At the moment, Kate and I are sitting in a booth at Panera in Lubbock. We just came from I Fly where Kevin, Rachel, and their three children and I flew in their simulated sky diving experience. It was fun to do. Kate did not participate. She watched from outside the glass-enclosure where we “flew.” She went with us to the required training session before hand. She told the instructor that she had done it before. Of course, she hadn’t. It is just one of the many things she can get confused about.
Before our flights, we had gone to lunch where Kate had a turkey sandwich and a cookie. After we finished at I Fly, she said she was hungry; so I thought this would be a good place to pass some time.
We are meeting Kevin at his house at 4:30. From there we are going to the grandchildren’s swim meet. Last year about this same time, we attended a similar meet.
This trip has caused me to reflect a little more about Kate and her ability to travel. A year ago, I wasn’t sure that we would be able to come back to Lubbock at all. Neither did I believe we would make it back to Chautauqua. We are leaving for there in four weeks. I also have tentative arrangements for us to visit Fort Worth for homecoming in October. I am confident about our making the Chautauqua trip but less confident about the homecoming trip.
I think this trip has been hard on Kate. As I have noted a number of times before, I can’t imagine how she must feel not remembering so many people and not being able to remember any of the short-term things that are happening all around her. She was very tired last night when we finally got home from dinner around 9:30. She slept well and got up around 8:00. After breakfast, we went back to our room where she immediately got into bed. She remained there until 11:00. She seemed pretty tired since then although I don’t see any signs of that right now. She is working contentedly on her iPad.
While I have been checking email and responding, she has had several frustrating moments when she has hit a key that takes here out of her puzzle. One of those is the “Home” key that takes her to Siri. The other is a button that gives her the option to buy more puzzles. These are not new occurrences. They happen occasionally all the time. I just fear that they are a signal that she is on the way to losing her ability to do one of the things that occupies her the most. It is the iPad and her yard from which she derives the greatest pleasure. I hate to see her lose these two with nothing left to replace them.
It would not be surprising then that I am feeling a sense of sadness and a bit of anxiety about the future. For the first time, I am really facing Alzheimer’s in the way that people imagine. It is not coming as a surprise. It is just that the reality is more dramatic than the knowledge that it will be here one day.