I’m beyond wigged out. But I’m fine.
Here are the questions for the universe. (Unless you are Miss Universe, you probably don’t know the answers.)
This week, Jeff usually doesn’t know quite who I am. He knows my name is “Emily Gillespie,” if I ask him. (The “Clement” part has fallen into a roadside ditch somewhere.) He does not think I’m his wife, even though her name is “Emily Gillespie” too. If I point out that we are, therefore, the same person, he reacts with a bit of a start, as if that can’t be true. Today, we had lunch at Punk’s Backyard Grill where he asked me date-like questions such as whether I have brothers and sisters, and what do I like to do? He also regretted that he had no cash on him. When I said, “that’s fine, I can buy lunch,” he promised to reimburse me later. So I decided to go with the therapeutic approach as we drove home, and I asked him what his wife is like. He replied, in the faltering way of expressing himself which has become the norm, that “my wife is...my life.” Then he told me that she died.
There is a book entitled Learning to Speak Alzheimer’s which espouses the theory that the goal with AD people is not to correct their misconstrued notions of time and facts, but rather to go with their flow, and distract as necessary. In general, I agree with this approach. But what—as in our case—if someone wrongly has the notion that his wife and son have died?
The part about Gabe seemed an easy fix: “Oh no,” I said. “He’s fine. I just texted with him today.” Jeff was glad to hear this and expressed mild relief. But is it not a bit of a shocking confrontation to insist that you, the stranger, are in fact the missing wife? I tried a sideways approach later, and showed him pictures from our wedding. “Who is that?” I asked, pointing to 22 year old me. “Thats...Emily,” he said. “And that’s Jeff,” I said. “That’s you. That’s you, that’s me. We’re a lot older now.”
He did that slight back-jerk of the head as he looked at me, because this was a bit of an unexpected revelation. But he showed neither relief nor denial. Just sort of an “ok...let me think about this...” kind of look.
Not that it matters. It will all be gone tomorrow, and whoever I am, he seems to accept my presence and help.
4 comments:
Have you ever read anything about 'Capgras Syndrone' or Imposter Syndrome ?
Are you experiencing some mild variation of it ?
When my relative experienced it, it was quite distinct and a fearful experience for them.
Well, perhaps it would fall in that category, perhaps not. In cases of Alzheimer's, and especially PCA, an inability to recognize faces is normal and so are any variations on mixed up thinking that you might dream up. Ultimately I guess it doesn't matter if it's that or not.
I am with you!!
In my culture this is our highest expression of sympathy/empathy.
My heart is breaking over the developments of which you write. I also thought you might have much more time where Jeff grew more dependent, but still recognized significant others.
My father died in 2005, and my mother still spoke of him for at least 3 more years, always saying that he had just stepped out, or mistaking some other gray-haired man for dad.
Do you have a perfume that he would recognize? Songs that were special to the two of you? Where in his world does Emily Gillespie live? (Is she the girl down the street?)
I think it will be obvious to you when you will need to resort to some other type of care arrangement. One landmark might be if his future paranoia is in protection of you, or against you. If he begins seeing you as the enemy, you will probably not be able to do much with him.
I don't know where you are on the faith spectrum, but I will be praying for you.
Maybe I do have more time. Today the old me and the current me seem to be a unified one. Recognition may come and go for quite a while before being lost forever.
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