July 28, 2016
Those of you who know me know that I am a bit of a freak when it comes to water conservation. I have rain barrels cluttering up my back yard. I save my bathwater to flush. I lecture people on water conservation.
Last night I left the house on after watering the flower pots in the front yard. It ran all night. My husband found it this afternoon. I'm crying. It's not only for the waste of one of our most precious resources (can't drink oil) but because I forgot. Again.
It's not the first time, either, though it's the first time for this long. Once I found water overflowing from one sink to the other in the kitchen. I couldn't even imagine why I was running water in the sink in the first place.
I was driving across town and my GPS dinged to inform me that I was entering a school zone. I couldn't remember if school was in session. What season were we in? What month was this. Of course, I eventually figured out it was summer. It was about 98 degrees that day, after all.
James rarely lets me cook, and he says it's because he likes to cook, though we used to share that job. I have had to look in drawer after drawer in the kitchen to find the flatware. Luckily, there aren't that many drawers, but that's something that used to be automatic. Same goes for drinking glasses. More than a few times I've opened the wrong bottom cabinet door and tossed in garbage.
I think about James, what he's going through, what he's going to be going through if this keeps up. There is nothing fair about this. He didn't sign up for this. I think about my mother and how quickly she went from leaving the stove on to not remembering who I was. This is what scares me.
I have a small aneurism, which they say has nothing to do with this dementia. I would much rather have a big aneurism that would just burst as I was dancing or kissing or playing fetch with Margaret or holding my grand babies tightly. It would be so much more preferable to fading slowly away.
If I remember, I'll try to continue to post here as I go along. If the worst happens, Devin, or Patrick or JaGo (I've decided that's James' hip name) can publish it and perhaps it will help others understand how this feels.
Something that bothers me lately is my mood is a bit uncontrollably nasty. I get meaner as the day wears on. I want to think this is a normal reaction to having a bunch of yuckiness hanging over my head - you know - a normal reaction. I'm afraid it's sundowning.
It's embarrassing to admit to all these failings of my brain, though I don't think it should be. I mean if I had terminal toe cooties, I probably wouldn't be ashamed of it. This disease is not my fault. It's not.
On a lighter note, my hair is sort of grown back. I had a hair person trim it up yesterday, so though it doesn't look good, at least it looks like it's this way on purpose. The hair loss had nothing to do with anything except probably stress from watching my mother slide down hill and die.
This whole situation is peppered with irony. Not just dementia, but an aneurism that may be too small to kill me, but big enough to make me stupider. A bit of redundancy don't you think? My brain, my ability to think has always been my strong suit by a long shot. Did I get face cancer? pfffhththt. . . no, I get dementia. Take away my strength, eh? And now that my hair is growing back, what do you want to bet that surgeon (should he ever actually call me) wants to do a craniotomy and shave my head!
I'm feeling a bit sorry for my family and I'm pissed as hell, but mostly I am grateful.
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