Decennium Atrocius

We're approaching the ninth anniversary of my husband's "official diagnosis," but testing began in March, ten years ago. To say it's been a decennium atrocius would be an understatement.

The initial onset began even earlier, of course, but is only recognizable in hindsight, as so many things in life are. Little things happen with increasing frequency, but you either don't really notice them or you shake them off as being inconsequential. This is what it was like. I should say, this is what it was like for us, because everybody's story is the same in a way. But everybody's story is different:

A person repeats a story. Who hasn't done that? A person searches for the right word. Who hasn't done that? A person misses a deadline. Well, who can blame him? There's too much work to do for one person. The distractions are constant. There are negative personality changes, but they aren't really "changes." They're more like enhancements. You understand. He's has been working too hard and needs more rest. Fuses get short at work and at home. Again, you think your loved one just needs some time off.

You go to his office to go out to dinner with him after your own work day, but you end up assisting with his paperwork instead. You find piles of documents everywhere. Six copies of everything. You start to go through them, to organize them, to throw some of them away or shred them as needed. He panics.

"No! I need that!"

"But, honey. You have six copies of it. Do you really need six copies of it?"

"Don't throw anything away!"

Okay, you think to yourself. He's definitely stressed out, and he's concerned that you'll throw out an important contract or something. You just reorganize the piles so things will be easier to find. You put all six copies of each thing together. You ask if he'd like you to go get some take-out, since he's on a deadline. You don't want him to miss another deadline. Or another meal.

This goes on for several months or maybe it was a couple of years, incrementally more and more, until you're actually helping with spreadsheets and reports that he isn't "able to get to" because of "the work load." And still this doesn't ring any bells with you, because it's become normal. He's putting in longer and longer hours in an effort to get things done and keep his job. Out he goes at 6 in the morning. Back he comes at 8. Then 9. Then 10. Then 11. Then 12. You start to wonder if there's someone else.

Finally, he blows up at his boss's boss during an important business meeting. He's placed on a performance improvement plan (PIP) at his next review. As you are both well aware, nobody "survives" those. But you kick in the afterburners to make sure all the t's are crossed and all the i's are dotted after your own day of work. You wonder why he doesn't seem to be able to get this stuff done and keeps calling you at work with Excel questions, but still you haven't figured out that there's a real problem. Socially, he's getting by just fine. Or at least that's how it appears. Nobody knows something is very, very wrong. Not even you.

He survives the PIP! Nobody can believe how he's brought his performance up. But you can, for obvious reasons. You breathe a sigh of relief, but not for long; because, he might have survived the PIP, but the next person RIF'd (reduction in force) will probably be him. It usually is after a PIP. And...it is.

Because of the economic downturn -- and probably his age -- it would be another full year before he would have an opportunity to work even a temporary job (read about that here) and before his sisters, concerned, would take me aside to ask if I had a physical scheduled for him. Others close to him were starting to notice that something was wrong, but I was in denial. But since his temp job manager had noticed, too, I made the call. The rest, as they say, is history.