The person whose mind I have always envied most, my brilliant childhood friend who became a historian, has Alzheimer’s disease. Several years ago she began noticing changes in her teaching. She had trouble finding the right word for what she wanted to say. Sometimes she would pause in the middle of a sentence and begin a thought again. We all thought her complaints were psychological. She was too upset about her daughter’s divorce. We understood there was something seriously wrong only on our trip to Europe in the summer of 1984.
Janet had to ask the tour guide for the schedule several times a day. She could not keep the time the bus would leave in her head. She would ask questions about sights that had been discussed only a few minutes before. She seemed apathetic, not thrilled, when we visited the historical places I knew she loved. Restaurants were a problem. She had trouble finding her way back to our table after trips to the ladies’ room. Once we caught her about to walk out the door. Afterward I made excuses so I could take her there and back.
Over the next year or so she was able to handle life fairly well once back in the familiar surroundings of our town. She took a sabbatical from teaching but went to her office to “work” on papers several days a week. Everyone felt it would be good for her keep up the pretense, even though she could no longer really produce. Jack let her to do everything – shop, cook and take care of the house. He never stopped her from going out alone. But he was always upset. Would this be the time she took the car and wound up lost or dead? Would this dinner he the one where the stove was left on? By then she had been seen by specialists. Everyone knew what she probably had.
This year things have gotten much worse. My cool, rational friend now has outbursts of anger that come from left field. She sometimes is unable to sit still for more than a second at a time. When she is home she wants to go out. Once out, she wants to go back. She is like a person possessed – a firecracker of emotions without purpose or will.
Last week I invited Jack and her to dinner. When I would go into the kitchen, Janet would get up to go to the door. Jack would have to jump up, bring her back, and explain we were about to eat, only to have her pop up again. When I finally got dinner on the table, he had to cut her food and serve her. I was near tears by the time they left. What’s going on? Can’t anything be done to ease her suffering? What about me? What is my chance of getting this terrible disease?
Senility is everyone’s worst terror about old age. The flood of publicity about Alzheimer’s disease has multiplied this concern. We hear there is an epidemic; there is nothing medical science can do. But we know little else about this sword hanging over our later years: “Is my forgetting names more often a sign of beginning Alzheimer’s disease?” “Is becoming senile the inevitable price if we live to a ripe old age?” “What is senility?”
*118/159/5*
GENERAL HEALTH
