In this inaugural post, I share how our journey began, the initial signs of dementia, and our family's reaction to the diagnosis. It was a daunting start, but we navigated it together.My mom's story is one that many of you might find familiar. She was a vibrant woman who, as she approached her 68th birthday, began exhibiting signs of something amiss. Her social withdrawal, erratic medication intake, and a fainting episode that led her to a short hospital stay were all red flags.
It wasn't until 2019 that a diagnosis was finally confirmed - vascular dementia. A young, dismissive doctor delivered the news, but our suspicions had been growing for years. The truth was that my mom had been prescribed what I've come to call "the dementia cocktail" in 2012, when she was just 61. It consisted of Aricept and Memantine, but her decline was slow, masking it from family and friends. By 2019, she had reached a point where she couldn't care for herself, yet medical professionals seemed hesitant to make the diagnosis, leaving me feeling isolated in my role as her advocate.
However, our journey took an unexpected turn on my 40th birthday. That day, my mom replaced the battery in her beloved Lexus and embarked on a 36-hour odyssey across the Bay Area, signifying her fading independence. She drove across the Bay Bridge twice and even crossed the Golden Gate Bridge once. She was found disoriented and alone, wandering along the road in Daly City at 3 am, having left her car in front of someone's house, a silent testament to her deteriorating condition.
My 40th birthday celebration was anything but joyful; it marked the beginning of a deeply personal battle to protect and care for the woman who had once cared for me. My mom's story is a vivid reminder of the complex and urgent challenge that dementia presents. It's a disease that not only affects individuals but also places tremendous emotional and physical strain on their caregivers.
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