by Doug Allen
David Hilfiker, diagnosed with a “progressive cognitive impairment” which is “almost certainly Alzheimer’s” in September 2012, is blogging the deterioration of his capacities:
Friday I decided to walk the family dog and join my grandchildren at the nearby park. The dog sometimes slips out of her collar and needs a simple harness to keep her on-leash. But after at least ten minutes of confusion, trying unsuccessfully to figure out how to put the harness on, I had to settle for the collar, stuff the harness in my pocket and, after I’d reached the park, ask my 8-year-old granddaughter Madeline to put the harness on.
But Hilfiker says he doesn’t feel any shame about his confusion:
I’ve been through this [kind of helplessness] before: I suffered from a severe depression for decades before I realized the cause was an organic brain disease. During that period, I was ashamed of my inability to enjoy life; I considered a character defect that I should have been able to overcome. After I understood that the cause of my depression was an unavoidable chemical imbalance in my brain, however, the shame disappeared. I was still helpless, but I didn’t have to “try harder” to get over it.
It’s the same thing now. I’m not embarrassed when I can’t remember ever meeting a person with whom I had a long conversation recently. I’m not frustrated when I can’t fix a simple problem with my file drawers. My helplessness is unavoidable. I am not going to get better no matter what I do; my capacities will decline further. This is not my fault.
So I don’t fight my inabilities. I can accept this part of myself as real. The sadness continues but not so much the pain of helplessness.
The Dish 