Ch.118 Pat Cannot Say Ron’s Name
Today at lunchtime we met Cathy, our hospice nurse. She will be seeing Pat once a week. Cathy is a small, energetic woman with a calm center. Cathy asked Pat if she knew my name. “Yes,” Pat answered, but she was unable to say “Ron.”
I was surprised, stunned. I had never considered this possibility. Better said, intellectually I knew Pat might forget my name, but I had not accepted that concept emotionally.
Then Cathy asked another question: “Do you know what relationship you have with Ron?” Silence. And then: “He’s my big squeeze.” Here was another laugh or cry moment, one of many we’ve faced in our Lewy Body journey. This time I laughed.
Later, in Pat’s room, I told Pat I was her husband, and my name was Ron. “I’m not going to forget you,” she replied, holding my hand. “We’ll be together,” Pat added, “forever.”
Three days later: I probably shouldn’t have asked, but I still hoped Pat would be able to say “Ron.” So, in private, I asked her if she could say my name. Once again, Pat said “yes” but no more, and once again she called me her big squeeze. “You are my big squeeze forever and ever. And I will be with you forever.”
Perhaps, tomorrow, Pat may be able to say my name. That would not be surprising, given Lewy Body’s fluctuations. But Pat is right when she says we will always be together, forever, long after we’ve both forgotten our names.
Pat’s comments on Pat Cannot Say Ron’s Name.
I’m ok with that.