I grew up in the 50's and 60's. We had electricity, but no running water other than a hand-pump at the kitchen sink. We had an outhouse, and in winter a chamber pot. We took baths in a galvanized metal tub with the water heated on the propane stove and shared by everyone. Every Saturday night whether we thought we needed it or not.
I started working off the farm when I was thirteen - car hop, cleaning, waitress. Things that were acceptable for females at the time. The expectations were that we'd grow up to get married, have babies, and if you were ambitious, you could also be a secretary, a teacher, or a nurse. I chose teacher, then carried it to the extreme. I eventually earned two masters degrees and a PhD. My current home has three, yes, count them, three (indoor) bathrooms. The farm belongs to another family now, and the house in which I grew up was torn down a few years ago.
And I am slowly disappearing, too, and there doesn't seem to be much more I can do to battle it. So I want to get something written down about my life and times before it's all gone. Those experiences that seem to indicate someone blessed me with the ``May you live in interesting times'' curse.
More over the lovely orange croissant.
Sometime, around 2002 I think, I began to notice what I called ``fuzzy thinking,'' small problems with my memory, my ability to focus and think through problems, and to answer student questions. I began talking to my doctor about it, was referred to a neurologist, and eventually ended up on a CPAP machine, with sleep apnea being blamed for all my ills. Unfortunately, getting a better night's sleep didn't solve the problems, and they continued to worsen.
By 2006, during my first sabbatical in 30 years of teaching, I was diagnosed with fronto--temporal dementia. This is where most of the blank spots in my memory start. I did return to work after that year was up, and things had definitely gotten worse. I found myself standing in front of a class, recognizing that a question had been raised, but unable to even think about the question, let alone answer it. And then there was the first time a sentence came out of my mouth with the words jumbled up, and try as I might, I couldn't get them in the right order. So I told the students to sort it out for themselves. I mainly got a lot of blank looks for that one. I remember talking to a colleague about an exam the following evening, then noted I was going to travel to the next state over to see someone I was doing research with on Thursday, which happened to be the next day as well. My brain hadn't connected the two. The diagnosis changed to stress and depression. Then dementia was put back on the table.
As the years passed by, my situation became more dire. At the point where I could barely speak, the diagnosis became ``It's all in your head.'' Nothing that ten years of therapy wouldn't cure. The therapist, however, agreed with me that the actual cause of these problems had not been found. It wasn't until the Spring of 2010 that my GP wrote a couple of letters to my insurance, asking them to send me to Mayo Clinic, but they turned me down. So he decided to run several tests, one of which indicated my B12 was low and further testing showed pernicious anemia. Weekly B12 shots helped immensely. But cognitive function continued to slide.
In November 2011, I complained about a lump in my neck that was making it difficult to swallow. It turned out to be thyroid cancer. I had two surgeries and a stint in the hospital being radioactive. In spring of 2013 I was diagnosed with dementia, likely Alzheimer's. That summer I went to Cleveland Clinic and was told emphatically that I don't have dementia, but that I do have an arachnoid cyst deep in my brain (all I could think was I had spiders in my head). About that time, the sleep doctor kicked the CPAP up a couple of notches, and I saw some improvement.
These days, I try to ensure I have enough sleep and as little stress as possible. I lead a very quiet life. Fall semester went exceedingly well, but left me truly tired and grasping for words. Last week I made a special trip to town to get a couple of gift certificates at a restaurant because I knew they'd be closed this week. I had made plans a few weeks ago to meet a friend there this past Monday, but I didn't make the connection that it was the same place and that they'd be closed. And so it goes.
My latest tests came back stable for the cancer, a nice Christmas present. As the doctor actually wrote, ``that's a good thing.'' I am happy that whatever is wrong with me isn't painful, and that so far I'm able to continue teaching and living on my own. I try not to be afraid of this process, and if I'm really lucky, I'll forget it's happening. I am old, but I'm not wise. I do have stories to tell, so I hope to be back with them. Sooner rather than later.