The Storm Within

The Storm Within It’s happening again. All signs indicate an impend- ing cognitive shift. The result of this electrical short circuit in my brain can resemble a profound panic attack or an intense “senior moment.” As my neuro- logically diseased body slows down, my thoughts can accelerate erratically and then abruptly halt.

Like electricity through a frayed wire, neurological impulses and perceptions sometimes get through clearly, sometimes jumbled, sometimes in hyperdrive, and often impulses don’t get through at all. Normal daily sprinkles of incoming information can be perceived as a torrential downpour of terrifying awareness. Or I have no recall, no matter how hard I concentrate. Unimportant trivia mixes with items of substance and becomes impossible to differentiate and prioritize.

A previous gentle flowing stream of intelligence becomes a dangerous swirling flood of overwhelming data. Without warning, infor- mation overload can burst its banks in raging fury. Or frustration from an inability to perform simple mental tasks sets in. Either way, I am swept into a whirlpool of fear and confusion. .. .

Years ago when I worked as a registered nurse, I rec- ognized that cognitive dysfunction can affect a patient’s quality of life even more so than the physical symp- toms of disease. Neuropsychological assessments have become an essential portion of the overall evaluation of the brain-injured patient. Now, as I live with the results of brain lesions of multiple sclerosis (MS), I find myself looking over those previous words and going, “Huh?” Big words, medical explanations, and complex termi- nology are of no assistance to those who live with mild cognitive dysfunction.

It’s not that we are stupid, it’s just that occasionally the simplest things can be a bit confusing. In this fast-paced world, the information faced daily by any given individual can be mind-boggling. Becom- ing swamped with data can be difficult for the average person; for the person with cognitive dysfunction, it can be absolutely incapacitating. I am only doing about half of what I was doing before the latest exacerbation of my MS.

That’s a fraction of the level of activity expected for someone my age. Yet, I am overwhelmed. Things that I need to do are jumbled in my head. It’s impossible to make any sense of it all, yet everything must get done.

The medical term for any neurological, cognitively impaired incident is “flooding.” It is the inability to prioritize and implement a series of simple tasks or thoughts. I am flooding. Worse, I am drowning.

I could be a walking medicine cabinet from all the meds that I have been offered to cope with this, and some, in fact, help me gain ground. But what has given me the great- est sense of control is doing all that I can myself, before finally surrendering when I absolutely cannot continue.

So I take deep breaths to calm the panic, try to focus on lists, and invoke God’s help. Outwardly, I get very quiet, then I mentally detach and shut down to every- thing except the task at hand.

My husband sees that I am currently flooding, so he’s posting reminders for me all around the house. (Please keep the porch door shut; turn off the oven; don’t ’ throw away new ant traps... . But so many notes, so many reminders, are discouraging.

I feel like an idiot. He’s only trying to help. I love him and know that he will pick up the pieces of what I can’t get done, and, in the end, everything will be all right. But sometimes I forget how to tread water.

When I can no longer strike items from the “to do” list, I quiet myself and close my eyes. In this meditative state, I surrender to a Higher Power. Almost immedi- ately I feel gentle hands settle upon my head. Panic subsides.

There is a feeling of absolute trust. All will be well. Soon, I am wrapped in the Spirit’s wings. There is calm and peace within.

And I am floating, not drowning, on this sea of confusion.