I returned to the specialty hospital today to hear the results of Grace’s neuropsychological testing. I went alone. There was a huge back-up in the parking garage so I was late.
I sat down with the neuropsychologist in her office. She sat across from me. She inhaled and looked at me, paperwork in hand.
“Do you remember what you said to me when we had our first meeting? You told me what Grace’s psychiatrist told you when she diagnosed Grace with schizophrenia. She told you what she had, and she told you that the prognosis wasn’t good. Well, I’m going to take my cue from Grace’s psychiatrist. I’m going to tell you what you already know. You came in here afraid that Grace was declining. I’m going to tell you that she is, and the prognosis isn’t good.”
I knew. But, when someone tells you and they show you all the data points, well, it’s stunning. I felt a lump form in my throat when I heard the phrase “cognitively impaired” and “broad impairments” and “classic presentation” and “neurodegeneration”. I knew what the results would be before the testing, but knowing and having the hard data feel different.
I had hoped that she might have leveled off. I had hoped that her IQ would not have dropped.
I hate this disease. I hate it.
I just hate it.