I'm back, just not organized yet. Still working on the next few chapters. Lots of things to consider in them, and the answers are hiding from me. Should have something to post within the week. Thanks for checking in here.
Bronwyn
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Intermission
Time for a mental health break. The next few chapters are in draft form and not yet ready for posting here. They describe a very difficult time in this journey. I'll try to work on them during the next couple weeks, but I will be away from home at the same time.
In the meantime, I notice HBO is planning a three part program on Alzheimer's. It begins Sunday May 10. I understand it will include information about the latest research and advances in treatment, and I suggest you watch it.
I'll be back towards the latter part of the month.
Thank you for being with me so far.
Bronwyn Swift
In the meantime, I notice HBO is planning a three part program on Alzheimer's. It begins Sunday May 10. I understand it will include information about the latest research and advances in treatment, and I suggest you watch it.
I'll be back towards the latter part of the month.
Thank you for being with me so far.
Bronwyn Swift
Friday, May 1, 2009
Chapter Twelve
Breaking Bubbles
Oct., 2002
After consultations with a half brother, Matt, in California, we began making arrangements for Lee to be seen at the Memory and Aging Clinic at the University of California, San Francisco. We obtained an appointment for October.
The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. Lee had definitely lost a step , though. The doctors had been right--he came back, but not all the way. I was able to leave him alone, but had to check on him frequently. I took over filling his medication boxes, but he takes the pills himself.
Lee had been able to fix just about anything, and now I had to argue with him to get him to allow me to call someone to repair things. As time went on, he became less and less opposed to this.
We traveled to San Francisco for the appointment at UCSF. Lee was examined and took several neurological tests. The testing was done in private, while the rest of us waited. There were five of us--Lee and myself, Matt and his wife Bonnie and a half sister Doris, who was a retired Registered Nurse. Late in the afternoon we had a family conference with the neurologist from UCSF and others. Matt and Doris were able to provide a lot of information about the extended family, and all agreed that they knew of no one who had had dementia. The sole exception was the maternal grandfather, who at the age of 93 had wandered outdoors and died of exposure. He had not seemed quite lucid in his last years.
The half-sister, a retired RN, started asking questions in relationship to her own problems. We tried to steer the conversation back to Lee, but she persisted. We all had been noticing some unusual behavior on her part, and this was a continuation of those things. She seemed to have been losing all her social graces.
Dr. G. told us that Lee had FTD (frontotemporal dementia). This was a preliminary diagnosis, he said, and it was impossible to tell for sure at this point, as there were some anomalies. They made arrangements for Lee to have a two-hour "research quality" MRI of his brain at the Veterans' Hospital the next afternoon.
Whew, I thought. At least it isn’t Alzheimer’s. In retrospect, I can’t believe I was so dumb. My brain seemed to freeze up around doctors, and I was totally unable to explore further questioning. I think I was still shell-shocked at this sudden turn-around in our lives.
We saw Dr. Saunders not too long after returning to Alaska. When I related the FTD diagnosis, she said, “Well, that’s too bad. FTD can’t be treated. Alzheimer’s can.”
So much for my little bubble of optimism.
Oct., 2002
After consultations with a half brother, Matt, in California, we began making arrangements for Lee to be seen at the Memory and Aging Clinic at the University of California, San Francisco. We obtained an appointment for October.
The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. Lee had definitely lost a step , though. The doctors had been right--he came back, but not all the way. I was able to leave him alone, but had to check on him frequently. I took over filling his medication boxes, but he takes the pills himself.
Lee had been able to fix just about anything, and now I had to argue with him to get him to allow me to call someone to repair things. As time went on, he became less and less opposed to this.
We traveled to San Francisco for the appointment at UCSF. Lee was examined and took several neurological tests. The testing was done in private, while the rest of us waited. There were five of us--Lee and myself, Matt and his wife Bonnie and a half sister Doris, who was a retired Registered Nurse. Late in the afternoon we had a family conference with the neurologist from UCSF and others. Matt and Doris were able to provide a lot of information about the extended family, and all agreed that they knew of no one who had had dementia. The sole exception was the maternal grandfather, who at the age of 93 had wandered outdoors and died of exposure. He had not seemed quite lucid in his last years.
The half-sister, a retired RN, started asking questions in relationship to her own problems. We tried to steer the conversation back to Lee, but she persisted. We all had been noticing some unusual behavior on her part, and this was a continuation of those things. She seemed to have been losing all her social graces.
Dr. G. told us that Lee had FTD (frontotemporal dementia). This was a preliminary diagnosis, he said, and it was impossible to tell for sure at this point, as there were some anomalies. They made arrangements for Lee to have a two-hour "research quality" MRI of his brain at the Veterans' Hospital the next afternoon.
Whew, I thought. At least it isn’t Alzheimer’s. In retrospect, I can’t believe I was so dumb. My brain seemed to freeze up around doctors, and I was totally unable to explore further questioning. I think I was still shell-shocked at this sudden turn-around in our lives.
We saw Dr. Saunders not too long after returning to Alaska. When I related the FTD diagnosis, she said, “Well, that’s too bad. FTD can’t be treated. Alzheimer’s can.”
So much for my little bubble of optimism.
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