"Life
From the Inside Out: Living With Alzheimer's Disease" -- Speeches
from the 11th annual Lyons Lecture, 23rd National Alzheimer
Society Conference, Halifax, NS, April 5-7, 2001
Speech
by Cynthia Williams (page 1)
Good
morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Cynthia. I'm
59 years old. I'm married to a great guy and have three
awesome children -- one son who is 37 years old, two
daughters, 34 and 32 years old.
I
have been a registered nurse for 36 years. My Mom passed
away in 1999 at the age of 83 years. She had Alzheimer's
Disease for 10 years and eventually died from pneumonia.
During
the early part of 1998, my close relatives and friends
stopped joking about the fact that we are all so forgetful
at times and that was because they had observed that
I appeared to be forgetting more than usual.
I
was told it was very unlike me to forget to return answers
to important messages and I was also failing to show
up for appointments and that I kept saying that certain
topics of conversations were never discussed with me.
Some of the conversations, when repeated to me, were
vague. Others I do not remember to this very day.
The
next question was: Do I have Alzheimer's Disease? My
Mom has it. I thought, "I am the nurse. I am the
caregiver. I'm not supposed to be the patient."
So
after many more sleepless nights, and many more tears
and much deliberation, I called my son in Prince George,
where he has his medical practice and told him that I
thought I had Alzheimer's Disease. And he promptly told
me, "Mom. Typical nurse. Always diagnosing yourself," and
advised me to go to my doctor for a referral to a neurologist.
I
saw two neurologists, had an MRI brain scan and in May
of '99 I received the confirmed diagnosis of vascular
dementia. Well, those terms appeared new to me. Or was
it because it applied to me? The diagnosis appeared to
go right over my head. I said, "No. This is about
someone else." Again, I cried myself to sleep for
many nights.
Then
I thought the doctors had made a mistake -- they had
mixed up my chart with someone else's. But then, "What
about my job? I love my work. How can I work and remember
to give my patients their medications? The high level
of stress, the pace in the cardiac unit -- how will I
keep up? No, this has to be wrong." No, it was not
happening to me.
So
I finally asked for a copy of my test results. I checked
the letterhead to see if the name at the top was mine
and checked the diagnosis at the bottom of the page.
I did that for several days. Checking and rechecking.
Putting it back in the drawer, taking it out. Checking
and rechecking, hoping to find a mistake that I have
missed -- that I may have missed the last time I checked
-- but found none. And I finally had to say, "Yes,
this is me."
Speech continued...
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