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One word sounds like
A few days ago, I forgot the word “lullaby”. I knew there was a word to describe what I wanted to say, but it wasn’t in my “RAM”. I was trying to describe the song I sang to our children when they were infants. The best I could come up with was “This is the song I used to sing to our babies.” Well, to be real, a lullaby is a song, but where was the word “lullaby” when I needed it?
Of course, forgetting a word shouldn’t be as big a deal as I feel it is. Forgetting a word isn’t a big deal, is it? It felt like it was a big deal, though. Part of the problem is, it wasn’t the first time I was at a loss for words, recently. To be sure, November and December were busy months. We had guests for weeks and huge family dinners and lunches and evenings of catching-up. I worried our guests wouldn’t enjoy themselves. I worried there wouldn’t be enough wine or beer or food. By the time we dropped the last of our guests at the airport on New Year’s Eve, I had made “worry” my new state of mind. And then I got to worry about the drive home from the airport in inclement weather.
But, to be perfectly honest, my greatest worry is if this “loss for words” was the first sign of something far more serious.
My point is, and I do have one, the symptoms of dementia may vary from person to person, but I can’t get it out of my mind. I had hoped “word forgetting” wasn’t a symptom, just a slip-up or a symptom of being a near constant state of worry for so long. Even so, I dug out my research notes from when my parents were alive and struggling with memory problems. On one of the saved pages I found the words, “At least two core mental functions must be significantly impaired to be considered dementia: memory; communication and language; ability to focus and pay attention; reasoning and judgment; visual perception. People with dementia may have problems with short-term memory, keeping track of personal items and preparing meals.”
Well, at least I hadn’t forgotten anything during the chaos of the holidays. I didn’t have too many lapses of judgement—unless you see overindulging in treats as a lapse in judgement. I did manage to misplace my wallet once, and the only problem I had with meal preparation was, well, the freaking number of meals that I prepared.
I began to feel sort of okay with my “loss of words” until I read the next part. “Many dementias are progressive. Symptoms start out slowly and gradually get worse.” Geez, maybe I should be worried about the slow and gradual progression of dementia? Maybe the loss of words wasn’t just a hitch in my communication and language brought on by the stress of entertaining?
On a serious note, my mom had suffered a head injury and the resulting brain injury caused a slow breakdown in her ability to communicate and perform everyday activities. Coupled with the isolation her brain injury brought, my mom also experienced massive changes in behaviour.
Reading the notes brought back a lot memories for me. But I hadn’t suffered a head trauma. My dad, on the other hand, held it all together until the day after Mom’s funeral. Then everyday tasks became difficult for him to complete. He was lost in a time warp, often referring to Mom as his girlfriend. Dad, too, had issues with words. Food became a problem. Anything in a jar, in the pantry, was “jam”. He became disoriented when he was in his workshop and struggled to find the right words to relay messages to me and my siblings. The soundreasoning and, generally, level-headed man often lost the thread of a conversation. On walks to the grocery store, he repeatedly asked where we were going. Sometimes it was difficult to be patient. Mostly it just made me, and my siblings, sad.
I have started to keep a diary of symptoms. I may find I’ll only ever have to write the word “lullaby” in it. Guess I should let LOML know where I keep my diary. No more secrets at our house.
A wealth of information regarding dementia and Alzheimer’s can be found at www.alzheimer.ca or by visiting the Alzheimer Society office at 90 King Street in Picton. Living with dementia or caring for a person with dementia can be traumatic, emotional and tiring. If you think you need help, ask for it. If you think you can help someone, volunteer or donate.
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