The MRI

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”   --- Albert Einstein

"The heart wants what the heart wants."  --- Woody Allen

My life with Bill has lead me down more than a few roller coasters. Just when I begin to think I have a grip on things I find myself leaping off the next cliff, looking for answers, questioning my actions and decisions, and forgetting that in real life there are things that happen that are out of my control. If not for laughter, I would lose my mind. 

The Bill I am seeing the last couple of weeks is withdrawn and has drifted off perhaps in thoughts, perhaps in memories, or perhaps he has just drifted off in the clouds. Where do we go when we are "there?" The changes in routine, in eating, in skills, in speech, lethargy, flat affect, and signs that he is having pain trigger the nursing staff to investigate, so off to the Dr.'s office we go. Or as Bill puts it, "going to see the German." I have to tell you, not all of Bill's "nicknames" are quite this polite.

The Doctor, a scholarly healer with years of experience marked across his face, begins to engage Bill in conversation. "Professor?" he begins. Bill sits in his chair oblivious that the conversation is being directed at him. "Professor?" the doctor repeats. Bill's eyes remain fixed in space. "Honey," I turned towards Bill, using my finger to slowly draw his eyes to the physician. The doctor began asking Bill questions. Some he was able to answer with one or two words. Other times the words were jumbled, not related at all to inquiries. 

"I see many changes," the Doctor notes. We talk about past health history and my original concerns that his melanoma, treated five years ago, might have internalized and metastasized. I see many changes, he indicates, and a cat scan is ordered to rule out other causes. I am elated that further steps are to be taken. And I am alarmed. The time before last ... the time before the last time... Oh, dear God, the time before the last time he ran. And the last time we did complete the test, but only after he was given 40 milligrams of Valium and he was accompanied by a 400 pound sumo-wrestler type attendant that I sweetly referred to as Bill's private bouncer.  

So here I was again, sleep deprived and  anxious from flashbacks and night terrors and the horror that I had slept through my alarm. I ran from my car, bursting through the hospital doors, panicked that he would look for me to help him, wonder where I was, filled with fear. Would he fight once he realized what was expected of him? Would he run? Relief flooded me and tears began to roll when Michelle, his social worker, he was calm when the nurse took him by the hand and led him to the MRI. Silently I sat, salty droplets falling from my bowed head. Just about the time I feel like I have accomplished a balance in my life, I find myself baffled with a new phase of grief. Guilt? Anger? Questioning myself, our past, if I have done all I could possibly do... and wishing it would just be over. There it is. It feels like the greatest sin of all, wishing it would just be over. 

Just be over... what would that mean?


Bill, I am so sorry. I got absorbed in a stage of grief. Sometimes it is difficult for me to break out of my world and imagine more out there. I am starting to pull it back together- identifying the source of the sadness is a difficult process. I am trying so hard to make it through this. It's very difficult to watch the father of my only child go through such hell.  We've been married for 26 years this week. I loved you through most of those twenty six years. For twenty six years I uprooted myself, uprooted our son, to support you, to serve you as wife til death do us part. 

Is this my nightmare or is it yours, dear?

“I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"
"You do care," said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Long silences
blank staring eyes
moments of lashing out in anger

Lost in a sea of jumbled memories
  words floating to the top of the sea foam as he tries to tell me something from the heart. His memories are     shifting and resurfacing. His face grimaces as he tries to tell me... something...

Day after day he dies a little more.

I don't know how I am supposed to feel. I have jumped off a cliff and have no where to land. I remember the day when I had to decide on a daily basis whether or not to continue to love you. It is so much easier to be angry for your transgressions in our marriage. Now I reflect back and wonder if it was the disease. Dare I hope it wasn't my flaws you were seeking to escape from. Were you running for your life?

It's almost like the days of the past were just a vivid waking dream. The only question I have is is this your nightmare or is it mine? There's a black hole centered in my soul where time slips simply into a blur.

We have rudiments of reverence for the human body, but we consider as nothing the rape of the human mind. ~Eric Hoffer

“A girl calls and asks, "Does it hurt very much to die?"
"Well, sweetheart," I tell her, "yes, but it hurts a lot more to keep living.”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor

Photos thanks to morgueFile free photos.

Monday Night Bingo

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MONDAY NIGHT BINGO AT THE NURSING HOME....

You haven't lived until you've gone to Monday Night Bingo at the nursing home. It's a transformation of meek, mild mannered elderly and young unfortunates who are no longer able to care for themselves independently. Suddenly, someone announces the activity for tonight is Bingo and something magical happens. There is excitement in the air. 

It started at supper time. "Bingo tonight" someone shouted to his hard of hearing neighbor. "Singing? Who's singing?" asked someone to the left. Two table mates look at each other, rolling their eyes. She can't hear a thing," they mouth to each other. "She asked if he's single,"  another responds. 

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Bill and I excuse ourselves from the table to go outside for some fresh air. "Where are YOU going??" I hear. "We have to play bingo." Slowly, we sat back down. This was serious stuff.  

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The bingo cards are chosen, the chips are distributed, and it begins. 

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This wonderful transformation 

slowly converts the helpless 
into the helping...

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and a simple activity 

turns into a moment  

of friendship 

and communion 

with each other, 

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and a simple reminder that 
they are Somebody. 

Somebody important. 

Somebody with confidence. 

 A winner. 

retrieved from the web

It doesn't matter that everybody wins. Twice.
I (the residents) won. And so did my neighbor. 

A note from May 2010... how quickly our lives changed

Reflecting on the past-
I found this post today in an old blog. I am so glad God shelters us from predicting the future.

Professor Bill McLaurine, May 2010

Professor Bill McLaurine,, July 2013



SATURDAY, DECEMBER 18, 2010

Whew!
We did it. Bill made it through the MRI today. Tough tough for someone who is very claustrophobic, has a big history of being suspicious, and has dementia on top of that. The first time we tried (over a year ago) he ran out of the hospital. There I am following him in a dead run (I am 50 and not in shape by any means at all; not a pretty sight) going, "hey, hey, Bill, stop, wait honey..." He met me at the car. That was the last time he agreed to be tested, until now.



On the way to the doctors, Bill was talking and grieving about not reaching all his goals and dreams, and was laughing and reliving some old times. He looks at me summarizing his philosophy by announcing that we are loving life and living it. And that's that no matter how the tests come out. We know it's not a tumor, we know we have some time, so Bill wants his Goldwing fixed. Wow. I feel like I have permission to relax emotionally a little while.



Now, the actual process was a hoot. I had explained to Bill's neurologist, Dr. Roth, about the last excursion of the MRI attempt and Bill's sudden ability to leap over tall buildings in a single bound. Dr. Roth generously prescribes three doses of 10 mil Valium each. He tells me to give the first on 3 hours before the appt., the next one in an hour or so. If he's still showing signs of anxiety an hour before the appt, give him the third dose and they will give him a place to sleep it off. So I give the first dose. His response: I'm driving. Sorry, over my dead body, babe. Someone has to raise Jack and pee the dog. I win. For one hour he of course becomes an expert in back driving. I look at my watch. Time for pill 2. Hallelujah, thank you Lord. About twenty minutes later the talking does slow down. We now limit the conversation only to back driving. We get closer, the adrenalin rises, so down goes the third dose. He not only walks into the appointment,He walks into the MRI room, and totally cooperates. As soon as the test was over, he was definitely stoned out of his gourd, but he is in a jolly and ornery, mood. He gave every person in the office a tough time and words of wisdom, did the test. Bill pops out of the tube chatting away. The doctor is stunned Bill is still talking and walking and asks Bill, "Have you ever taken that much Valium before, Bill?" Bill response is, "Well, not legally, doc."Doctor's cracking up, nurses are roaring with laughter, the blood tech comes out for him and say, "Come on, sassy frass, I'm done dulling the needle." We go have lunch,he starts flirting with the waitress until I smacked him in the head and reminded him he is an old man and married," he spends an hour recruiting our waitress to go back to College, learn a second language (Spanish), and she's fired up and ready to return when we're done laughing and eating.



So, I set a few goals, wrote down a to list, and am making a promise to add Walnuts, popcorn, and yogurt (like one a day) to help control my blood sugar levels. The promise includes being consistant in my daily exercise regime, thirty minutes a day.I know we face some very difficult periods, but right now, at this very moment, I feel hope today. It feels good.

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POSTED BY LYN MCLAURINE May 10, 2013 AT 1:12 PM

Life

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"When you think things are bad,

when you feel sour and blue, 

when you start to get mad...

you should do what I do...

Just tell yourself, Duckie, 

you're really quite lucky! 

Some people are much more...

oh, ever so much more...

oh, muchly much-much more

unlucky than you!" - Dr. Seuss

I sat last night at a dining room table, centered between Bill and his sweet co-resident, Betty. Betty, a woman I am guessing in her mid 70's although the years had not been kind to her, sat on my left and Bill sat on my right. Both share in advanced onset of Alzheimer's despite the years differentiating between the two.

I pick up Bill's fork and begin introducing him to his supper. He is resistant to eating and drinking now, for the past few weeks.

 "Oh, no, no," he says. He looks at me suspiciously saying, "I can't eat this." He looked at his food as if it were the cause of his disorientation. I turned to Betty, who smiles momentarily and asks, "What's going on?" I gently lift her spoon to her mouth. She opens widely, accepting the food. I turned to Bill, noting how delicious this food looks. "Just take a little bite, honey." He frowns, but allows a spoon full of salad to enter his mouth. "Delicious! Look at this! This is a southern meal just like your mama would make you! Scalloped potatoes with ham, fried apples, yum!"

He looks at his plate and smiles. I turn to Betty. She has all ready forgotten what we are here to do. "What's going on?" she asks me. "We are here to enjoy this wonderful meal, I smile." I scoop a bit of her food, and she graciously opens and receives. This scenario continues through out the meal as I coax and encourage the two to eat. I cannot help but laugh and smile as I try to carry on conversation between the two, Betty asking me continuously "what's going on" and Bill asking about his dog and his son.

The two laugh as we talk, and others around the room join in with laughter and comments. Tonight we found success for both as we finalized their meals and celebrated fluid intake. I move momentarily from the table and return to help the two finish. Betty is seeing me again for the very first time. "Well, honey! How are you?" Blessed, Betty. Blessed. 

10 Requests from an Alzheimer's Patient

Please be patient with me.

I am the helpless victim of a brain disease.

Talk to me.

Even though I cannot always answer.

Be kind to me.

Each day of my life is a desperate struggle.

Consider my feelings.

They are still very much alive within me.

Treat me with dignity and respect.

As I would have gladly treated you.

Remember my past.

For I was once a healthy vibrant person.

Remember my present.

For I am still living.

Remember my future.

Though it may seem bleak to you.

Pray for me.

For I am a person who lingers in the mists of time and eternity.

Love me.

And the gifts of love you give will be a blessing forever.....

~Anonymous

In memory of my sweet cousin and my number one encouragement to continue to put into words the things in my life that can help others. I will miss you, Patsy (Patricia Keller Nelson) I will keep writing. 

Create a list of 3 things in your life that makes you happy

Create a list of 3 things in your life that makes you happy

My list comes to mind almost simultaneously: 

Freedom from fear

       

                Freedom from anxiety

                     Breathing, listening, living

Freedom of fear

Freedom from anxiety

Breathing, listening, living

For the longest time (most of my married life, actually) I blamed myself for the shortcomings in our marriage. I tried to fix the relationship but I couldn't, of course.  And, of course now I know my husband was most likely already experiencing antecedents of onset of Alzheimer's. It was the beginning of a lengthy battle of hopelessness and helplessness and fear: fear of raising my son alone, fear of starting over. At times it was paralyzing.

Our war with Alzheimer's began eighteen years ago when Bill was 40. My God has lifted me up and carried me above and continues to do so thanks to my deep desire to believe in my Higher Power (I have faith in Jesus) and, thank God, am drawn towards wellness and peace and focus on spirituality and faith. I am surrounded by my family who know only how to love. I am embraced by my beautiful friends, old, new, and renewed. Despite what my eyes can see, despite what my ears can hear, I have found peace in my life.

Many years ago when I was but seven years in my marriage, I asked the Lord to heal my marriage, to give me strength to overlook the hurt and pain, and the ability to live "until death do you part." I believe God has shown me that I am much stronger than I feared I was.  I have found peace in my life. Oh, I face sadness when I visit my husband today and see a whisper of the man I married. Ironically, his demeanor is so very close to the man I fell in love with that I find myself almost forgetting our past. Maybe forgetting is another answer to prayer? All I know is that I am learning to let go of fear, let go of anxiety, and open myself up to happiness. Anyone else want to join me?

Speaking to my soul

Parable of Immortality 

by Henry Van Dyke: 

I am standing upon the seashore. 
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. 
She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud 
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. 
Then someone at my side said "There she goes!" 
Gone where? 
Gone from my sight...that is all. 
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar 
as she was when she left my side 
and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. 
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. 
And just at the moment when someone at my side says "There she goes!" 
there are other eyes watching her coming..... 
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout.... 
"Here she comes!"

She sits alone on the porch swing  Christmas present her son made for her an his woodworking class just last year.  Looking back over the past year she questions whether any of her memories were her own or if they belonged to someone else.  It all seemed so unreal.



It was one of his proudest moments.