Just in Time

I used to ignore articles that say cognitive decline slows if I eliminate sugar or play bridge. I found workarounds instead. When I lost my numbers, I set up automatic payments with the bank to pay bills. I can never remember if choir practice is on the fourth or fifth floor; I simply follow my fellow singers. And I rely on my phone to tell me the dates and times of my appointments, events, and plans.

Memory loss has been gradual. I’m in good company though—my friends and I laugh when we can’t remember the name of the movie we just saw. But when I started hyperventilating with disabling anxiety in airports and receiving bizarre Chinese packages I’d ordered from ads on Face Book, I called Northwestern Hospital to make an appointment with a neurologist.

“Someone will call you back,” the receptionist said.

“Can’t I just make an appointment?”

“No. Someone needs to do an intake over the phone first.”

“I’ll wait.”

“No. Someone will call you.”

I missed the callback. Called again. Missed again. And again.

I felt like I was racing against the clock. Processing the TV news was becoming difficult. I couldn’t retain information from one sentence to the next. To understand NPR’s Morning Edition, I had to stop getting dressed or making my bed, sit down with a cup of coffee and listen. Reading the news wasn’t impossible, just clunky. Some words on the page faded. Some didn’t. I went to the eye doctor three times within six months. She told me there was nothing wrong with my eyes or my vision.

I consulted Dr. Google. Researchers say eat right, exercise, socialize and learn something new. Some say singing actually heals the brain, so I joined the Good Memories Choir. On the first day I hesitated to accept my songbook. Would I remember to bring it to weekly rehearsals? People asked me what “part” I sang. I had no idea.

“I have to sing the melody,” I said.

Alice sat next to me in the last row of the soprano section. I love to sing along but I know nothing about music. After a few songs, she pointed to where we were singing. The words were running ahead of me—I couldn’t catch them. She told me to sing the notes with the stems pointing up. I focused. I was learning a new language.

Good Memories is a choir of people with early-stage memory loss, their care partners, and volunteers. I met the Google criteria for cognitive decline, but I didn’t have an official diagnosis. I joined as a volunteer, unsure where, or even if, I fit. After singing every week for over a year, I remember my songbook, my words are nailed to the page, and I see the notes clearly.

One of the first songs we sang, The impossible Dream, seemed impossible for me: too many words too close together. At the concert I sang every word. And Alice whispered, “You made it.”