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The Privilege of Walking
By Rosalee Yeaworth, Ph.D.
(Reprinted with permission. This article first appeared in the Fall/Winter 2001 newsletter of the Omaha and Eastern Nebraska Chapter, also serving Southwest Iowa and Northeast Nebraska - now called the Midlands Chapter. Dr. Yeaworth is a member of the Chapter's Advisory Board.)
We don't usually consider walking a special blessing until something restricts or restrains us from walking where we want to go. I remember when we admitted my mother to the hospital and they put a vest restraint on her, tying her to the bed because they were afraid she would fall. She panicked, and we found her almost delirious with fear and indignation. We volunteered to have a family member with her for 24 hours a day if they would not restrain her. I had a night shift. The chair was a comfortable recliner, and I was tired. Suddenly, I realized I had dozed. She had crawled to the foot of the bed to get around the side-rails and was headed for the bathroom. She would not call or ring for help.
After my husband developed an Alzheimer's related condition, he walked compulsively. Every time I turned my back, he headed off, usually to a shopping center where some of the merchants gave him treats or he could visit. He has always loved being with and working with people. With his limp and persuasive manner, he was quite successful at flagging down total strangers and having them take him places. One day when I lost him, I went looking for him with the car, and as I stopped to pick him up, a man pulled up beside us. He said, "Are you going to pick him up? I was riding my bike through the park and saw him trying to get a ride so I went home and got my car."
While most people were considerate and understanding, I feared for his safety. I had a locksmith install dead-bolt locks that required a different key for the front door and garage door. My husband could go out the back into our fenced yard, but I put chains with locks on the gates. I thought I was set to get some work done, but when I looked out, I could see him nowhere. When I found him in the park, I asked, "How did you get out of the back yard?" He said somewhat indignantly, "Well, I jumped the fence!" (He is a man in his 70s with a replaced knee on one leg and a very arthritic ankle on the other). He added, "I'm a man. I'm not a dog, and you can't lock me in the house and yard like a dog!" I quickly removed the chains from the gates and only used the dead-bolts infrequently when I wanted to slow his departure.
He is now in an "access controlled" special care unit for persons with dementia. There is quite a bit of indoor space, and a small outdoor courtyard for walking. He never tries to open the door on his own, force his way out when others are going, or resist going in after being out. However, there is no denying that it is restrictive of walking where and when you want, and I ache for him that he can't.
Alzheimer's disease and related dementias are such cruel diseases. Each person's journey or walk with dementia is different, but it slowly robs individuals of their memory, judgment, and personality, and forces their caregivers into the dilemma of choosing between safety and freedom and autonomy. Most of us fight to be able to make choices for ourselves, but we do not want to be forced to make critical choices for our loved ones. I wish that everyone had the freedom and the ability to walk whenever and wherever they wished.
Posted August 3rd, 2007
(Reprinted with permission. This article first appeared in the Fall/Winter 2001 newsletter of the Omaha and Eastern Nebraska Chapter, also serving Southwest Iowa and Northeast Nebraska - now called the Midlands Chapter. Dr. Yeaworth is a member of the Chapter's Advisory Board.)
I was circling the parking lot looking for a spot near the store so I didn't have far to walk 
when I thought about the joy I have felt in walking through the crunchy leaves of fall; the gleaming white, newly-fallen snow; the sparkling, early morning dew; or on the warm, white sands of the Gulf shore with waves washing over my feet, obliterating the tracks left behind. There can be a real exuberance in walking! Recently, I was startled when a woman said to me, "You sure do walk nice!" Then, I realized that she moved with difficulty, even with a walker.
when I thought about the joy I have felt in walking through the crunchy leaves of fall; the gleaming white, newly-fallen snow; the sparkling, early morning dew; or on the warm, white sands of the Gulf shore with waves washing over my feet, obliterating the tracks left behind. There can be a real exuberance in walking! Recently, I was startled when a woman said to me, "You sure do walk nice!" Then, I realized that she moved with difficulty, even with a walker.We don't usually consider walking a special blessing until something restricts or restrains us from walking where we want to go. I remember when we admitted my mother to the hospital and they put a vest restraint on her, tying her to the bed because they were afraid she would fall. She panicked, and we found her almost delirious with fear and indignation. We volunteered to have a family member with her for 24 hours a day if they would not restrain her. I had a night shift. The chair was a comfortable recliner, and I was tired. Suddenly, I realized I had dozed. She had crawled to the foot of the bed to get around the side-rails and was headed for the bathroom. She would not call or ring for help.
After my husband developed an Alzheimer's related condition, he walked compulsively. Every time I turned my back, he headed off, usually to a shopping center where some of the merchants gave him treats or he could visit. He has always loved being with and working with people. With his limp and persuasive manner, he was quite successful at flagging down total strangers and having them take him places. One day when I lost him, I went looking for him with the car, and as I stopped to pick him up, a man pulled up beside us. He said, "Are you going to pick him up? I was riding my bike through the park and saw him trying to get a ride so I went home and got my car."
While most people were considerate and understanding, I feared for his safety. I had a locksmith install dead-bolt locks that required a different key for the front door and garage door. My husband could go out the back into our fenced yard, but I put chains with locks on the gates. I thought I was set to get some work done, but when I looked out, I could see him nowhere. When I found him in the park, I asked, "How did you get out of the back yard?" He said somewhat indignantly, "Well, I jumped the fence!" (He is a man in his 70s with a replaced knee on one leg and a very arthritic ankle on the other). He added, "I'm a man. I'm not a dog, and you can't lock me in the house and yard like a dog!" I quickly removed the chains from the gates and only used the dead-bolts infrequently when I wanted to slow his departure.
He is now in an "access controlled" special care unit for persons with dementia. There is quite a bit of indoor space, and a small outdoor courtyard for walking. He never tries to open the door on his own, force his way out when others are going, or resist going in after being out. However, there is no denying that it is restrictive of walking where and when you want, and I ache for him that he can't.
Alzheimer's disease and related dementias are such cruel diseases. Each person's journey or walk with dementia is different, but it slowly robs individuals of their memory, judgment, and personality, and forces their caregivers into the dilemma of choosing between safety and freedom and autonomy. Most of us fight to be able to make choices for ourselves, but we do not want to be forced to make critical choices for our loved ones. I wish that everyone had the freedom and the ability to walk whenever and wherever they wished.
