Washington DC
This is a guest post from my wife Marja Hilfiker.
Most of the time, I have been in denial of some sort or another.
True, David lost his belt pack twice on the same trip to see the grandchildren. The first time it was returned by strangers, minus the cash. The second time it just seemed to evaporate. A few months later, while we were on a backpacking trip, I salvaged his new belt pack from an outhouse, which I just happened to visit before we continued our hike. When I first told our daughter Karin about David's cognitive impairment, she said, “Yeah, Dad seems a little weaker every time I see him.” Last fall, David suddenly had a rash of missed appointments and meetings, but some extra precautions brought those problems generally under control.
Most of the time, I have been in denial of some sort or another.
True, David lost his belt pack twice on the same trip to see the grandchildren. The first time it was returned by strangers, minus the cash. The second time it just seemed to evaporate. A few months later, while we were on a backpacking trip, I salvaged his new belt pack from an outhouse, which I just happened to visit before we continued our hike. When I first told our daughter Karin about David's cognitive impairment, she said, “Yeah, Dad seems a little weaker every time I see him.” Last fall, David suddenly had a rash of missed appointments and meetings, but some extra precautions brought those problems generally under control.
Otherwise, many of the symptoms David complains about
seem all too familiar. Can’t remember
names. Same here. Can’t find words. Me too.
Typing has gotten terrible. So
what else is new? Aren’t we just getting
older in tandem? We are senior citizens
after all. We should be grateful we are
still ambulatory. Unless, of course, I have Alzheimer’s as well. In one test of cognitive functioning, we both
got a perfect score, so who is going first?
I didn’t go to David’s appointment with his
neurologist, but our recollections of what David had reported from that
appointment have varied enough for us to argue about them. I clearly recall that the doctor had said, “I
have a hunch that you may be moving toward dementia.” That seemed drastic
enough to me, but now David insists that he never used the word “hunch” but
diagnosed progressive cognitive impairment that was likely to be Alzheimer’s
disease. However, it was later verified
that the medical record did not include the word Alzheimer’s.
The denial definitely cushions the blow. I have never felt shocked or terrified or
overcome by grief. We always thought that this would be the worst possible way
to go, but the reality is sinking in very gently. Or is it reality? After David made what I thought was a
premature announcement of his condition, he got so much loving attention from
the community, including The Washington Post,
that I started worrying that he does not have Alzheimer’s.
A lovely post, thank you. Life does not end when you get a diagnosis of dementia, and, as I describe in my book about my experiences with my mother, you will find many opportunities to give and share love and enjoy each other. I wish you all the best and will follow this blog.
ReplyDelete--Martha Stettinius, author, "Inside the Dementia Epidemic: A Daughter's Memoir" www.insidedementia.com
Martha:
DeleteThanks for your comment. There have been several people who have described to me similar experiences of loving and enjoying one another more intensely even as this disease progresses. It's already been true for Marja and me, and for that I am very grateful.
I look forward to reading your blog.
David