Friday, November 23, 2012

Am I losing my mind?


Some people worry about cancer or the economy, but I've got something else to think about.


There's a word for it . . . . but I can't remember it. I need - three items – I can see them in my mind – but can't say the words that represent them. I walk into a room to get something – but I have no idea what. Eventually, I find the word, I come up with the three items and I recall what I was going to get. But maybe someday I won't.
My Aunt in 1963.

My brother recently sent me a copy of Mom's brain autopsy. She was part of a study examining brains for Alzheimer's – fortunately there were few signs. Dad was fine too. He was exhibiting high cognitive function (& telling jokes) right up until his last fifteen minutes. But, my aunt – whom I take after, was not fine.  She was a brilliant woman, scholar and world traveller. She forgot who we were. She lost her way on familiar streets. She eventually failed to remember how to swallow the very food in her mouth. It was the ultimate irony. Two sisters, the one who used her mind lost it and the other . . .  stayed relatively intact.  
(See “Do Different”.)

I suffer from chronic migraines and recently they've been getting more frequent, especially the ones with visual auras. It's mostly likely due to hormonal fluctuations. Having the auras puts me at increased chance for stroke. The Imitrex I take has its own host of side effects not to mention the over-riding feeling that my brain just isn't functioning well. (It's not.) People ask me questions and I just stare stupidly at them, trying to process what they are asking.  Trying to come up with an appropriate answer proves difficult.   I try to go without the meds, but the pain is just as mind numbing. My snappy comebacks no longer snap.

My refinishing work is probably not helping me either. Chemical strippers, stains, and varnishes all have a vaporous effect on my health that can't be ignored. I inhale all sorts of materials when I sand. Yes, I sometimes wear a respirator to reduce my risks – but I often don't. I love the smells – but they give me headaches. It might even be killing me. Lead paint? Is it making me stupid? Asbestos – lung cancer? Fiberglass? Paint thinner?  What am I doing to me?

Before you inundate me with pleas to see a doctor – I do. I'm about to get new glasses to cut down on eye strain. I see my GP and OB/gyn every year and have every damn test they recommend. I even ask for a lead-level test every other year and that's always been fine. My blood and urine couldn't be better. My mitral and tricuspid heart valves leak a bit – but not enough to be concerned about. All in all, I'm in great shape. I exercise regularly, drink in moderation and sleep well. So why am I worried?

Here's the thing: If I lose my mind – to dementia – where will it go? Where will I go? Aware of the changes taking place, my aunt elected to move to a senior living community, but things quickly deteriorated. On a group shopping trip to downtown San Francisco, she disappeared, only to be located at the opera house trying to attend the ballet, where she once had season tickets. While it may have been frustrating for her caregivers, it is not surprising that she drifted down familiar paths and habits. She soon had to be moved to a more secure care facility.  Libraries and ballets were lost to her.  No more long walks in the Berkeley hills.  For her own safety, life had to be limited.

If I lost my mind, what things I loved best would be lost to me? Playing the flute: would I still be able to read music? I'll just make it up.  Improvisation will take on new importance.   Power tools would definitely be off limits.   Reading books:  would I just stare at the pages uncomprehending? Gardening? I can see me now, cutting off flowerheads like Morticia Adams and proudly presenting the denuded stems to my family.  They would be horrified and I would laugh maniacally.  Maybe I'd even wear red hats and purple dresses.  Bat-shit crazy.  That would be me.  Let's have fun with it.

2006
I last saw my Aunt several months before her death in 2006.  I had no idea it would be so soon.  She was thin, but seemed healthy.  I could tell she didn't know us, but was very pleased to have visitors.  She was given some small bath soaps and she so enjoyed smelling the packages but puzzled over unwrapping them.  Despite the obvious deterioration, my aunt never lost her innate graciousness. Her delight in simple pleasures was still there, perhaps expressed in a more childlike way, but never-the-less, she seemed happy. I hope I will be too.


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