THE RETURN OF THE DIVA

I paid an Easter weekend visit to Suzie on Saturday, and saw something I haven't seen in a long time: Suzie with attitude.

I've known Suzie for a long time, maybe seven or eight years, and I can't claim that we've always gotten along. There were definitely times where I found her difficult, or she found me difficult, or both. I haven't necessarily seen that dynamic between Suzie and other people, but it's happened more than once between the two of us. And it wasn't always pleasant. Actually, it was never pleasant.

Since last Summer, I haven't seen that aspect of her personality -- or what I consider to be that aspect of her personality -- come out. Until now.

I arrived at Park Terrace in the late afternoon on Holy Saturday and Suzie's mom and her two very friendly, non-English-speaking aunts were with her. There was a cake in a box, tied with that braided, red and white string that only seems to be available at bakeries (this one came from Staten Island, courtesy of one of the aunts). Small plates and forks were all around.

"Happy Easter," I said.

"Happy Easter," Suzie repeated.

Mrs. Moon offered me some cake (sadly, it was carrot, so I only has a taste) and she and her family exited. I took off my jacket, jammed it in my backpack and sat down in a chair next to her.

"So what's going on?" I asked.

"Over there!" Suzie blurted out in a loud voice, pointing out the door towards the elevator with her left hand.

"What? Do you want to go downstairs in the elevator?" I asked.

"Over there!" she repeated, with the same urgency.

"Do you want to go to the TV room?"

"Over there!"

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

And then, silence. Suzie frowned, turned toward the TV, fixed her eyes on an episode of Extra with Mario Lopez and proceeded to give me the silent treatment.

"You can't get mad at me when I don't understand what you're trying to say," I complained.

More silence. She stared at the TV and turned up the volume on the remote.

"So what's going on?" I asked, with no answer. "How are you doing. What's new?"

I followed each question with "huh?" to cover the silence and, in part, in an attempt to badger her into an answer. It worked, sort of.

"Huh? Huh? Huh?" Suzie repeated back at me with a mocking eye-roll. Then she went back to staring at the TV.

"Look honey, I don't come out here for my health," I said. "I come out here to try to help you, so you can ease up on the attitude, okay?"

Me fighting with Suzie -- same old, same old, right? Definitely, and that's why it's good news. Ever since last summer I've been visiting Suzie and telling her everything will be okay, comforting her, hugging her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Yes, I've demonstrated tough love as well, in my efforts to help her relearn and regain function, but never have I seen the diva that I knew (and often didn't love) back in the old days.

On Saturday she was back.

Eventually, I determined that Suzie wanted to follow her mom, so we went down to the first floor common room. As I wheeled Suzie in, half a dozen residents were staring intently at a No Money Down real estate infomercial on TV. The sound was near-deafening.

Mrs. Moon was sitting on a chair next to the out-of-order snack machine, reading a book. Out the window behind her the sky was inky and a cold, early Spring rain was streaming down.

"Outside?" Suzie said to both of us.

"Not today," Mrs. Moon replied, as we rolled her over to look at the rain soaked courtyard.

As Suzie got to the window, she caught her reflection in the glass, and quickly readjusted the bangs on her forehead. It took just a second or two -- that moment where you see yourself and primp -- but it felt to me like a breakthrough. It was so subtle, so second nature for her. That was the second sign of the day that the old Suzie is still there, inside. Even amongst the indignity of not being able to care for herself, she still wants to look her best.

"You want to play the piano?" Mrs Moon asked. Suzie shook her head, yes.

I opened it up and wheeled Suzie over. Mrs Moon began playing scales and Suzie smiled broadly. Then her mom took her left hand and helped her bang out a few notes on the keys, which seemed to make Suzie very happy.

The infomercial ended and the viewers began to disperse, so we moved over to a table near the giant aquarium. I pulled out a box of picture cards and held up a card with a bottle of milk and another with a bright red apple.

"Which of these two things comes from a cow?" I asked.

Suzie correctly pointed at the milk. I continued quizzing her and she continuing answering. Cognitively speaking, her answers were perfect, but her speech clearly isn't progressing at the same pace. I would ask her what something was, or what it was called, and she would hesitate, or try unsuccessfully to say the word.

Whenever that would happen, Mrs. Moon would chime in with the answer. I understand why a mom would want to do that -- it's natural to want to help your child, when they are suffering -- but it frustrated me. Suzie won't re-learn things if people coddle her, or feed her answers. I don't want to push her too hard, but I also don't want her to be unable to communicate for the rest of her life.

"No help from the audience!" I said, playfully chastising Mrs. Moon. That didn't work. So I altered my plan and instead, when I would ask a question, I also added the first syllable of the word I was asking for. For example, I would hold up a picture of a snake and say, "What's this? Ssssss.."

In most cases Suzie got it, without additional help. It's fascinating that she often can't find the word on her own, but she can when she's prompted, even with just a sound.

After this we took Suzie back up to her room, where her dinner was waiting. Her mom began feeding her and I said my goodbyes.

"Happy Easter Suzie," I said.

"Happy Easter," she repeated, with a mouth full of chicken.