Less than a month ago -- December 14 to be exact -- I sat in a doctor's office. I was hot. My heart was racing. I wanted it over with, but at the same time I didn't want to know.
There were too many people (mom, dad, my brother, my sister-in-law, me) and it was a regular examination room. My brother and his wife were sitting on the examining table. The context seemed all wrong. It was definitely the wrong place to hear those words -- the judgement that would be passed on mom.
Shouldn't words like these be delivered someplace somber, like a doctor's office with a tissue box on the desk and enough room for all of us to sit comfortably?
Those words...
We'd been half-hoping we wouldn't hear them. We had, in all honesty, found ourselves hoping the doctor would utter "cancer" or "stroke". Crazy, I know. Who would wish such devastation on their own mother?
But we did. Because we did not want to hear those words...
"In my professional opinion, she has Alzheimer's."
There it is. Black and white. The path of our lives forever changed. Seven words were all it took.
The doctor is professional, helpful, willing to stay an hour to answer all of our questions. I can hardly think straight owing to the blood pounding in my ears.
Alzheimer's.
I try to force myself away from the negative thoughts -- "death sentence", "incurable", "no effective treatment". I try to focus on the fact that she is there with me, living and breathing and still showing significant parts of the mother I know.
My heart screams "UNFAIR" and "WHY?!", even as my logical side knows there is no answer... that there will probably never be any answers.
The doctor is followed by a psychologist. We weren't expecting that -- to have to immediately describe our reactions.... our broken hearts, our broken dreams. The body responds in a physical way to such news -- tears, pale faces, nausea. My dad makes it clear he is already reeling under the strain of being her main caregiver. We try to focus on how best to help him. We try to find a path forward.
Mom says she never expected to die before my dad.
She repeats that thought in the car. I take her shoulder and tell her, "Mom, you are not dying today. Not for many years. Think about living. Please try to think about living."
They say the only way forward is to take it step by step, day by day. How do we do that when we know where this particular path leads? How?
