In the past few
days, I said the final earthly good-bye to a very dear friend who was an
Alzheimer’s patient. I observed and in
so doing, inwardly absorbed what “the long good-bye” did to her outstanding
caregiver husband. This week I am a
long-distance observer in the walk of yet another precious-to-me family’s walk
in dealing with the continuing effects of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis of about
three years’ duration. While I am removed, I feel I am very much there. A “kindred spirit to Alzheimer’s? “How can it be, and why would you even want
to say such?” is probably crossing your mind.
In 1995 when my
husband was transferred, I was finally able to move my 91-year-old mother to a
facility in the country nearby our new home.
Admitting her to a nursing home in the first place was the worst thing
I’d ever had to do in my entire life, and what followed was a most
unsatisfactory three-years with a nursing home in Ohio; therefore, my stress
level was at the top of the charts. Adding to it was the fact I had determined I must stop the tears,
knowing if I gave in to crying, I’d be a blubbering mess 24-hours of most days.
The move gave immediate relief all around, but within two weeks, Mamma was
hospitalized with possibility of pneumonia and a couple of nights after that I
was in the ER of the same hospital around midnight. At least my husband says I was there. I do not remember that, but he says I was there.
I remember waking
in a hospital room identical to the one where my mother was so I had no
question about where I was. A male
nurse was sitting in a chair off to the right side of my bed. He spoke over me to someone to my left,
saying, “She’s coming around now.” I rolled to look to my left where John sat
bedside, also in a straight-back wooden chair. As I recall, my immediate
question was how long we’d been and shouldn’t he get back to our motel room to
take care of our dog and get some sleep himself. I guess I knew I was staying put for a while and knew I was
sleepy! The male nurse was a comforting
source because he reminded me in build and demeanor of my daddy who had passed
away twenty-eight years previous. John did leave with the understanding all
tests that could be run had been done, that I was not a stroke victim, that
apparently I was a Transient Global Amnesia patient, the result of too much
stress. The male nurse explained to me
that I was there because, “Apparently you had a little trouble remembering.”
I slept well for
a couple more hours, saw the neurologist on call in the morning, had some
additional testing, was given a follow-up appointment with the neurologist, and
received my discharge along with the assurance, “This generally occurs only one
time. You will never remember the four
hours you lost, so don’t worry about that or try to remember them.” Indeed, I never have remembered, the time I
spent in the ER although John assures me I did everything I was asked to do as
normally as I’d walk in there and do it today with the one exception, I kept asking
one particular question over and over to the point of ad nauseum (my
description, not his), “Does this have anything to do with when we were
overcome with carbon monoxide when we were camping so long ago?” (Obviously I was aware something was
not right though I was behaving perfectly as though it were!)
A week or so
later, I had a follow-up appointment, and all was well. No, I’d not remembered anything about the
time in the ER, nor had I tried to. I
had remembered bits and pieces of our conversation that caused John concern
enough to take me to the ER in the first place, but nothing about leaving the
motel room and going there. I did remember having a lingering headache the
following day. I left the appointment
reassured that the amnesia was the result of my part in the responsibility of
the recent move of my mother, the outlook of motel living until our Ohio house
sold and we found a new one here in Texas, and the build-up of the previous
three years of dealing with the nursing home stress, that it should be a
one-time experience.
Five years later,
John had a great opportunity to retire early and go on to a job that would
require his traveling throughout the world teaching what he had been doing for
all the past years. His retirement party was on a Thursday and all our kids and
their families arrived to take part in a wonderful, happy, busy
celebration. The following Sunday, John
flew off to his first assignment in Jacksonville, Florida. That Monday morning, I speed-dialed the
button #1 on our phone and his assistant answered. When I asked for John, she
said, “Sue? You ‘re kidding, right?”
When I said, “No,” she asked a few pertinent questions, “You do
remember John retired and took a new job and went to Jacksonville to
teach?”
When I said,
“No,” again, she said, “What’s the name of your fiends who live on Little
Barley?” I’m sure she was more than
relived when I was able to tell her!
She explained she was going to call them for me. These things I remember!
Next thing I
knew, my friend Sherlyn was at my door and said, “Sue, I think we need to get
you to the hospital.” I remember answering the door and be willing to go. Obviously inside I knew something was
wrong, but didn’t know I needed help until help appeared at my door! She told me I explained twice or three times
that I had to feed my puppy before I’d leave, but otherwise I was well behaved!
I do not recall
getting in her car or the ride to the hospital, signing in, or the first
meeting withy the doctor, the blood draws, or any of that ER stuff. However, John’s assistant from the base knew
to contact both John and our next-door neighbor, Bill, who worked on the base.
By lunchtime, our neighbor Bill was sitting on a bench one side of me with
Sherlyn on the other. (We were outside one of the testing areas is now my
guess). These things I remember. A bit
of a haze is over my being in a room following some further testing and my
assuring John on a phone (no cell phones at that time) that I would be okay,
that he should stay in Florida, that we had been though this before and we knew
I’d get over it. When hearing about it later, my sister-in-law said my brain
must work like a computer: when it gets overloaded, it just shuts down. A very good analogy it seemed to me. The diagnosis was Transient Global Amnesia
again, so I’m exceptional, but didn’t we know that already? J
That time, the
doctor would not let me go home alone, so Sherlyn spent the day with me. Bill and his wife, Wanda came over to visit
in the evening. By then Sherlyn’s husband, Don was off work, so he was there,
too. Many times since, we have joked
about our pajama party because according to doctor’s orders at least someone
had to spend the night so Sherlyn and Don drew the short straws!
During the wee
small hours of one December 2006 morning, I woke in my bed with cotton balls
attached over the back of my right hand with paper tape. I immediately saw a hospital band on my left
wrist. Visions started falling into
place: John’s telling me supper was ready as I was finishing cleaning our
bathroom, the ER . . . a rather rude doctor saying, “Well, maybe she shouldn’t
be driving then…” and I believe, the same doctor leaving the room abruptly
where I assume an MRI had been done, while I was struggling to get up from the
lowered bed near the oversized machinery; my being buckled in the passenger
seat with John’s maneuvering the drive-through at Walgreen’s and my seeing the
illuminated clock numbers saying 10-something.
These things I remember! John’s
report to me was that this ER doctor made it quite clear he didn’t believe in
Transient Global Amnesia, basically said he thought I was just stressed over
the kids coming to visit for Christmas. Little did he know how unstressed I was
over my kids coming or how unlike most people I am in regard to holiday
prep! This was very soon following my
Parkinson’s diagnosis and while I’d not have thought I was stressed over that,
perhaps it hit me harder than I thought?
Interestingly enough, I’ve not had an attack since. Could it have been related to the
Parkinson’s and the meds I’m on are relieving it? No definitive answers, but what I do know is, “These things I
remember!”
In answer to the
questions posed at the beginning, HOW can it be that I say “a kindred spirit”
to Alzheimer’s and WHY would I say such?
Please understand I say this with the deepest love my heart has, and I
believe the two women I referenced in the beginning would applaud me for going
through with it. I pray their loved
ones and the additional sufferers of Alzheimer’s feel likewise. As I’ve observed and listened to comments as
to how Alzheimer’s attacks these loved ones, I feel with the ins and outs of
the Transient Global Amnesia attacks, I’ve lived samplings of what it’s
like to momentarily be an Alzheimer’s patient. I’ve lived in the world of
reality and then been snatched away from it, only to be returned to find myself
in a different place with what is perhaps familiar or unfamiliar scene. It’s a little like watching a TV program
where someone else holds the remote and you’re comfortably involved in a
program when all of a sudden, there’s an entirely different story on the
screen. If it’s on the TV, you can ask
whoever you’re with, “Did you just change the channel?” What happens when
you’re all alone and it’s not on the television? You wait and look for a rerun when you can once again say, “These things I remember!”
© M Sue Moore
8-15-2014
