“His talking days are over,” she says sadly when describing her husband with Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA). I try to imagine how this could have happened to a formerly eloquent, quick-witted southern gentleman. About six years ago when he was in his mid-sixties, he was diagnosed with PPA, a rare neurological syndrome that impairs language capabilities.
She elaborates by describing a wintery day in January on their trip to the state motor vehicle department. She and her husband leave their home, navigate the icy sidewalks, and she squeezes her husband into the car. She cautiously drives to their destination.
When they arrive, she carefully gets him out of the car, they shuffle in and she props him up near the motor vehicle counter. He becomes mute which by then has become his new normal, and she does all the talking. Not only are his talking days, but also his driving days are over.
She explains that her husband no longer can drive, but he does need a state ID. They somehow manage to get his picture taken. When she compares his driver’s license with his photo ID, she can see only a slight resemblance in the two photos. He now has an old face, and he has lost 25 pounds that he didn’t need to lose. He looks more like 93 instead of his current age of 73. She reluctantly turns in his driver’s license, realizing the passing of another stage of life toward death.
As they leave, she notices a man who was staring at them with a smirk on his face. She puts her husband in the car, says to him “I’ll be right back,” and locks the car doors. With purpose to her stride, she marches in to the motor vehicle center, and walks up to the staring, smirking man.
She modulates her naturally expressive Italian voice and calmly says “Your smirk did not go unnoticed.”
She turns around, leaves and he runs after her. He is no longer smirking.
He says, “I was nervous. I didn’t know how to act,” never denying his smirking.
With a sense of pride, she says, “When my husband was working, he had 500 people reporting to him.”
He pleas, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I am SO SORRY.”
She smiles to herself, walks back to the car, opens the car door and drives away, satisfied that that she has taught a valuable lesson.
For more information on Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA), please check out Mayo Clinic’s website at:
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/primary-progressive-aphasia/DS00750
