I maintain a very active email correspondence with two college friends from TCU, Tom Robinson and Bruce Morton. Tom responded to one of yesterday’s blog posts that dealt with Kate’s recent changes. I am copying his message along with my reply as I believe it sheds a little more light on our present situation.
Email from Tom Robinson
Richard, I just read your blog, and the “Light Is Dimming” is, for me, the saddest one yet. I’m thinking it is for you, too. As you say about yourself, I’ll say, too: I did not realize that Kate would, being this far along, be saddened by her inability to remember. This is the first time I recall your writing about this, so it must be that it is the first time. Of course, maybe she was crying about something else. I don’t know. But I took it as you seemed to – that she was realizing she has a disease and that the loss of memory is not going to stop. It does no good for me to say so, but my heart so truly goes out to you and Kate. I was glad to see the later post where things were somewhat better. What would we do without music!!!
Tom
My Reply
Thank you, Tom. You are reading the situation correctly. The convergence of so many new symptoms as well as the increasing frequency of the old ones tells me Kate is declining more rapidly now. We may still have plateaus, but she is clearly reaching a new low. As I have conveyed and you understood, I had thought because she seemed to have gotten along so well up to this point that she would just drift away without realizing that she has a problem. That has been particularly true since she has been asking me about my name and her own name. She has done so without displaying any sign of being disturbed by it. Regardless of whether she sees her symptoms as a sign of Alzheimer’s or not, I can now see that she is indeed aware of her loss of memory and it disturbs her.
As I remind myself, let me remind you that we are on borrowed time. Because it has been 12 years since we saw the first signs of her Alzheimer’s, we could have faced the current situation several years ago. That doesn’t end the pain; it only helps me to put it in perspective. I remain satisfied that we have taken full advantage of the time we have had. I even believe that the way we have approached her diagnosis may have helped us get along for a longer period of time than would have otherwise been the case.
This is not the end of our good times, but I expect to see more signs of change. It’s not going to stop. That is the nature of this disease. About 30 minutes ago, we arrived home after dinner. She left the kitchen for the back of the house. She came back to the kitchen rather quickly and pointed to the door to the dining room. I asked what she wanted to do. She said, “I don’t know.” I asked, “Do you want to brush your teeth?” It turned out she was asking if that (through the door to the dining room) was where she should go to brush her teeth. I walked her to the bathroom. On a couple of other occasions, she has been disoriented upon arriving at home, but that has been after dark. This time it was still daylight. It is difficult to watch this deterioration of someone you love who had been a fully-functioning adult with two master’s degrees.
