The Mayo Clinic is becoming my new holiday spa. It’s where I spent New Year’s Eve and while I probably won’t really be in the hospital on the 4th of July I’ll be in Rochester between appointments.
I’m heading to the clinic today on what feels like an adventure to start a new life. I don’t know yet. Today just begins another round of tests. I’ll be doing a PET scan today. I think it’s my first one. If I understand correctly, they inject sugar into my brain for the imaging. I don’t quite remember why, but as a lifetime sugar junkie the thought of mainlining the stuff is intriguing.
I am standing on a precipice it seems. These tests could tell us that I am a candidate for surgery or maybe an implant, something to correct my seizures, maybe just to lower the frequency and intensity or maybe to render me seizure free or they could tell me there isn’t much to do at this point other than maybe try more medications and hope. I could fly or I could tumble and be left to just keep pushing my way through the brush far below.
It’s a weird time to be standing on this precipice and hoping for the best in new life. Next week, the day that I start my visit to the epilepsy monitoring unit, will be the thirty-sixth anniversary of my mom’s death. How weird to spend that day laying in a hospital bed all hooked up with wires. But, it made sense to me to take the opportunity, celebrate her life by reclaiming my own. I’m taking my crocheting with me so I might spend some of the day with her crochet hook working on a new project and remembering all those wonderful nights sitting on the couch cuddled up beside her reading or maybe working on my own little project as she worked.
Then there’s Dad. He doesn’t know that I’m going back to Mayo. As a matter of fact he doesn’t know much anymore. Dementia has taken him away. Because of COVID-19 no one has been able to visit him, though we’re starting to be able to make video calls. My sister Jean made the first call last week. His care staff say he’s doing well and is a really sweet man. They’ve got him caring for a baby doll and he’s still wanting to get to work on the farm. You know, there’s something in that, something beautiful. He started out his life working alongside his father on their farm. It was always his dream to follow in his father’s footsteps. He never had the dairy farm, but most of his life he farmed. As a little boy, he helped his dad. When he got a little older, after his father passed away, he hired out to work for local farmers. After he married he worked with his father-in-law and eventually on his own. Along the way, he helped my brother get started farming. He kept farming for years. Now, he’s still following that dream in his heart. That, to me, seems to be true love.
I’ll be getting some memory tests while I’m at Mayo. My seizures and my medications both can impact memory. It’s strange to watch my dad from afar and think about what’s happening in my own brain. I suppose maybe my best hope is that if I do travel the same path of dementia that Dad has that I’ll have a nice baby doll and I will have found my dream to pacify my days. Still, I hope never to go that route. A long time ago, I decided I wanted to live to be 106. I don’t why. It just seemed a nice age and like it would give me enough time to do all that I wanted and be ready for the next adventure. It still makes sense to me. I still want 106 with good health and then just to be done. If I can’t do that then I hope I at least have fun.
Well, it feels like time to actually get up and maybe start preparing for the adventures of today. Take good care all!