A few months later, the nurse called Amber’s sons and informed them of their mother’s condition. She was in the final stage of the disease, and if they wanted to see her they should come as soon as they could. 

 

Amber was now bed bound, totally incontinent, dependant on the nurses for all her care, had difficulty swallowing, and could not talk. She had no idea who or where she was, and did not know her sons when they did come to visit. Anytime I would go into her room, she would grunt and point at the picture of Peter. She was ready to join him in Heaven. Peter was waiting for her.

 

One day, Amber slipped into a coma. Her sons came to visit for the last time. After they left, I sat beside her on the bed and held Peter’s picture. I told her that it was time for her to go see him, that she had suffered long enough. She must have heard me because she smiled, and then she was gone. I checked for a pulse and respiration; there was none. According to policy, I called the nurse, then started CPR. She was pronounced dead. Amber was now reunited with the love of her life and would never suffer again. In just 8 short years, this disease took a vibrant woman and turned her into a shell of her former self. May she rest in peace.

 

As I sit in my classroom, studying to be a CNA, and watching videos of how this disease destroys the mind of a person, I am almost brought to tears. These innocent people do not ask for this to happen to them. They are not monsters or crazy; they are sick. My only hope is that when I am working with these residents, I will treat them with all the courtesy and respect that they deserve and help make the remaining days of their lives as painless and comfortable as possible. If I succeed, then I will have accomplished my goal.

 

I would like to dedicate this to the many men and women who have and will suffer from this terrible disease. I pray that a treatment or cure is found before too many more are lost.

 

The people portrayed in this story are fictional.