Failing the Mini-COG Test
The mini-COG test that the American president has bragged about acing is a screening test for referral to neurological testing. I told the nurse that if the president could pass it, it would be no problem for me.
Actually, it was.
She gave me three words at the beginning of the test, and then asked me to repeat them ten minutes later. I couldn’t.
I was getting the screen because I had told my doctor I was worried about my memory. I’ve known relatives and others, aging, who denied or tried to hide their memory loss. I had determined that wasn’t going to be me.
Memory loss has been my greatest fear. My father had Alzheimer’s, as did several aunts and uncles. I fear diminishment more than death. I have held onto a secret stash of pills, in case of this exact situation, but then the problem becomes “when.”
Julianne Moore in the movie Still Alice plays the devastating role of a woman who is a college professor with early-onset dementia. She faces the same dilemma.
I have two grandchildren, and being around for them — lucid and fun — is a priority. So, I am making plans.
This is the deal. When your worst fears come true, you still have to face them.
Now, I have not yet received a diagnosis. I may or may not get Alzheimer’s. I do know my executive function skills are fading.
Modern conveniences give us alternatives for maintaining connection. I have my smartphone, which is smarter than I am. I can put everything in the calendar and set reminders. I can develop routines, like checking my day first thing in the morning. I can rely on GPS, even when going to familiar places nearby. I have told friends and have asked them to be honest in their feedback to me, as I depend on them for warnings.
I need to organize everything in my home, with the attitude that a stranger in my body will be living here in the near future. I am checking out continuing care facilities to see if I should be on their waiting lists. The better ones are expensive and have five-year waiting lists. Even getting on the waiting list requires a substantial deposit.
I don’t want to make the mistake we made with my father, when we were always a step or two behind the level of care he needed. And I don’t know if I will qualify, financially, for continuing care. My preferred continuum of care place recommends having four times the down payment in reserve, which means having $1.3 million available for the lowest cost one-bedroom apartment. Eighty percent of the down payment is returned to the estate. Other places return a smaller percentage, if any.
My time has become focused. Writing is a way of documenting changes, challenging my brain, and sharing the journey. Another woman has confided in me her practical tips for managing early cognitive impairment. She is my mentor.
I need to think about my family and agree on milestones that will be signs I need paid help. My preschool grandchildren are learning to count and to read, and to gain independence. We are crossing trajectories. My son and daughter-in-law are in the no-time years.
I have been very independent and reliant on my brain’s agility for a long time. Now there are holes. I tell people my mind used to be a steel trap, and it has become a rusty sieve. Recently, I was filling out one of those never-ending forms on the internet, and I couldn’t remember my telephone number, the one I have had for many years. I had to look it up.
I have known about my cognitive diminishment, on some level, in the way we play hide-and-seek with ourselves. I resigned from two boards of directors, unable to make complex decisions. I saw some old friends and cousins this year, flying places to make “last rounds,” though I didn’t call it that. But I won’t fly alone again, I’ve had too many difficult days traveling. Traveling in airports is challenging for anyone now.
Finally, my doctor has said no alcohol. This abstinence is difficult, but I will follow the directions. I live in the Willamette Valley, known for its wine production, and Portland is known for its craft beer scene. I like amber beer. I went to a private wine tasting at a local vineyard. The wine tasting was attended by interesting people, who chatted about international politics as insiders.
I don’t drink a lot, a few times a week. No more.
No more wine tastings.
As my world gets smaller, I have to find alternatives for my interests. And I will.
I will also develop lists and schedules, and be conscious of what I have to do today, and minimize where I have to be.
I’ve enjoyed a large vocabulary, sometimes surprising myself by what words drop from the sky into my conversation or sentences. My vocabulary is growing simpler.
I looked up information on Diane Keaton and Ronald Reagan to learn more about their paths. Diane Keaton’s documented journey with memory loss is sparse. She wrote much more about her time with her mother as a companion. Her mother had fifteen years with Alzheimer’s. Ronald Reagan, who used to have the world stage, had his room and environs at the end.
Artificial intelligence, which I had looked at as the enemy, could become a friend. I might pay for enhanced Grammarly, for starters. Technology that helps one to age in place is advancing.
But, as Betty Rollins said about cancer, first, you cry.
Then, you set your priorities based on your values.
You plan for the unknown. You surrender control. You ask for help. You live in the moment.
Leave a Comment