You Remind Me Who I Am
A Memoir of True Love and Lewy Body Dementia
by Robyn Fisher
Crisis Commanded.
I surrendered.
In January 2016, I quit my job teaching high school Journalism and English to become my husband’s 24-7 caregiver. Crisis commanded; I surrendered. For me, there was no choice. At the time, we had been receiving little help from doctors about what was ravaging his cognitive and physical abilities.
I embarked on a crash course in neurology, nursing, writing, faith and the joy of being fully present. My 50,000 word memoir, You Remind Me Who I Am is part raw, intimate caregiving journal, and part chronicle of a common but misunderstood and often misdiagnosed neurological disease, Lewy Body Dementia.
At its very core, it is the story of a compelling 20-year love story, where deep connection and tenderness are the guides through the changes and the trauma of knowing that the most beautiful of partnerships is ending.
“I find I dine on the sweets of a life lived rather fully,” he told me, “and you, Honey, are the sweetest.”
Poetic. Insightful. Powerful.
I have read many books on caregiving, but I have never read one quite like this. We get insight into Bill’s mind as it goes through his decline and changes. So beautifully written and spiritually moving. Bill and Robyn’s love for each other oozes off the page. It’s poetic, insightful, powerful. I couldn't put it down.
—Rev. Sherry Shultz, Director of Volunteer Service, Franciscan Hospice House, Tacoma, WA
I had the Perfect Life.
I thought I had the perfect life in my cabin-like home in the wooded, rainy Pacific Northwest. I had a fulfilling teaching job, three grown children I was deeply proud of, and a marriage others envied. But in January of 2016, a crisis landed my husband Bill in the hospital, which changed everything. After several years of medical tests and doctor visits, he was finally diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia, and I was forced to make a decision: find a home for him, or quit my job and become his caregiver.
I chose the latter and began dismantling my life.
“Tell Me Things.”
In the past, this is something he would say to me when he wanted to connect with me, and it seemed to him that I was preoccupied with something. Heck, I was always preoccupied with something when the kids were little, which is why he took me out of town and away from the chores of the house every chance he could.
Right now, in this moment, he has my complete and full attention.
Today, he muses a little about the changing state of his own mind and confusion. He’s thoughtful, not fearful.
“I treat my mind with careful, loving skepticism,” he tells me.