Huntington’s Disease
impacts people differently. The more I read, the more I realize that this
disease affected Mom much earlier than I’d first thought. For many years, she
complained about having “Blue Days.”
Never bad enough or frequent enough to seek treatment, Mom would call
sometimes near tears. These lonely days would end quickly, and I internalized
the lesson that mild depression “just happens” and you weather through it.
Looking back, I believe these downturns may have signaled the early changes HD
brings into a person’s life.
By the time my mother
was in her sixties, she began complaining about never going anywhere or doing
anything. My father would plan some kind of activity or outing, and my mother
would shoot the idea down for some nebulous reason. Dad’s frustration resulted
in him giving up on suggesting things they could do together, and Mom grumbled
even more about being stuck at home. When they bought the land in the Hill
Country, Mom’s enthusiasm returned. She loved planning and tackling each
project for the cabin.
Around this time, her
first motor symptoms emerged. While she watched television or sat in the car,
Mom would shuffle her feet restlessly. I asked her many times if she could
stop, and she’d reply, “Of course. I’m just exercising my legs and ankles.”
Then she’d rotate her feet around deliberately for a moment or two and settle
down. Sometimes, Mom would suffer from bouts of anxiety. These spells of worry
didn’t last long, and again she never even mentioned them to her doctor.
After my father died,
Mom moved to San Antonio and took her own apartment about a mile from our
house. She would walk over some mornings and spend the day. She didn’t like
driving, though, and began saying that she felt like her perception was “off"
when driving. Gradually, other signs of HD surfaced. Mom complained about being
“askew” and off balanced. Several times her leg would simply fold beneath her. She
went to the doctors about these symptoms, but no one knew exactly what was
happening. One neurologist suggested genetic testing because Friedrich’s Ataxia
had already been documented in her family (her niece had the disease). He felt
it was possible Mom was a carrier and expressing the gene for some reason as
she aged. At that point, Mom decided she didn’t really want to know.
Eventually, a very
slight stroke kicked Mom’s HD into temporary overdrive. A young lieutenant at
BAMC made the diagnosis when she witnessed Mom’s movements. This physical
therapist had worked with an HD family in her short career. The neurologist
handling Mom vanished with her for over an hour and came back stating that he
really didn’t think she had HD, but he suggested we do the genetic testing
anyway. Mom went to a rehab facility to work on her motor skills, but her
balance never fully returned. The physical therapists and doctors suggested she
“furniture walk” when in her small apartment and use a walker whenever she went
anywhere.
Of course, the genetic
testing showed that Mom is a carrier for Friedreich’s Ataxia, that she has 40
CAG repeats, and that there is a third defect on another gene that has unknown
impact. This diagnosis, made five years ago, gave us labels. Now we could help
Mom make knowledgeable decisions and prepare for her future.
Over the last five
years, HD's neurodegenerative course has touched every aspect of our lives. Mom’s
gone from living independently in her own apartment, to an assisted living facility,
to our home. Her ability to walk a mile has vanished. She can only take two or
three steps with assistance. Her infrequent “Blue Days” gave way to daily
battles with depression that medications attempt to control. If she’s gotten
enough rest, her personality remains the same gentle, intelligent woman she’s
always been. However, insomnia strikes at least once a week, and during those
endless nights she morphs into Mr. Hyde. Her usually sharp intellect muddles
into confusion.
 |
| Edna Abrams St. Patrick's Day 2012 age 82 |
The care Mom needs now
involves twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week aid. Fortunately, she can
still use her hands and arms for eating, but we must do everything else for
her. She needs help moving into and out of her wheelchair, which we must push.
In recent weeks, Mom’s developed a need to “pace.” She will start in her
bedroom, request that we take her to the family room. Within fifteen minutes,
she’ll want to go back to her bedroom. This up and down routine continues for
hour after hour. By the end of the day, her legs barely move at all, becoming
rigid sticks. Mom cries because she cannot stop this compulsion to go from room
to room. On these days, she’s certain that she’s dying and wants me to call her
doctor to see if there’s something that he can give her.
This new symptom, the
compulsion to go back and forth from room to room, lasts only one very, very
long day. By the next day, Mom settles into her usual routine. Next month, she sees her internist for her six
month check-up. If this new behavior increases in frequency, we’ll ask if there’s
some medication that may curb the obsessive-compulsive urgency. Her next
appointment with her neurologist isn’t until September, but we can always give
him a call to see if any of her current medications need adjustment.
Every time a change occurs, I am forced to accept
that HD will win in the end.
Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
