TRUST

I had quite a little journey this weekend - and way too much thinking time on the 5 freeway all by myself. Friday morning El and I (that's my Prius' name - short for "electric" :) hit the road in the rain to spend the day in Bakersfield with Dad, and follow him through his therapies. After a terrifying 2 hours through a torrential downpour in which I swore El was going to fly up and spin out everytime we hit a puddle, I finally arrived at the clinic, shaking and thankful for my life. I walked into the maze that is CNS Bakersfield -- down the busy hallways -- scanning the people, observing the variety of clients and their caretakers at their side. I felt quite reassured at the variety of clientel, there was a great mix of people - young and old, people who Dad could easily be buddies with - not like he ever had a problem making friends with anyone, but I just want him to feel equal amidst the population there. He was excited to see me - but I know a little thrown. It was strange. He closed off during therapies, and both the speech therapist and the occupational said, "come on David, you've done better than that before", which makes me think rather than trying to impress me by doing really well - he felt silly for having to do such menial assignments in front of me, and his pride and insight kicked in and got the best of him. That right there is his biggest deficit. The fact that his inherent impulse for competition and success in whatever he's doing, is telling him that he's smarter than this and knows his shit - while his brain is trying to unpuzzle the task - is why he's not succeeding at normal human capacity. If he could let this pride down, let his guard down, and trust the situation - he'll succeed and strive to be at his best.

My faith was renewed when we went into counseling with Joe, the 6 foot 5 Asian man with a big belly, barely busting the buttons of his green Hawaiian shirt, a man so friendly, gracious, and delightfully eccentric, Dad is instant buds with him and introduces me right away. We sit down in Joe's office, a cluttered accumulation of his 28 years of doing this, and Joe gets me up to speed on what he and Dad have been working on together. And basically, they talk. And Dad trusts him. And they are friends. Joe tries to put in perspective for me what Dad is going through, something I already pretty completely understood, but I'll relay this on to you...

Joe: Imagine that I said to you, "that's a great yellow shirt!"
(my shirt is a vibrant purple)
Me: okay... but it's purple.
Joe: Nope, no it's yellow. trust me.
(I look down)
Me: no it's not, it's purple.
Joe: No Annie, trust me, your shirt is yellow.
(obviously, this could start to get aggravating...)
Me: umm no it's clearly purple.
Joe: I'm sorry Annie, it's yellow. I'm a professional, (he indicates to his certificates on the wall), and I'm here to help you, so you need to trust me that your shirt is yellow.

this in essence is what David Nemer is dealing with. So now Joe turns to my Dad,
Joe: David, do you know why you're here?
Dad: ...ummm not really, no.
Joe: well I'll let your daughter tell you.
(thanks. I turn to Dad, and as routinely and matter-of-factly as possible, so as to not flip him out I say the usual...)
Me: well Dad, remember you had that bad heart attack? and it stopped pumping oxygen to your brain, so now your memory is a little off.
Dad: my memory is not a little off.
(now it's Joe's turn... 28 years of practice in action...)
Joe: well David, actually it is. you have a brain injury. and you're an incredibly intelligent and smart guy, we've become good friends now over the past couple weeks, and what you're daughter, who loves you, is saying is true. And I'm a professional (indicates to certificates again), and the people you work with are, and you have to trust what we're saying is true - because your family loves you and cares about you, and we love you and care about you, and we want to help you get your memory better. But you just have to trust us.

Joe's manner is extremely calm and rational, not babying, very friendly and sophisticated. Dad shifts in his seat a bit, his eyes watering up a little, but he remains calm at hearing this information, and processing it. And I have real faith for the first time that this will work. I see my Dad in there, accepting it, the David Nemer of the past and the David of the present slowly merging. I get chills.

We move on to talking about the rest of the weekend, possibly going out to dinner on Saturday night somewhere in town, we're talking about steaks. The "here and now" conversation so normal and accurate for about 6 minutes. "That sounds so good Dad maybe we'll go tomorrow night after I get back in town." "tomorrow?" Dad ponders. " oh too bad I'll be in Phoenix." Enter Joe to save the day.

This is how it will work. The daily therapies of memory exercises and games will tackle that part of the brain to get it working again, through tons of repetition, eventually training the brain to stick those memories into place so that everytime Joe gives his little speech, Dad inches closer to believing it.