Diagnosis: Heart Attack. Karla Weller
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Название: Diagnosis: Heart Attack
Автор: Karla Weller
Издательство: Автор
Жанр: Контркультура
isbn: 9783958401822
isbn:
My initial reaction had always been to turn around and hurry to Gerd right away, take him in my arms, stand by him and try to soothe him. But how long would that work? What if it happened again the next day?
Every evening after work, I drove to the clinic at Lake Constance anyway so I could at least be of assistance when he ate supper.
One particular evening, we were sitting at a small dinner table together. His food tray stood in front of him and Gerd started eating while I prepared another sandwich for him when he asked, “What about you? Don’t you want something to eat?” No, there was nothing available for me. Hearing that upset him a lot and he offered to share his second slice of bread with me.
When he lay in bed later that night and the lights were about to be shut off and the door locked, he said in a sincere voice, “I don’t want you to go home!” He was afraid to stay on his own. Ultimately, he resigned himself to it. But how long could I keep coping with this emotionally? I was torn by the circumstances. I wanted to be there for him, but had to continue living my life as best as I could. And the stress of being there for him 24/7 simply would have been too much for me to bear. The doctors and nurses agreed with this point. If someone required full-time care, it only worked long-term if the caregiver wasn’t too strongly emotionally involved.
Whenever it was possible, we left the secure ward during our visits. In the beginning, we didn’t get any further than the first floor where a few places to sit were found in the foyer. We stretched out on a couch and after a few minutes, Gerd lay his head on my lap and fell into a deep sleep. At first, I felt rather uncomfortable when other visitors passed by. But eventually I was able to handle it and was glad Gerd truly found some peace there. When he slept so peacefully I was certain he had no frightening dreams to experience and was not being plagued by psychoses and just wanted to hold him tight forever while imagining us in an illusion of safety.
After a while, Gerd was allowed to spend every second weekend at home. When I picked him up early on a Saturday morning, I usually met him in the common room at a neatly set breakfast table. A nurse had poured him some coffee and prepared a bread roll with butter and jelly, but the delicious food laid untouched on his plate while Gerd sat before it in complete despair. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know food was placed in front of him, but he knew exactly who he was and that he wanted to go home!
When I gave him a kiss and said hello to him, he answered, “Thank God you’re here!” and immediately started to cry in his misery. To distract him, I said, “You haven’t even touched your breakfast. Aren’t you hungry at all?” “Do I have something to eat?” was his surprised, honest response.
When we arrived home together for the first time after the heart attack, I could hardly believe our luck. I was absolutely convinced Gerd’s memories would simply come back to him now! Certainly, when he was in a familiar environment, he would just have to remember everything. As well as I could, I suppressed the possibility that he might also go into shock as well.
I had parked the car in the driveway and, full of expectations, opened the passenger door so Gerd could exit. He didn’t need any assistance to do so! First, we stood outside the house for a while right where we had all been standing on July 31, 2011 before Gerd and I took Daniela to the airport.
Then we went through the door, carefully climbed the stairs and walked into the kitchen. Now the big moment had finally arrived. Some kind of miracle just had to happen now! Gerd apparently sensed my tension and slowly walked back and forth in the room, moving from the window to the table and back. But nothing happened at all.
“Is this where I live?” he asked monosyllabically, in disbelief. He didn’t know his way around the domicile at all anymore.
First, I tried to convince myself this was due to the fact that we had renovated recently and done a bit of remodeling, too. Maybe he would remember the old kitchen better? But eventually I had to admit that he was simply a stranger to his own life.
Apparently, Gerd also had high expectations of his return home. After all, resuming his former life style continued to be his greatest wish. But the weekend at home didn’t get him any further, or at least, it didn’t get him any closer to his goal. Instead, he seemed discouraged and disappointed even more.
Moreover, the ride back to the clinic on Sunday afternoon grew more depressing every time for several reasons. His time at home hadn’t resulted in the desired breakthrough and we were well aware that Gerd would be more or less on his own again, confronted by other patients who were foreign to him. For instance, when he asked for something to drink, he never knew if he was talking to a nurse or just another patient. So sometimes he received an unfriendly reply or even no response at all to his request which of course made him feel insecure and uncomfortable which in turn resulted in him avoiding contact with his ward mates entirely.
I didn’t notice any significant progress in his development although he had gone to Lake Constance to start reintegrating into normal daily life.
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