Honest Communication

Attempting to Communicate

We go to doctors’ appointments together. I am my husband’s memory when questions are asked. This has been a gradual thing, starting after Bill’s 24-day hospital stay for Legionnaire’s disease the summer of 2010, two years after his retirement from the pastorate. His neurologist had diagnosed the memory loss due to hardening of the arteries. But I am convinced that the Legionnaire’s disease was also a contributing factor. Being intubated meant Bill received a sedative that may have been too much for too long. His lungs are fine now, but deprivation of oxygen affects every cell in one’s body: brain, eyes, muscles, everything. So he is dealing with both short-term and long-term memory loss.

A few years ago while sitting in the waiting room to see our family doctor for a routine visit, I spied a Q & A sign board on a table. The question: ‟What is needed for caregiving?” Post-it notes offered answers from patients. I wrote out my response, ‟Good Communication,” and put it on the board. For communication to be good, it must be frequent and honest. Throughout this process we have had frequent talks together. When Bill used to talk more, I could vouch that his communication was honest. I’ve often said that Bill’s middle name is ‟integrity.” He has openly faced the reality of his situation. He has admitted he has a problem and doesn’t hide it from anyone.

Over time Bill would tell anyone––family, friend, doctor––when he didn’t know something or had trouble remembering. Short-term memory was the first to be affected: forgetting where an item was stored in the kitchen or bathroom, such as a funnel or Q-tips. Of course, the biggest memory block has been with names of people, events, and things. I pointed this out once to our granddaughter after Bill had delivered a sermon and couldn’t think of the ‟Haystack Revival.” She offered this compliment: ‟Grandpa has such a good vocabulary, he comes up with another word, description, or definition.” He had called it a revival associated with a pile of straw.

Long-term memory loss has also developed over time. I first discovered this when Bill answered a medical history form with numerous questions about past ailments. He asked me to go over the form with him to make sure he answered correctly. Surprised that he had answered ‟no” to the question about depression, I had him backtrack by describing what had happened and the effects. At the time he could make associations, ‟Oh yes, I remember now.” At that stage he only needed prompts to help jog his memory. That would not help him now.

Bill also has skewed memory. When telling the reason why he returned to pastoring: ‟It was because I got tired of teaching and wanted to preach again.” That’s not the whole story. He had actually been released from his teaching position at a college due to his bout with depression. The first time the skewed story happened, I corrected him. Confusion ensued. From then on, I let it go. If that’s how he wants to remember what happened, why not?

How does this affect me? Mainly I have to be careful about my tone of voice when I answer his oft-repeated questions, for he doesn’t always recall that he’s asked me once or twice or more often. Perhaps I patronize him. My biggest problem is that I have unreasonable expectations. I would like this to be different, for life to go back as it was, but we tread on, and with hope.

Our hope is not in the medications or doctors’ analysis, but hope that tomorrow will include something sweet and good, some new avenue of sensing God’s goodness. Our hope is not in a remedy down the road but in the Lord.