Alzheimer's Misdiagnosis
Seven years ago, I was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It completely disrupted my life. For fear of what it would do to my children, I fled Arizona so that they would not have to deal with the terrible side effects of the disease. I moved with my husband to Texas. I had left my home, my family, and my friends behind.
My doctor in Arizona had told me that people would insist that I didn't have Alzheimer's as my speech was as yet unaffected and that it would take at least six years before anyone would even notice. I believed him. My days were filled with fear. Each time I forgot a name, put something in the wrong place, or couldn't remember seeing a movie, I panicked. Was it getting worse?
My endocrinologist insisted that I didn't have Alzheimer's. I got angry because I was told that I did by a professional in that area. However, after almost seven years, I began to wonder myself, and after an MRI showed no sign of a previous stroke that might have indicated something other than Alzheimer's, I decided to go to a new neuropsychologist.
After hours of testing, I returned yesterday for him to say:
YOU DO NOT HAVE ALZHEIMER'S. YOU NEVER DID!
What does one do with that? I was happy, yet very angry all at the same time.
So, what does a blog about Alzheimer's do now? Quietly go away as nobody wants to hear about the trials and tribulations of simply getting old and forgetful? We all know about that.
So, for those of you who have joined me on this journey, I bid you farewell. I now have to rebuild something that was severely damaged by a misdiagnosis.
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