Martha’s
Vineyard
For a while last evening, Lois couldn’t find her
credit card. She said something about
having heard that she should memorize the number of at least one of her credit
cards, but that would be impossible for her.
I said somewhat arrogantly that I had memorized mine. (I should add that I have worked on it for a
long time and still reverse some digits.)
She said, “So which one of us has Alzheimer’s?”
It seems to happen frequently. I’ll mention a symptom,
and Lois (or Marja) will complain of having the same symptom.
We older people are very afraid of this disease. Normal ageing does sometimes lead to similar
symptoms. And we’re worry. Lois and I were talking about the
intelligence test Kong gave me to make the diagnosis; Lois asked what questions
I missed. I told her about forgetting
the date.
“The date!? The
date?!” Who doesn’t forget the
date?! She sounded incredulous,
especially when I said that the diagnosis of dementia was made after missing only
five questions like that. I don’t think Lois
or Marja or others are making their concern up.
She probably does have similar symptoms.
Partly, it’s denial: “If I don’t have Alzheimer’s, but I have the
symptoms of Alzheimer’s, then maybe David doesn’t have it, either.” But the opposite is probably also a factor:
“Maybe I have it, too.”
We’ve laughed a lot here. Much of it has to do with the increasing
comfort with my diagnosis. There are
lots of jokes or just light-hearted comments to be made.
It’s frustrating that I can’t remember any specifics
now as I write. I’ll need to use my
notebook for even the little things. It
makes this blogging more difficult, too.
I know that stories are by far the best way to tell the tale, but I
forget the details almost immediately.
What’s interesting is that—even though I can’t remember the details of
the incident—I remember the emotions quite well. The dark humor is comforting for me. We don’t have to deny the disease. I don’t have to feel guilty or so frustrated
by my mistakes. I suppose it will be
harder when my symptoms are much worse.
Fred is a psychiatrist. I asked him if he thought that medical
students might find interviewing me or my lecturing them interesting. Once my symptoms are a little worse, knowing
that I’m so impaired in one area but so competent in another (talking with
them, for instance, or being able to handle a blog) may teach them a lot about
the disease and become more comfortable with it. We talked about lots of possibilities:
Lecturing to medical audiences—especially medical students—in small groups and allow
them to see my limitations clearly even as they see other areas that have not
diminished; having first-year medical students assigned to follow me every six
months or a year to watch the progression of the disease; making a video (or
even a documentary) at periodic times that would show the progression of the
disease.
I worried out loud that the ability to talk cogently
about my experiences might disappear, too, but Fred thought that it might take
quite a while. I didn’t press him for
details, but perhaps that ability might come from a different part of the
brain. I need to ask him why he thought
that might be true, so I’ve written the question down.
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