HER GIFT

"Margie", seventy-seven, suffers from dementia and lung disease. Margie is on continuous oxygen and gets short of breath with any activity. Recently she has been getting weaker and more short of breath. She spends her days sitting in her recliner watching television. Margie lives with "Jess", her husband of fifty-one years.

The hospice nurse and I went out today to admit Margie to hospice. The moment we walked in, Margie immediately started talking about her childhood. She bragged that her father had several PhDs and was very smart. She then shared that her IQ was documented at 150. Jess added that Margie always had a photographic memory.

If you asked Margie a question about what was going on today, she would maneuver the conversation back around to her past. With dementia, one's short term memory typically goes first. A patient with dementia may remember who lived next door when they were seven, but forget that they had lunch an hour earlier. Margie did fit that pattern.

Margie was devoted to Jess and knew she needed his help. It wasn't clear how much she understood that she was terminal. When speaking about our hospice team, I mentioned that a chaplain could visit. Margie's face just lit up and she said that she has a prayer partner and prays every night. It helps her sleep.

I asked her if she had any fears about what was happening and she struggled to answer as could not process her thoughts. It was then that she just started to cry so hard knowing she does not remember things. Margie is losing her greatest gift; her intellect. It likely will be a blessing if a day comes where she can no longer realize that tremendous loss. There truly are worse things than death for many of us.


HER GIFT
　
We all are given special gifts.
A beautiful voice singing soprano.
Fluid fingers gliding across a keyboard.
A brush stroke completing a work of art.

Her gift was her intellect.
She had a photographic memory.
A member of Mensa for years.
A recorded IQ of over 150.

She can no longer process current thoughts,
but will easily talk about her past.
She is forgetful; she doesn't remember.
The doctors say she has dementia.

She also has chronic lung disease.
She struggles to catch a breathe.
She is declining; getting weaker.
She knows she needs a lot of help.

I asked her if she had any fears.
She was aware she could not think.
She cried so hard as did clearly know,
"I can't remember. I am losing my brain."

To her, dying is not as fearful as forgetting.
She says she's had a good life.
Her Christian faith gives her peace,
but she is trying so hard to hold onto
her most cherished gift of all;
          her intellect.