Yesterday was our last scheduled visit to The Mayo Clinic. Dennis was filled with hopefulness, I had rather lower expectations. We spent two hours with Dr Ahlskog, a movement disorder specialist with plaques, awards, certificates, and diplomas lining his wall. He was not only a well respected man by his colleagues, but we liked him, too.
And we finally got what we had been asking for all along. A final diagnosis. Dennis actually does have Multiple System Atrophy. For those of you that seldom read, or have just begun reading, I will offer up my understanding of all of the movement disorders in following blog entries. But, for today, I need to talk about Dennis.
Dennis was hoping for some sort of miracle. A different diagnosis, one that offered him a longer life. One that said there was a cure and a possibility. I understand. I, too, hope for that, but no longer do I expect to hear such news.
On the drive back to Minneapolis, Dennis started his grieving process once again. This time, he skipped denial and went right to anger. "I might as well start smoking cigarettes again." "My goose is cooked." "It's not fair."
Yes, my love it is not fair. I don't know what to say about the cooked goose thing - I never did understand what that meant. But, please, don't do something dumb like smoke cigarettes. I won't ever kiss you again, if you do.
Until later,
Ann and Dennis
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