Becoming lost in time

As Phil could testify, often one requires provocation to tease out thoughts and feelings on a matter. Today I was provoked by something.

My grandmother (whoI refer to as Nan) has gone into hospital with breathing difficulties. She is looking better than she did 24 hours ago so I'm not despairing. However, while visiting her, I was overcome with several different feelings. My initial feeling was that of my usual feeling for hospitals; a feeling of warmth and appreciation for the ingenuity and excellence of the hospital. But there was something quite painful that was caused to resurface while I was in there.

Many of the occupants in the ward were elderly (it would seem that they were all being kept together). Across from my Nan was a lady whom, having had her possessions put in a locker, had led herself to believe that she has misplaced them in various locations around the room. Down the end of the ward was a woman constantly squeaking for help. "Help! Please!" she would exclaim over and over. And there was a woman who didn't even belong in the ward, but with her mind elsewhere, she wandered aimlessly, perhaps guided by the loneliness of the hospital ward.

These were sad sights and they inspired great pain in what I can only imagine is one's heart. And it got me thinking about something that has been bugging me for a few weeks.

Recently there has been a report on an expected increase in the number of cases of dementia for the next generation. By 2050, there will be a million more people in the UK alone with dementia, predominantly by alzheimers. I had said to my sister that I wish never to be left to lose my mind, for to lose my mind is to have myself rubbed from the canvas of reality. I considered briefly that losing one's mind is comparable to nurturing one's mind in that we change as a person, but quickly dismissed this, as the loss of one's mind is the loss of one's identity, rather than the refinement of one's identity.

This was one thing that crossed my mind, that I would not wish to slip into nothingness, while leaving behind an empty shell of a body. But this was not my only problem.

The BBC had shown one of their "distressing" clips on dementia, and for once the word "distressing" genuinely applied; I was very nearly moved to tears. A man, whose name I forget, described the progression of his wife's dementia. He said that he began to get this aching feeling in his heart, and he soon realised that this aching was loneliness. His wife, who for so long had been the missing piece of the jigsaw that made him complete, was slowly being cut with a pair of scissors so that that piece did not fit anymore. Eventually dementia had totally disfigured her mind, leaving a confused being, unable to speak clearly, blind and disabled. He mentioned how she lapsed into and out of making sense as the dementia progressed. On one occasion, she said "We've had fun together haven't we?" and he supposedly broke down and cried.

Now this lead me to consider the more painful side of what I witnessed in that hospital ward. For me, the prospect of losing my mind is terrible so far as I would only know my suffering before it happened. Once my mind begins to go, I'd lose the ability to recognise that. But the more painful side is that there are people who will have to witness you lose your mind, with all the awareness that you once possessed. They would see your charms, your talents and your spirit dying in front of them, like a wilting flower. The person they loved would slowly become a memory, and yet they'd still be there, or at least, their body would make them appear to be there.

Perhaps if I were to ignore my emotions, I would accept the loss of one's mind by dementia as another unfortunate ailment that happens all the time. This school of thought extends to believing all of medicine to be a pointless attempt to delay the inevitable (and not just delaying death of a single lifetime. I refer to the greater life of humanity as a whole).

Fortunately or unfortunately, I have my emotions and seeing those ladies, still semi-aware, but so clearly not the beautiful roses they once were, inspired pain. There was no positive way to look at the deconstruction of a person's mind.