As the ongoing parade of medical examinations unfold, I found myself at an appointment I didn’t expect this week. My oncologist, in my last appointment noticed there was mobility restriction in my right hand. He asked if I would be open to seeing an occupational therapist.  I said yes.  So, when the hospital called with a date to come in, I put on a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt assuming it would involve exercises of some kind.  And it did.  Just not for my hand.

The young therapist was wonderfully cheery, asking how I found the roads to the hospital that morning as she had found traffic heavy.  I agreed and we went into her office, continuing to chat about the weather.  She asked if I was open to her starting my assessment with a couple of questions.  I nodded.  Her first question was what day it is.  Thursday. What Province are we in.  I stared at her.  Alberta.  What is the year.  My mouth dropped.

I said, “oh my God, this is not about my hand, is it?  This is a cognitive test you are giving me.” She was surprised I didn’t know.  She explained how my doctors had referred me to her as I had expressed to both, I was feeling more brain fog than usual. She was a behavioural therapist who specializes in dementia caused by the effects of cancer. She admitted that she was testing me from the start; the question about traffic told her I could drive myself. “Are you ok with this?” she asked. “Bring it on”, I said.

My mother passed of Alzheimer’s. There is a 50% chance I could develop it because of her genetics. Of all the health issues I am battling, my memory was not on my radar.  Yes, my brain hurts and memory is shoddy but stress, grief, and the multi-tasking I do daily is a more probable answer than dementia.  At least I hope so.

At the end of the day, I passed with flying colors. She felt confident there was no memory issue with me and would send her report to my well-meaning doctors. She also suggested a program I could enroll in on tips to keep your memory sharp as you age. I signed up for that. 

My health is important, and I have agreed to many courses and tests as we explore the reason for my chronic pain and heart problems. The fact that my doctors are now signing me up to specialists and sending in prescriptions without my awareness is something I questioned. The answer is I don’t mind; I’d just like to be informed so that I can be prepared for the next step. I am grateful they are exploring every possibility.

I keep asking how the emotional state might trigger illness. What role does heartache play in the long-term wellbeing of a patient. You can’t quantify loss. Grief does not show up in a blood test. Doctors are trained to take care of the body. But how do you scan and mend the soul that is broken?

When I expressed this frustration to my nutritionist, she asked, “Have you ever taken a reprieve from your old normal to discover what a new normal needs to be for you?”  “No”, I replied.  She sighed, “Perhaps your continuing attempt to keep doing everything you did before your grief arrived has caused an emotional burnout”. And with that, I have a new appointment to be seen by a mental health specialist.