A Story of Challenge

By Aileen Hay

Pre-senile Alzheimer’s is not the next stage of life I would have chosen as I approach 60. The disease is still, after 2 and a half years a challenge both emotionally and mentally but one necessary to talk about, in helping both others and myself.

After the many arduous weeks of assessments and the shock of the diagnosis I now visit my consultant every 3 to 4 weeks. He is an “ok” kind of guy although I tell him what I feel and think and put him put him in his place, especially when he says, “you know, you have a horrible disease…” that’s a dose of medicine I spat back at him!

Talking about medication, the good news is we have finally found a tablet with no side effects, which he is very slowly increasing. Despite this, myself and others notice the Alzheimer’s worsening. You see there is this dark side when nothing easily flows through my mind, like the dragging of thoughts. A blank blackness floods me and I have to fight even harder to gain what the mind wants me to think or remember or needs me to think or remember, such as putting sentences together. Tiredness can pour over me as a swelling tide. Stressfulness has increased in my daily life making me emotionally exposed and helpless. I am more weepy inside and out. I laugh less.

Although I do not dwell on the condition, I dislike what is happening more than ever. My dad wants me to be who I was, strong and reliable. My son is ‘gobsmacked’ and shocked how much it has and will continue to alter my life. My daughter is supportive yet says little. I asked two close friends to watch my first story “a story of change” my first account of Alzheimer’s. It was not such a good idea as both critically analysed the content and structure rather than discussing their thoughts and feelings. This produced hurt and ignorance.

So, how do I ensure I live as well as I can? The simple answer is that of a daily battle, often not living what I recommend and hiding the truth of how I cope and feel. My best weapon is the Grange Centre, Throckley. My sanctuary, the day the world of stress, problems, horrible unkindnesses evaporate and vanish as frost on a sun filled morning, to be replaced with fun, harmony and stability. I’ve learnt to compose stories, such as these, encouraged to write other types of short stories, created beautiful pottery and most of all made very special, trusted friends. I read short stories, try crosswords, potter with flowers and plants.

Looking forward to something eases the conflict such as holidaying this year on the Isle of Harris, where I once lived, now that’s sheer exhilaration encaptured into exquisite, ecstatic thoughts.

I worship at a church in the city centre and had to cease some responsibilities, making me unhappy, but what I discovered was I could still do some pastoral duties without them being a trying pressure. I realised adaption was the coping weapon needed.

Where will I be in the years ahead? Ahh now that’s an interesting one. Living in sheltered housing, which some have already mentioned, is foreboding. Needing and desiring a quality of life with less stress, more stability, and peacefulness sounds blissful. Who knows the answer, but I do believe “For there is good news yet to hear, and fine things to be seen…” G.K Chestern – The Rolling English Road.