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Author: Lisa Genova

ISBN: 978-0-595-44009-2

It sounds like Lyme disease, this Alzheimer’s. It starts out simply…almost sneaks up on you. First, you can’t concentrate here and there. Then, words, words you have used every single day of your life, seem to have dropped out of your vocabulary – not by your choice. Next, your senses become twisted and familiar things escape your memory.  Sometimes there’s panic – sometimes, it’s just sheer confusion.

You wonder if there’s something to explain the mood swings, the mental confusion, the depression, the sweats, the fatigue, and all the rest of the symptoms you have collected in a short amount of time. Type these symptoms into the computer and you will find “menopause” – the normal part of every woman’s lifecycle (if you’re a man, you can always skip down to Chronic Fatigue Syndrome with the same input of symptoms). Alice did just this.

Alice was a professor. She would dazzle her students with publications, dates and authors’ names. In fact, she wore the “imaginary blue ribbon” for having the most complete brain catalogue of such material. Now, she found herself pausing and stumbling. The sticky notes served a purpose – to confuse her even more. She made a list of things she needed to do…but as she was used to putting just a name down and remembering readily what was associated with that name, now, it was a chore – and one she may need help with.

Seeking medical advice is a good choice. The visit is a rapid fire of questions about sleep, alcohol, drugs, moods, and the like. Alice’s major complaint was forgetfulness – sleeping habits were fine. So it’s menopause – right?

Could be. But the memory problems for menopause are associated with poor sleeping habits. The doctor doesn’t think that Alice’s memory problems are due to menopause – and promptly tells her so. Tests were ordered and the wait-and-see prescription was written.

Alice prepared, as she always did, an hour before a lecture. She’d been teaching over 25-years and could almost present in her sleep. Nevertheless, she follows her routine and checks her notes. She is ready. As she looks around the lecture hall, it is grand – plush, if you will. She finds herself suddenly trying to recall what the lecture was supposed to be about. She asks her class to check the syllabus. If anyone noticed, it was probably chalked up concerns with more important obligations.

The tests come back “normal.” Alice’s doctor suggests another round of wait-and-see, but Alice has her own start on the path to finding out what is troubling her. She wants to see a neurologist.

Alice and her husband attend a yearly party. It’s festive and everyone is there – including Dan and his new wife Beth. She is dressed in a floor-length red dress. Small talk after introductions, Alice is off to refill her wine glass. Each year, Alice hopes someone will offer to play the piano, but no one ever does. She finds her husband, Dan, and a woman in a red dress in conversation. Alice proceeds to introduce herself to the woman in the red dress – whom, only moments ago, was introduced to Alice as Dan’s wife, Beth.

The neurologist runs Alice through everyday questions. She answers the questions, does the exercises, and even draws the pictures correctly. Once that is done, the neurologist starts an exam and asks Alice to repeat the address he gave her during the question part of the visit. She can remember the name, but the address has escaped her. The doctor orders more tests.

Alice is finally diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and a new life begins. It isn’t a life anyone would wish for; it’s not a life one plans for -- it’s the life of an Alzheimer’s victim. She can no longer teach and she’s not sleeping well. But wait – she has pills for sleeping! Now, if only she recall where they are. Now it’s a Blackberry in the freezer, misunderstood directions, and doctor’s visits. When Alice’s husband comments that she’s been on medications a year and is still forgetful, the physician rightly states that the symptoms may have been there as early as a year or two before being diagnosed, but were overlooked or chalked up to something else.

Alice is presenting a speech as an expert once again. This time, it’s not to college students, but to a group of those interested hearing from an Alzheimer’s expert. She claims it’s a distorted world she now lives in – misplacing things, making mistakes, repeating things, and getting lost – all with a scarlet “A” that identifies her as someone with Alzheimer’s.  She knows that she may never retrieve what she has lost, but she sure would like to hang onto what she has left. And she asks those in the audience to look Alzheimer’s victims in the eyes and talk directly to them. She asks the medical community to diagnose early.

The speech was brilliant, but the high doesn’t last. Alice brushes her teeth with moisturizer, tries to call her husband all day with the television remote, and her own body odor lets her know she hasn’t bathed in days. Alice hears them talking, but she doesn’t readily recognize those involved in the conversation. She doesn’t even realize that they are talking about her. She is hungry.

Walking into traffic, not recognizing her husband (or anyone), being in a strange place (familiar to everyone else), and missing herself – life goes on. Moments of clarity peek through the dismal gray of Alice’s Alzheimer’s, but Alice is still Alice.

The one moment that caught my most attention was a letter the old Alice wrote to the Alzheimer’s Alice – it was heartbreaking and yet comforting. It’s one I would want to write (and may, since Lyme disease may eventually rob us of our mind) if I knew I would no longer recognize who I once was.

For more information, you may contact The Alzheimer’s Association at www.actionalz.org or www.alz.org.

 The above review was contributed by:  Sue Vogan: Sue is a Writer & Author of NCO-No Compassion Observed: To read more of Sue's reviews Click Here 

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