December 2025. It has arrived. My early Christmas present. A gift I would very much like to exchange, so if anyone here is willing to trade, I am ready. I will trade it for almost anything—so bring it on. Because. Yes. I have dementia!!!!
Just moments before I received the news, I actually wished that the result of the PET scan would be a yes, so that I could continue living the life I have lived for the past six years—with a mission, and as an influential and important voice in the dementia world in Denmark and the EU. That feeling changed very quickly when the result came. It was brutal, sad, and frightening to be confronted with an image from the PET scan that, with undeniable certainty, showed calcium deposits in my brain and a shrunken protective layer.
It has now been six years since I received the diagnosis, and I have fought to preserve my identity and my life. But now, after this scan, it feels as if a veil has been lifted, and I am standing face to face with an unforgiving truth. The neurologist, who previously doubted whether I truly had dementia because I still appear so (alert) and active, has now confirmed what I feared. It feels as though I have been in a constant battle with an invisible enemy, and now I have been given a slightly clearer picture of what I am up against. I feel like a warrior who has been fighting for years, now facing an enemy that is hard to notice and even harder to understand. How can I be so well-functioning when my brain shows signs of decline? It is a riddle that haunts me. I have always been a person who took responsibility over my life, and fought for what I believed in. But now I find myself in a situation where I cannot fully trust my brain, and therefore, sometimes feel I am losing a bit of myself. But I will not let this diagnosis define me. I will find the best ways to live my life, even though it is characterised by uncertainty. I will continue to fight to preserve the memories I have and the relationships I cherish. I will not give up. I will fight to find the strength to navigate in this new reality, even though it is frightening.
So here I stand, ready to trade. I will trade fear for courage, uncertainty for hope, and I will find a way forward—even when it is unknown and frightening. Because my life is still valuable, and I will not let dementia take it from me without a fight.
If anyone out there is ready to, then let’s do it, not trade, [that was just a joke], but find strength in each other, together, and create meaningfulness in a situation that seems meaningless. Thank you.
