Monday, February 4, 2008

This afternoon we had our first appointment with the Kaiser in Redwood City. Today's the consult, and tomorrow will be the biopsy. This facility is apparently renowned for its neurological department. At this point, I find the concept that Kaiser can be renowned for anything a little hard to believe, but, as I mentioned before, I'm being positive positive positive and helpful helpful helpful. I ran some errands for my dad this morning, made them breakfast and lunch, and made sure Betty was comfortable on the long drive over.

We all know her brain is not working in normal ways, but I've really taken up interest in exactly how these lesions in her brain are affecting her. One thing I've noticed is that one can basically measure how nervous she is based on how much she is fidgeting. As we drove to the hospital, she began to zip and unzip her purse over and over. When we were in the waiting room, she really went at it - zip unzip zip unzip - nonstop. She even tried to continue when I grabbed her hand, which usually functions for her as a recognizable signal for "you can stop now." But luckily, my dad and I continued our "good attitude" approach throughout the entire day, and it really calmed her down. We were able to be cynical and joke about Kaiser's little methods of comforting its patients, and I think Betty might even have cracked a smile once or twice.

My personal favorite part of the day was when one anesthesiologist requested that Betty show him her teeth and simultaneously "open up her mouth as wide as she could," which resulted in the biggest smile / open mouth I've ever seen this woman formulate in her life. The doctor said "Okay, that will be fine," as he was really only checking her teeth for a split second. But she didn't really understand that she could stop, so she just kinda sat there with this huge horse smile for about 20 minutes. It looked ridiculous. Both my dad and I were nudging her, telling her, "Okay, Betty, you can stop smiling now," but she continued the face. We were cracking up. It was almost like she hadn't realized in three days that she could smile. That exact look stayed glued upon her face for the next hour or so. My dad even gently tried to physically wipe the smile from her face, but she forcefully kept it there.

She asked that we stop by Whole Foods on the way home (keep in mind, any time she says anything apart from 'yes' or 'no,' it's a huge event that requires a huge amount of attention), and so even though we have food at home, of course my dad couldn't say no. This was also significant because it means Betty is willing to be seen in public. We both held her hand and assisted her around the store. She only tried to open a couple unpurchased bottles, and she lost her balance a little bit, but otherwise she was okay. I even saw an old friend of mine, and after I saw him she whispered his name to me. I was amazed she could remember.

I'm going to try to maintain this positive mentality from here on out, and make sure my Dad does the same. There's really no point to speculating about what might happen. We just have to live up every last day we have together. Clearly, she appreciates it.

I only wish every family could discover that sooner.