We are walking around and around the ward. He is pleasant enough but shows no signs of recognising me.
My back is hurting and, frankly, i am bored, so i grab a doll off the shelf and hand it to him.
It is wrapped in a nice jumper but its appendages- head, hands, feet , are hard.
“Oh,” he says, “when did we get this?” (ahha he did know we had some connection!)
I gulp and say, oh about a month ago.
“hmmm I didn’t know,” he says with a mix of suspicion and surprise. I’m busted, but he forgets.
Later he works hard to tear the head off, but these items in the dementia ward are built tough. Eventually I intervene, but later he is twisting and twisting at its arm.
“You are hurting it,” i say. He looks, and hesitates, and stops for the entire hour, until i spirit the babe away at supper time.