Every resident of the Village Landais has dementia—and the autonomy to spend each day however they please. Illustration by Harriet Lee-Merrion When Marion Renault’s family decided that her mamie, who has Alzheimer’s, needed to be moved to the structured care of a nursing home, they were making what Renault describes as a familiar “transaction.” She writes, of making decisions for loved ones with dementia, “We cede their freedom to gain a sense of security—theirs, but also ours. We attempt to resize their world, removing the choices that might pose a danger to them.” The result, for many patients, is a life that “seems safer, but smaller.” But might there be another way to approach memory care? In a moving and thought-provoking story, Renault introduces us to an innovative and controversial nursing home in southwestern France, where residents are encouraged to continue making choices, even as their cognitive abilities decline. “They can wake and shower at their leisure; they can shout, pilfer sweets, make tea at 2 A.M., sweep with the broom upside down, and handle sharp knives in the kitchen.” This kind of care brings new questions. How do we balance safety and autonomy? What is the connection between memory and our sense of self? And what does a rich and evolving life with Alzheimer’s look like? —Ian Crouch, newsletter editor Support The New Yorker’s award-winning journalism. Subscribe today » |
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