definitely more lucid during the day. If only she let everyone sleep at night.

"Nothing is stuck there. You just pooped before you fell asleep, a little over half an hour ago. Try to go back to sleep."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"These pipes are bothering me. Digging deep into my brain. I can't breathe, they are blocking my nose."

"They are there to help you breathe and supply oxygen to your brain so that you could get better after your stroke," she said patiently, checking if the oxygen tank and its wires worked correctly.

"Ok, can someone put some cream on my leg?"

Her aunt had been complaining about the constant, nagging and burning muscle pain in her right leg, so that was not new. She got the muscle pain cream and started to massage the leg.

"There. Does this feel better?"

"Yes."

"Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Yes, but leave the light on."

"Why?"

"I can't see anything in the dark. It scares me. I can't see anything when I sleep."

"That's the whole point of sleeping."

"Don't be a smartypants with me!"

Another moment of clarity and levity, all good signs. "I'll leave the light on in the hallway but will turn it off here, Ok?"

"Ok."

Turning off the lights, "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Of course you can. What am I, not letting you sleep?"

Deep sigh. She goes back to her sofa.

15 minutes later, "Hey womaaaaaan!"

"Yes, auntie."

"Is it possible to give me a shot?"

"Which shot?"

"A painkiller shot. Everything in my body hurts, I can't stand it. I can't sleep."

"I'm not a nurse, auntie. I don't know how to give shots."

"So see, you can't help me, mean American girl. Call the ambulance."

"Why?"

"They will give me a shot. They also have that boy."

"Which boy?"

"The boy who can unstuck my poop."

"No one can unstuck your poop, auntie. No poop is stuck in you. You pooped and I changed your diaper before you fell asleep."

"I don't believe you. I feel I'm wet everywhere."

"Do you want me to check your diaper again?"

"Yes."

She got up to check the diaper again, while her aunt said, "Boys and girls should be kept away from each other."

"Why?"

"So that they don't make children. Boys can help unfreeze poop. Girls can't."

She tried not to laugh while checking on the diaper, "It's completely dry."

"Give me a painkiller!"

"I can't, I'm not a nurse, I don't know how to give shots."

"I know, you said so. Give me a painkilling pill then."

"I gave it to you two hours ago. It's very strong, it can only be given once every eight hours. I thought it would carry you through the night."

"It doesn't work! Everything hurts! See, you can't do anything. You don't understand my pain..."

Exhausted, she sat on a stool next to her aunt's bed. She might as well just stay there for the next request. Incoming.

"Since you are sitting here anyway, can you massage my back? It hurts so much!"

"That I can do, gladly, whatever I can, to make you feel better," she said, gently massaging her aunt's back from the side. She heard her moaning.

"Are you moaning because it hurts or because it's pleasant?" she asks, trying to estimate the massage intensity.

"It's pleasant. It feels good. Enough," her aunt rolls over onto her back. At least this she can do by herself. "Now give me the directions."

"Which directions? You want to go some place?"

"Clinging to my words again. I meant instructions. Tell me how to do it."

"To do what?"

"To pee. You are saying the diaper is dry but I know I need to pee. And I can't. So tell me what I need to do to pee."

Giving out a long, exhausted sigh, she had a moment of clarity of her own, "Ok, let's try this. Imagine that your pee-pee has a tap on it. Just turn it on and let the pee out."

After several seconds of silence, "Oh, I can feel the warm stream. Can you check the diaper?"

She did, and the diaper was a little wet this time. The tap technique must have worked. Small victories all around.

"Ok, you can go back to sleep now. So that you don't complain to your mom that I'm keeping you up all night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'll just lay here, still. Won't say a word. Just me and my pain. No one can help anyway."

Determined to ignore her aunt's passive-aggressive communication, she went back to her sofa. It was 2:45 am.

Half an hour later, "Hey, anybody?"

She got up, "Yes, auntie."

"My feet are cold. Can somebody put some socks on them?"

She got warm socks and put them on her feet, "Anything else to make you comfortable?"

"If somebody could massage my leg again."

She massaged her aunt's left leg again, trying not to apply too much pressure.

"I can't sleep. It hurts everywhere. I can't sleep."

"I know, auntie. Let me try to put on some deep sleep music for you."

"It won't work."

"Why do you think so?"

"I need a painkiller. My pain is killing me."

"The previous one has not worn off yet. I can't give you that strong pill again."

"You just don't understand! It hurts so much! Give me something! Call the ambulance! Call my daughter! Wake up your mother, she will know what to do. You are of no help!"

She shuffled through some of her own deep sleep music and put a track on her iPhone, "You are stuck with me tonight, auntie, no one else is here. Here, this is good music, just listen to it, it has some waterfall in the background as well."

"I can't hear anything."

She adjusts the volume.

"This is too loud, I'm not deaf!"

"You just said you couldn't hear anything."

"I meant I couldn't hear any words."

"This music has no words. It's just good, soothing music and waterfalls."

"White noise, isn't it?"

"Exactly!" pleasantly surprised, "but with music."

"It won't help."

"You don't know it yet. Just try to listen to it. I'll give you something, too."

She went through her purse and found her multivitamins. Giving one tablet to her aunt with water, she said, "Here, this should help."

"Is this another painkiller?"

"Not exactly, but it will work with your painkiller well." She hated lying, but this was at least somewhat true. She took out her computer and made herself comfortable in a chair next to her aunt's bed. She won't be able to sleep now anyway. Might as well make use of the time.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just going to work a little here next to you. Is the screen light bothering you?"

"No, but leave the hallway light on."

"I will," she started to write something in her computer. He aunt seemed to be drifting away to the music and the sound of her tapping the keys.

About 10 minutes later, "Hey, you there!"

"Yes, auntie, I'm here."

"Am I a girl or a boy?"

"You are definitely a girl. So much of a girl you gave birth to two children."

"That's what I thought. But not two, three."

OMG, does she remember her stillbirth, she thought, and decided to pivot, "You also have five grandchildren."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you remember their names?"

"Of course, what do you think, I'm senile?" She effortlessly lists all her grandchildren's names.

"Good. You have good memory. Could you please try to go back to sleep?"

"Your music doesn't work."

"Just give it a chance."

"Ok, but leave the light on..."

She sat there through the rest of the night, writing on her computer, and listening to her aunt snore to the sound of deep sleep music.

A thought was nagging her, though, "Am I really that different, after years of living in America? Am I losing touch with my family?" One thing she knew for sure, however: She had a whole new level of appreciation for caregivers of bed-ridden patients with early-set dementia.