Doctors don’t want to diagnose a
forgetful forty-nine year old with early onset dementia. First, they look for
tumors, vitamin deficiencies, stroke damage, or something as simple as
prescription drug interactions.
After numerous tests eliminated
other conditions, a doctor finally diagnosed Jim with dementia of the
Alzheimer’s type. Jim was emphatic that he didn’t have “that.” The doctor that gave Jim the bad news was named Worth, and
Jim immediately dubbed him “Dr. Worthless.”
I wasn’t as sure as Jim was that
the doctor was wrong. After I contacted the Alzheimer’s Association, I had
attended a few support group sessions. When my contact at the Association told
me about the Memory Walk, as it was called at that time, I signed up for it and
raised $600.
I didn’t mention it to Jim since he
was so adamant that all that was wrong with him was a stroke he had “five years
ago.” As the years passed, it was always “five years ago.”
One day he was looking at the newspaper
and saw an article about an upcoming Memory Walk in Sedalia. “I have trouble
with my memory,” he said, “and I’d like to go to this walk.”
Well. The Big Bad Wolf wouldn’t
have had to huff and puff very hard at all to knock me over.
We showed up at Liberty Park on a
warm September day in 1998. We quickly discovered that we were the only two
people from Sedalia. Still, we walked, and Jim’s Team has walked in every Sedalia
Walk since that day.
With this year’s Sedalia Walk
coming up in less than two weeks, my thoughts turned to our team name this
morning. Jim’s Team—what a natural choice.
Jim’s Team turned out to be so much
more than a Walk team. Jim’s Team was really all the people it took to help
him, and me, through the dark days of dementia. Jim’s Team was made up of
family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, and occasionally total strangers who
stepped up to offer a helping hand when it was needed.
Included on Jim’s Team were
physicians, nurses and nurses aids, housekeeping, social workers, and,
eventually, hospice. Every step of the way, we needed the support and guidance
provided by the Alzheimer’s Association.
We needed the prayer team who never
forgot us, and the love team who never gave up on either of us. You can never
underestimate the “doer” team, the ones that didn’t just offer, “if you need
anything,” but instead came up with, “I’ll mow your grass,” or “here’s a
cobbler I baked.” What would we ever have done without the companion team—“I’ll
drive you to Kansas City for your doctor’s visit,” and “here, I’ll help you get
Jim loaded into the car.”
Everyone that stood by us and
helped us was a part of Jim’s Team. The core team was immediate family: Jim’s
mom and my two sons. They were the ones that helped me make the tough
decisions: making it through day-to-day, home care, the nursing home decision, and
heartbreaking health care decisions. They had my back at all times.
Jim’s Team held us in their embrace
and listened to my rants, dried my tears, and made me laugh when I thought that
was impossible. Jim’s Team made all the difference in his and my quality of
life.
Jim passed away April 18, 2005, but
Jim’s Team continues to walk in his honor and in honor of others lost to
dementia. Over the years, Jim’s Team has raised around $50,000.
In less than two weeks, we walk
again. In my heart, I’ll remember Jim’s joy during that first Walk. I’ll think
about the good times, bury the heartache, and hope that someday soon researchers will find a cure making
Alzheimer’s a distant memory.
To join, or donate, to Jim’s
Team, click here or on the Walk to End Alzheimer's logo.
Copyright © August 2016 by L.S.
Fisher
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