Excerpt - Awakenings in Real Life
Chapter 1
Awakening from Dementia
My father was and is my hero. My dad grew up with three older brothers, so he became the protective “older brother” for each of his friends. He was never afraid to take on the local bully. In fact, he was an undefeated boxer in the army, going 26–0.
My father’s toughness and drive served him well in life. He turned his street smarts into a successful business and marketing career. He was also a generous man who treated others with respect and kindness. No matter what his lot in life, he showed his appreciation to those kind to him, for example, Dad was always a generous tipper.
My dad was perhaps the most protective of, and most loving toward, his wife and three children. His messages to us growing up—seemingly contradictory but ultimately reasonable—were these: You can do anything you put your mind to, and as long as you do your best, that’s okay.
After the pneumonia seemed to steal the last of my father’s humanity, he got it again, along with bad hypertension. The hospital had to treat him with a high dose of steroids and antibiotics, because they were afraid the second pneumonia could be the end. During this hospital stay, it seemed as if a switch was flipped, and my dad began to AWAKE.
My brother Ken is an internist/cardiologist. One of his partners was Dad’s doctor. Ken had admitting privileges at the hospital, so he was present often when Dad was hospitalized. As a result, he spent the most time with Dad.
Besides being my hero, Dad was the single most profound influence in Ken’s life as well. Ken describes Dad, before the dementia, as a man who exuded love. He describes the dementia as being insidious at first, before rapidly progressing to a point where Dad hardly recognized us.
Ken witnessed Dad’s awakening first. When he looks back on it, it still blows his mind and causes the hair to stand up on the back of his neck. Describing the awakening, Ken said, “He started to become more alert, and then it became like a light switch, ‘Hey, I’m back!’, and he had full conversations.”
When I entered his room, at first I didn’t realize what was happening. My dad asked me, “How are you doing?” The importance of what he said didn’t dawn on me immediately because my father no longer initiated conversation or spoke in full sentences. He hadn’t asked me about my own life or well-being for years. But at first, I didn’t realize how huge this was, that he was initiating a normal conversation.
I responded, “I’m okay, Dad.”
Then, he said, “You know I love you very much.” I suddenly realized my father was much more alert—not quite the man he’d been before his stroke, but he had a strong resemblance to him. I felt my face lift into a wide smile.
My dad smiled back and then asked, “What happened to me?” ...