What is the fear? Is it actually a fear of death? I suppose ultimately it is, but I’ve never been conscious of any fear of death. Perhaps it’s a fear of non-being, but what’s to fear about non-being? As much as I’m hate to think of myself lying in a nursing home bed, I’m not aware of fear. Disappointment and sadness? Yes. Fear? I don’t think so.
Every day I notice something more that is amiss in my mind. I’m typing slower and with many mistakes; I’m so easily distracted; I’m so slow in getting things done; my memory seems to be getting worse by the week. Are those things evidence of worsening disease or am I beginning to imagine things in order to conform to the diagnosis?
At what point will my impairment become obvious enough to me that I internalize the diagnosis? Or is it already obvious to me? What would I say if I were my own physician? Probably the same ambiguous things that my doctor is saying: “Well, it looks pretty convincing; we can’t be sure, of course, without more data points, but it is beginning to look that way.” If I were my own physician, I’d share my deep concern. But I wouldn’t be any more definite.
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