My "Notebook"

“What’s my name?” “What did we have for dinner last night?” “When did get married?”

About four years ago I went an extended period of time without a vehicle. During this time I was able to watch many movies. I didn’t have cable at the time so movie watching was about the only thing I could do. I was able to get caught up on many movies I’ve always wanted to see. I was also able to watch many that I knew nothing about. It was during this time when I saw The Notebook.

The movie basically revolves around an epic love story between Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams. If you see the cover of the DVD box you’ll get the gist of what I’m saying. The movie begins in present day with an old James Gardner visiting a nursing home to see an old female friend that has lost her faculties over the years. The female friend does not remember him. Gardner brings a “notebook” with him on his visit. The notebook tells the story of two young people that were very much in love and the trials and tribulations they go through over the years. A bulk majority of the movie follows the story that’s being told from the notebook. Periodically, they segue to present day where you can see an emotionally involved Gardner continuing to tell the story to his female friend. She seems to take delight in the story that’s being told as all of the details are new to her.

As the movie plays out you come to realize that James Gardner is the older, present day, Ryan Gosling and his female friend is the present day Rachel McAdams. I don’t recall what ailment befalls the present day McAdams but it is some form of dementia no doubt. You learn that Gardner comes to the hospital every day, and every day he is unrecognized. Every day he reads the story from the notebook hoping to jog the memory of his now vacant wife. He spends all day, every day. . . . day after day trying to restore the memory that now seems lost. By the end of the movie present day McAdams gets the twinkle in her eye as all of the memories come flooding back to her at once. It’s a day that Gardner thought was never possible, and he knew it needed to be cherished because tomorrow the memories would be gone and he would begin all over again with the story from the notebook.

Ladies, you can watch the movie if you want to see the sad ending.

Four years ago, I met my wife. Working together led to dating. Dating led to living together. Living together led to marriage and our budding family. For the past ten years my wife has been prone to unexplained seizures. Many doctors have been visited and various things have been ruled out. We think. The seizures are not a common occurrence. They happen about every six to eight months and always at night once we’re in bed. They happen just far enough apart to catch us off guard. She had another one last week.

If you want to truly reevaluate the priorities in your life sit and watch the person that you love more than anything convulse. Work, sports, hobbies, everything. . . . everything very quickly seems insignificant.

Knowing my wife will read this I just want to say that I know the level of fear and anxiety she feels about her seizures trumps mine. I can’t pretend to put myself in her shoes and know how she truly feels about this. All I can do is relay the experience and my feelings from my point of view.

I am awakened from a dead sleep with a violent shaking in the bed. My brain is now programmed to know what this means and I now spring out of sleep and to my feet within a second. Sometimes she will be scratching her leg or foot and the motion mimics that of a seizure. After deciphering this and she tells me everything is okay, we go back to sleep. When I see that her fists are clenched and curved inward I know a seizure has begun. The next sixty seconds provide the most helpless time I can imagine. You have to let the seizure play out. There’s no choice in this matter. Her eyes look like marbles as her pupils dilate to great portions and she stares blankly off into space. Her body shakes violently and she foams at the mouth. She is in a catatonic state for about a minute or so. It’s in these sixty seconds where life takes on new meaning.

Did I really get mad at her for being short with me earlier? When was the last time I said, “I love you?” Did I even hug her when I got home from work?

What can I do to help? Is there anything I can do to shorten this, to alleviate it in any way? Nothing. Not one damn thing.

Once the seizing stops she goes into an “unconscious” state. This is when I go back and forth in my head a hundred times, “Do I call an ambulance or not?” We’ve talked about this before and she’s told me specifically not to do it. She will come out of it. Still, it weighs on my mind. It’s usually during this time when her mom receives a 4AM text from me. I know she’s sleeping and won’t get it for another few hours but I’m just looking for some sort of lifeline at this point. The “unconscious” state lasts roughly ten to fifteen minutes. I think. Who cares about what a clock says right now?

She will then begin to slowly regain consciousness. Sometimes she’s insanely cold. Other times she’ll be boiling hot. She may get fidgety and start scratching random places on her body. She may attempt to get up. (There was a frightening occurrence a few years ago when she had a seizure before I came to bed and then proceeded to walk out of the apartment. By the time I realized what was going on she was 60 feet down the hallway. She hadn’t regained her faculties yet. She didn’t know what she was doing.) I gently hold her down if she tries to immediately get up. I ask her to hold on to my hand. “Just relax. Everything is okay.”

During this time she may drift in and out of sleep/consciousness. I give her time. Within a few more minutes she will come to again. She needs to use the restroom. If I determine that she’s coherent enough we’ll make the short walk to the restroom. I stay right next to her during the walk there and back. Once I get her back into bed that’s when my own personal Notebook begins to play out.

“What’s my name?” “What did we have for dinner last night?” “When did get married?”

“What’s my name?” “Matt,” she replies.

Now holding our waking baby, “Who am I holding?” No answer. “Who am I holding?” No answer. She doesn’t remember our child’s name or birthdate.

I don’t react. My goal is to not alarm her during this time. “When did we get married?” A thought goes towards it but she only puckers her lips and blows me a quick kiss. “Babe, when did we get married?” Again, another kiss, but no answer.

“Was it in the summertime or wintertime?” She replies, “Wintertime.” We got married on a very warm July 24th.

“Was it hot outside when we got married or was it cold?” I now go towards a different line of questioning.

“What did we have for dinner last night?” No answer. I ask her, “Did we have pizza?” She says, “Yes.” She’s right. I ask her what toppings were on the pizza. I can tell she’s really trying to remember but everything hasn’t been restored yet. I tell her the answer hoping to aid in bringing back those memories.

I’m doing my best to restore the memories of the person I love more than anything. Like Gardner, I feel overwhelmed. Up to this point I have played the “What if. . .” game over and over in my head. I will not repeat the hopeless thoughts I have. These thoughts usually generate a few tears in my eyes. I hate the uncertainty. I hate the feeling of helplessness.

I give her a few more moments before I start asking the same questions. Within time I get her back. She can correctly answer my questions. Because of the unusual nature of me sitting on her bedside at 4AM asking basic questions she eventually deduces what happened. “Did I have a seizure?”

I tell her that she did, and we begin to survey the damage. To some degree her tongue will always be cut up. Sometimes it’s more severe than others. This time it’s just on the tip.

She then gets really quiet and solemn. I can sense that she’s taking personal inventory. She is going through all of the same emotions I did just moments before. Her grief and concern now dwarf mine.

I look at the clock and realize it’s been about 50 minutes from when the seizure started to the point where she regains all of her coherency. 50 minutes! I hope no one has to go through these experiences as we do.

What positive comes out of this? (Guys you can stop reading here.)

There are almost 7 billion people on Earth. Each of us has had many different turns in the road we call life. Such an extraordinary set of miscellaneous events had to take place for her and I to even meet; from our divorces to when and why we moved at various points in our lives. Everything had to be just right for our paths to cross. I get that. I clearly see that. Everything that has happened was supposed to happen. We were supposed to end up together. I have no doubt about this. Going through the seizure roller coaster makes me keenly aware of what I have.

James Gardner had to break out his notebook every day to get back the one he loved. I have to go to mine about every six months. . . . . and I always get her back!