disoriented

James and I had a perfect view of the fireworks from our fire-escape--silhouettes of neighbors on nearby rooftops were showered with fire as helicopters circled above.

James and I went for a swim at the pool this morning. I recognized the shape of our friend's head in her cap on the other side of the lane line and shouted her name, "Penelope!" She swam over and hugged us both--we were overcome with the reality of being in the water together. Her smile engulfed me and she said, "I was imagining James in the water again." We had a perfect swim.  James watched her easily glide through the water and he said, "I want to swim like that again." 

Just as James and I were getting ready to walk home, I realized that I left his goggles on the bench and ran back to retrieve them. They were already gone in just three minutes or so!  When I returned to James, I explained about the loss of his goggles and we moved homeward.

A few feet outside the pool, James stopped me and asked, "Where are we, what are we doing?"  He appeared completely confused. I responded with, "What do you mean?  We just swam in the pool and we are going home."  He did not understand me.  I tried to explain that we went for a swim and that we were at the park.  I pointed out the various landmarks in the neighborhood--the concrete turtle in the children's area in which James spent many summers filling water balloons for Imogen, Enids--the bar on the corner where we often ate hamburgers, Manhattan Avenue, the main street through Greenpoint. None of it made any sense to James at all.

I spoke to him in a calm voice which I have heard Jack use with him in the hospital.  I stated facts and told him we would be home soon.  He told me he was completely disoriented. 

Once inside, I gave him water and fruit.  I changed his clothes and he took a short nap while I made him lunch. By the time he was finished eating, James was back to himself. He thought that his disorientation during the walk was a dream he had while napping. I explained the details of our conversation about what had occurred in front of the pool and during the walk home and he did not recall any of it.

This little blip was slightly disturbing to me.

I think it was probably brought on by being tired from the swim, needing food, and the heat. I also think that the trigger may have been the disappointment over the loss of his goggles.  I think that emotion of loss and disbelief (they were stolen in minutes) fed into other anxious feelings and thoughts that were floating around in his mind.  At one point in our walk home, he asked me, "Are we responsible for someone?"  Imogen was just outside of his frame of memory. I was somewhat afraid to mention her name. I said,"No, it is just you and me--we are responsible for ourselves--Imogen is in California."  He took a few more steps and then asked, "Where is Imogen?" 

I told him we would review everything once we were at home and he had a chance to rest and eat lunch. This seemed to satisfy him in that moment. He was not panicked but he definitely felt out of sorts.  I asked him if he knew who I was and he told me, "You are Jennie, my wife."  I put my arm around his waist and said, "That's all you need to know right now, then, that you are safe and walking home with your wife."

We were sitting in his air-conditioned studio, in front of his empty lunch plates, and I asked him to tell me exactly how to walk to the pool, the names of the streets, and when to turn right or left.  He told me without hesitation. I asked him where Imogen was at this moment and he easily answered, "She's in California, camping with Jeff and Janet."  It was unbelievable that just minutes before, he had no idea about any of it--could not recognize one thing in the landscape--he did not know where he lived. 

I am glad we had this moment together. It is a reminder to me about the limits of his capabilities. He seems so perfectly fine--it's a trick that plays in my mind. I have such a strong desire for him to be whole that it is a struggle to remain objective--to watch his behavior and facial expressions without pouring my own feelings into it. This afternoon was a small slap again.  Stay awake!

James's disorientation reminded me of the scene from Henry Fonda's last film in which he becomes lost in the woods near his summer home that he knows so well--his shame and fear were completely understandable to me at the time I saw the film and I was only fourteen! I have thought about that scene so many times over the years--it symbolized in my mind the fear of death and the loss of sense of self.  Encountering it with James today was oddly tangible to me--almost as if his misunderstanding had substance.  It is difficult to explain, exactly.

The brain is nothing like a firework.  It continues to glow long past the neuron has fired.