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but that’s how it is sometimes. My dad finally got a firm diagnosis for the medley of health problems he has been having for the past five years. It’s called Multiple System Atrophy, which is a progressive neurodegenerative disorder. In plainer terms, it’s a breakdown of several components of the nervous system, primarily focusing on the parts of your brain that controls all the things you don’t think about: blood pressure, balance, motor control and so-on. The disease covers a variety of symptoms, including Parkinson’s-like tremors and rigidity, but in my father’s case, his is the variety most commonly referred to as Shy-Drager syndrome. Shy-Drager covers the kind of MSA that focuses more on the autonomic nervous system, particularly relating to blood pressure.

It’s partly a relief to finally have a diagnosis, as not knowing what was going to happen was making his health problems that much harder to deal with. All my life he has taken exceptional care of himself; no smoking, no drinking outside of the recommended glass of wine, low-fat diet, lots of exercise, lots of vitamins. This allowed him to reach 70, and still have the capacity to keep up with people half his age. That was, however, six years ago. It wasn’t long after that that he began to suffer from low blood pressure. At first it was just a nuisance, but it began to make all physical activity extremely taxing. Even mealtimes became more complicated, as the type of food and quantity would determine whether he would be able to function for hours afterwards, as blood being drawn to his digestive tract was depriving his brain and muscles.

That continues to be what he is struggling with, in addition to non-MSA-related problems such as a heart arrhythmia that required a pacemaker. He is almost completely deaf, due to a further degradation of his hearing from damage done while working in a Boeing factory in his twenties. It makes it impossible to have any phone conversations, and as we don’t live in the same city, our communication is reduced to email. While I do think the diagnosis is a relief, it doesn’t make me feel better about him dying.

Individuals diagnosed with MSA usually have ten years from diagnosis, however he first started exhibiting symptoms five years ago. Some estimates suggest that he has less than five years left, although he has already done far better than one would expect from someone suffering from this illness. In other words, I don’t have a lot of time left with him.

I haven’t decided what I want to do. My first reaction is to pick up and move to where he is, but that’s no guarantee that I will be able to see him much more than I do now. I’m not married, I don’t have children, and at this rate I don’t have much more time to put things off if I want my dad to be a part of it. Even if I have children now, in all likelihood, they won’t really know my dad, not the way I would like them to.

I think the world of my dad, and while no one is perfect, I feel lucky to have had him for a father. He is a brilliant, brilliant man. He filled my life with knowledge and learning that most children couldn’t even hope for. I was hungry for knowledge and answers, and he had so much to share. He is a retired psychology professor, and his understanding of the human brain and mind shaped the course of my life in ways I can hardly begin to describe. His knowledge went far beyond his field of study, and every moment with him was like attending a university science class, be it biology or sociology or psychology. He absorbed so much information in his lifetime, and I was privileged to absorb so much from him.

The most painful part of being away from him is not being able to have the long talks we used to have. I miss our intellectual discussions about concepts like meditation and the brain. I miss our intimate discussions on psychology and our personal experiences, reflecting on the past and contemplating the future. I miss his calm energy, how his presence soothed me without a single word.

The choices I make over the next few years will be something that I will likely come back to throughout my life, and I want them to be choices that I feel good about having made. Whatever I choose to do, I want to do what is best for me, and have those choices be something that I will be content with in the longterm. I obviously have a lot of decisions to make.