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From Catherine Montgomery
Finding Companionship in a Silent World
The hours when there is no communication between my husband and me make me wonder if this is what it is like to live with a deaf person. Robb, however, is not deaf. He has FTD--Frontotemporal Degeneration--a dementia that that has taken away his ability to converse. I call it living in a vacuum. As the dementia has progressed, one by one, the many and varied interests of his have dropped out of his memory. The creative gifts have also disappeared. First the gift of surgical talent was stilled, and then it was his ability to design and create stained glass pieces. All memory of that artistic era has disappeared. He used to be full of ideas and had opinions about many subjects. Now I guide him through the day with a simple routine of sleeping, waking, eating and dispensing medicines. We do watch TV, and he chooses music to play on a small DVD/CD player. The one outdoor activity, which marks each day, is feeding the birds. He no longer can tell me the names of the birds or identify the calls as he used to do. There is one thing he can do well and that is to beat me at Gin. We slowly play several hands after dinner, and he continually outplays me.
Recently Robb was asked, "How did you decide to become a podiatrist?" Unable to recall his decision, he looked to me to answer the question. Listening to me as I related the events, which led to a discussion of his life's work, it was as if he were hearing it for the first time...like it was a story about someone else.
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Catherine Montgomery |
As I do not see the situation improving in Robb's condition, I must make a friend of the silence. There have been times as a young mother, raising six children, when I would have welcomed some quiet. Little did I know how a day without sociable conversation would make me work to keep engaged with the world around me...trying to interpret what Robb struggles to say takes all my concentration and sometimes we just give up.
I am really glad that there are activities that I can do to fill the hours of quiet. It has allowed me to take a renewed interest in planning and preparing meals, to write to family and friends, and to begin painting once more. We have family and friends who come to visit, and even though Robb does not contribute to the conversation, he is a part of the group.
As our children come to visit us, Robb no longer struggles to keep back tears when they leave. The first time this happened I asked him, "You don't think you will see them again, do you?" He nodded yes. Then we both cried. Tears are really helpful, and we do not hold them back. One of the precious moments we share now is tears. I would never have expected this to have the meaning it does.
I share these various ways I can help my beloved husband with the hope that I may help someone else who will walk along the same path.
--an exerpt from Memory is a Fragile Thing - Reflections of my life experiences from childhood to the present. ©
If you have Words of enCOURAGEment that you would like to share in upcoming issues of The Gateway, please email them to amaher@theaftd.org with "words of encouragement" in the subject line. |