At about the same time I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder (2008), I got another diagnosis. Brain atrophy. I was in a severe depression at that period of my life so the news completely paralyzed me.
When atrophy of the cerebellum and cerebral cortex showed up on CT, my world fell apart. At that moment I imagined a near future where I can no longer walk and talk. I demanded additional tests and they sent me to a neurologist.
When I entered his office there were a lot of people there. Medical students. I must be lucky (or special) because every time I found myself in a hospital or a medical check-up, students are there. Nothing wrong with that, they need to learn about real human beings with real medical conditions. But why always me?
What do you want to remember?
My memory is bad, but I vividly remember the beginning of the conversation with the doctor.
“Why are you here?”
”My memory doesn’t serve me anymore.”
”What do you want to remember?”
What do I want to remember? His question blew me away. “Everything!” I was shouting on the inside. Events, conversations, and things I thought were lost forever. A friend of mine once told me her first memory is from the womb. You read it correctly. She remembers things from before she was born. I couldn’t even remember what I was talking about on the phone half an hour ago.
I sank deeper and deeper until I drowned in utter humiliation.
Students got a task. They had to tell me a few proverbs and I had to try as best as I could to explain them. Have you ever tried to explain a proverb? Healthy individuals have problems with that, let alone a depressed guy with brain atrophy. I tried. “If it glitters, it doesn’t mean it’s gold.” The student choir was having fun. I didn’t. They started competing who will serve me the most inventive proverb. I did my best but with every word that came out of my mouth, I sank deeper and deeper until I drowned in utter humiliation.
After that, I had to repeat some numbers and names. That went pretty well. I had to pretend I was combing my hair and brushing my teeth. After the proverbs, I nailed every single test. The neurologist concluded that I have problems with abstract thinking, otherwise, I was fine. Fine? My mind was dying and he thinks I’m fine. He tried to calm me down. He said it wasn’t that big a deal. That he knows I guy with the same condition and he’s a top-notch mathematician.
Later my physician told me that the brain is a complex organ and that healthy parts can replace the function of the corrupted ones.
Diagnoses are diagnoses, but life is what we make of it.
Fourteen years later I have no idea what is going on with my atrophy. Maybe the condition improved, maybe it got worse. But you see, nothing would change if I knew. I try to live from day to day. I know my memory is bad but I got used to it. The pandemic, the war in Ukraine, and my dad’s death made me think about the transience of life. If my psychiatrist wouldn’t change one of the pills, I would probably forget I was bipolar. What I’m trying to say is, that diagnoses are diagnoses, but life is what we make of it. No matter how much time we have left. Make it count.