Windsor Star: Guest Column Mike Kessler

I have Alzheimer’s, but you wouldn’t know it unless I told you.

I’m a sound mixer for my local choir, a T-shirt maker, a dedicated volunteer sponsor for those recovering from addiction, and a timekeeper during my wife Karen’s swim practices.

Ten years ago, I was involved in a serious car crash while on my way to meet Karen at choir practice. The accident knocked me unconscious and landed me in the emergency room.

Despite the doctors’ initial assessments that I was fine, Karen was sure something was wrong. In the weeks following, she pushed for more tests, and an MRI revealed that the accident had caused a closed brain injury leading to a stroke. At 64, I hadn’t planned on retiring, but work was no longer an option.

In the years following, we noticed troubling changes. Memory and cognitive issues plagued me, making social situations overwhelming.

Karen often had to repeat herself, answering the same questions multiple times. Friends would become frustrated when I misunderstood their messages.

Imagine feeling like a zombie — cotton-headed and blurry — even after a full night’s rest. Naps needed to be scheduled throughout the day so that I could be at my best.

Despite the signs, we struggled to feel heard. But Karen stood firm, providing examples of my decline. “You don’t live in our home,” she told one doctor. “You’re seeing someone trying so hard to stay in the game. As soon as we leave your office, he’ll sleep for the rest of the afternoon.”

It took a lot of self-advocacy to secure a concrete diagnosis. Eventually, Karen’s persistence paid off. I was referred to a neurologist for testing. Eighteen months later, I was diagnosed with vascular dementia — and mild Alzheimer’s.