success, because I continued to find Gerd in diapers. It was a pitiful sight. I could only hope he wasn’t aware of this humiliation.
But Gerd proved I was very wrong. Once, he was even wearing two diapers, one over the other. “Double protection,” he tried to excuse himself. Obviously, that is what they had told him. Presumably, he had been given a laxative so he now required this “double protection”.
He was suffering terribly under this helplessness which was both humiliating and discouraging for him. This must have been torture for Gerd, who had always placed great value on personal hygiene and was never seen in his sweatpants and would never have gone to the bakery on a Saturday morning in inappropriate clothing!
Besides, he continued to worry about his future. He was particularly concerned that Justin might suffer because of his dad’s sickness. What did he mean by that exactly?
In any case, he repeated this statement over and over, “Justin mustn’t suffer from me being like this.”
Since he still had the gastric feeding tube, although he had been taking part in the communal meals in the dining hall, I was called to the clinic one day during the week. I was supposed to accompany Gerd to the municipal hospital in Constance where the tube would be removed.
I wasn’t confident enough to drive alone with him because my nerves were shot at that point, so I requested an ambulance.
Unfortunately, the ambulance couldn’t stay until the operation was over, so Gerd and I spent way too many hours at the hospital where we first had to wait for his surgery, which was performed under local anesthetic, and then we waited for a second ambulance to take Gerd back to his clinic.
Instead of lying down and resting right after the procedure he had to sit on a regular chair and wait in the hallway until paramedics came back. I was deeply concerned about his condition; after all, he now had a hole in the middle of his body that was only provisionally taped up.
Now, he was strapped to a seat in the car and the trip back started. It was very bad luck that the seat was only attached to the floor of the ambulance by two bolts instead of four as it should be, so he swung back and forth every time the ambulance went around a curve!
This was both a dangerous as well as a horrible situation for Gerd with his limited perception and especially after the excitement of the surgery. So I tried to get a grip of Gerd’s seat from where I was sitting right behind him, so he wouldn’t tip over.
It was quite a miracle his wound from the gastric feeding tube didn’t get infected after waiting for so long in a hallway at the hospital and the dangerous ride in the ambulance! But once again, Gerd’s guardian angel protected him.
Quite often I received calls from the attending physician early in the morning while I was on my way to work. She usually would tell me Gerd had had a restless night. He was crying a lot and went back and forth between being depressed and aggressive. She wanted to know if this had been the case at the previous clinic too. If so, how had they handled it there?
On the one hand, I was glad the doctor was seeking close contact with me, but how was I supposed to answer that question? I was just a regular wife who was being confronted with such a situation for the first time and not a trained psychiatrist! Why didn’t she just call the other clinic directly and have a detailed conversation with the doctors there? And why, for Heaven’s sake, couldn’t I tell her exactly that to her face?
One morning, I had just stopped at a bakery to buy a sandwich when my cell phone was ringing. Since I didn’t want the other customers to hear my conversation, I left the shop and went outside.
Sleet fell from the sky, the bag with my breakfast started to dissolve and my croissant fell to my feet as I desperately tried to find a solution with the doctor. Still I didn’t have any advice and was completely overwhelmed by the whole situation.
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,