ALZHEIMER'S--FIFTY SHADES OF DEMENTIA

ALZHEIMER'S--"AL" OVER THE WORLD

Alzheimer's is the Same Around the Globe

Today I reviewed the status of my blog site and noted (with great surprise) that in addition to its US audience, the blog has been read in nine other countries.

That reminded me that it doesn’t matter where we live, what religion we are, how much or how little we have, what language we speak or the color of our skin.  Throughout the world, Alzheimer’s is the same monster and we are all just trying to figure out how to deal with it.

You couldn’t write a script with a more compelling storyline of love, laughter, sorrow and loss than the stories being lived right now by Alzheimer’s families around the globe. 

I read recently that worldwide, an estimated 44 million people are believed to be living with Alzheimer’s or other dementias. 

Wow, that's huge.  If that doesn’t make a person think and want to do something about it, then I don’t know what it takes.

Actually, that’s not true.  I do know what it takes.  It takes Alzheimer’s “getting personal”.  Until it got personal, close enough for me to touch, I didn’t think about it either.  

It's not that I didn’t know something about Alzheimer's.  I had two aunts that suffered with the disease, but they both lived far away in other states, and back then it just wasn't something we talked about. So in my busy younger life it wasn’t on my radar.

I’ve chosen to write about our family’s experiences with Alzheimer's (Al) and share them publicly.  It’s my therapy, and I’m hoping that in some small way I can help move the Alzheimer’s conversation forward and make it more personal/relatable to others. 

Generally I approach Al with humor and maybe a little defiance.  That’s just what works for me.  But I know that Alzheimer’s is serious business. It destroys families.

I’ve joined the fight and have become a "Wipeout Alzheimer’s" advocate.  I am fortunate to have many talented women in my life (both family and friends) and I’m asking that you join me in the fight to defeat this beast. Please logon at: www.wipeoutalzheimers.org

Here is an excerpt from the website:

Every 67 seconds a brain develops Alzheimer's and two thirds of them belong to women. Wipe Out Alzheimer’s is a grassroots, social action campaign to mobilize a movement of women to get educated, get engaged, get empowered and wipe out Alzheimer’s. In partnership with A Woman’s Nation, the Alzheimer’s Association and a global community of empowered women, the challenge will enlist women to take “The Pledge”, help raise funds to research women’s brains and challenge other organizations to make women’s brain research a priority. The challenge was informed and inspired by "The Shriver Report: A Woman's Nation Takes on Alzheimer's"

There was a time when Cancer and AIDS were dirty words and not spoken in public.  Not anymore…Let’s do the same thing with Alzheimer’s.

Women have the power to do this.  We can’t wait for this to be someone else’s priority.  If Alzheimer’s hasn’t yet touched you, it will.

I generally tell people to "lighten up" and not take life too seriously.  I still feel that's important.  However, for this I will make an exception.  Let's kick butt.

With hope,

Jane Gayer

ALZHEIMER'S--365 DAYS

Joe pool walking in 2015

Today I looked at the calendar and noted that Joe and Al and I moved to Arizona 365 days ago.  As I sat outside this morning in the sunshine and savored the sweet smell of the citrus blossoms, I thought about our move and all that has happened in that amount of the time, just one year. 

Well into the first week after we arrived, we were still recovering from the stress of a 1,100 mile road trip from Bend, Oregon.  We had just packed up, cleared a house, and said goodbye to a place we called home.  We’d left family and friends for the unknown and had become immigrants to the 48th state in the Union, famous for its arid desert landscape and hardnosed Maricopa County Sheriff (also named Joe).

Considering that Joe and I have moved over 10 times in our 35 year relationship, it wasn’t an altogether unfamiliar scene.  But there was something unique about this time.

I’ve heard people talk about buying their “forever home”, which I had never understood.  It sounded so narrow, so final.  Why would anyone want to stay in the same place for the rest of their life? 

For us, moving had always been an adventure and involved creating something.  It never was the end of anything, it was a beginning.  So why did this time feel different?

With this move, we were preparing.  We didn’t know exactly what would happen but we needed to be ready. With Al in the picture, we were now a threesome in an increasingly complicated relationship and we were definitely in for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.  It was time to buckle up.

This was more than “downsizing” (we’d already done that).  This was ”Alsizing”, meaning getting into a manageable, maintainable, and practical state regardless of what type of mess Al might create for us.

In our younger years, Bend, Oregon had been our paradise.  We rushed to Bend every weekend we could and vacationed there in the summers.  From the time Joe was 42, that’s where we’d celebrated his birthday.  (He turns 77 in July.) We even managed to make Bend our home before we both retired. 

As time passed, we realized that we preferred golf balls over snowballs and began splitting our time between the warm southland of California and Bend’s high country.  (Well, not exactly an even split, the southland was getting to be a larger slice of the pie.)

At one point we decided splitting our residence was too complicated, so with some trepidation, we loaded up a moving van and the mighty SUV, said adios to new friends and headed back to the Oregon mountains determined to fare the winters.

That didn’t last long.

Somewhere along the way, with Al now a fully diagnosed family member, ice and snow and cold became our enemy.  There was no more pretending that we were going to partake in winter sports and slide down a mountain; and besides, we all three stunk at Nordic skiing and snowshoeing.

Even though we loved summers in Bend, we had to stop our geographic schizophrenia, look Jack Frost in the eye, and say goodbye.  Like in the movie “Frozen” it was time to “let it go”.

So, how has it worked out?

That’s a good question with no simple answer. 

It was hard getting Joe and Al settled and comfortable in the new environment (change is not welcomed by Al).  We both miss family and friends left in Bend.  But, through it all, we managed to find a rhythm that worked for us and it certainly has not been business as usual.

The fitness facilities in our community are first rate and we discovered that pool walking (although it looks kind of ridiculous) is a great way to keep the body moving and well oiled.

We enjoyed refurbishing our little mid-century modern home and managed to survive a very hot first summer season. 

We celebrated Joe’s birthday in Sedona with a spectacular thunder storm and for the first time experienced a true monsoon (which was not highlighted in the travel brochures).

It’s been difficult to integrate into the community with Al being the anti-social kind of guys that he is.  We’ll continue to work on that, but it's been nice being closer to Joe's sister.

But most importantly, Joe is holding his own against Al.  Oh, they get into it fairly regularly, but Joe still wins a good portion of the time.

Snowwoman in 2012

Okay, I’m going to be honest here. I do occasionally think about Bend’s winter weather and miss the idea of making a snowman. I know that sounds childish, but I do.  I never felt more alive than just after getting a snowball in the face or having my fingers tingle as they thaw out from an afternoon of shoveling snow.

Wait a minute…I just remembered I hate cold.  Never mind all of that.

I’m putting on my flip flops and going outside on the patio to read, and I may walk over to see my neighbor.  I just checked our fancy thermometer and it’s 93 degrees right now.  The only cold thing I’ll enjoy today is a frosty glass of lemonade.

Year number two, SHOW US WHAT YOU'VE GOT!!

ALZHEIMER'S--THE LOWDOWN ON HIGH TECH

Only remotely in control 2015

Life isn’t as simple as it once was.

My parents bought a television set when I was 5 years old.  It was the first in the neighborhood and quite a novelty.  We had neighbors and relatives at the house almost every night, in awe of the black and white magic coming out of the box. 

If you could twist a knob, you could have all three TV channels right at your fingertips; that is, if you could position the antenna just right.  (My father was the only one authorized to touch the television, especially the antenna.)

Making a telephone call in our rural environment was even simpler. Just lift the receiver and wait for the operator to ask what “party” you wished to speak with.  It was a bit like “voice command”.  (For you younger folks who may be reading this, this was in the olden days, the 20th Century.)

Not long ago, I was talking about this with my granddaughter and she looked at me with a mix of pity and compassion for having grown up and survived in a world prior to popular technology.  I’m sure she felt much like I did when my mother described her life on the prairie without plumbing.

Our house today certainly isn’t cutting-edge anything, but we are (at least I am) plugged-in and taking advantage of current, mainstream electronics.

Joe was never enthralled with such things.   I used to jokingly say that he was one of the lowest tech guys I knew considering the fact that he’d made a living in high technology.  He always looked at it as a necessary evil. He certainly wasn’t an early adopter, one who embraced the stuff.  (I recall him talking about dictating memos to his secretary, kind of like they do in the TV series “Mad Men”.)

It occurred to me that Al is very “low tech”.  Put Joe and Al together, and they have a heck-of-a-time trying to manage any kind of technology.

A little while back I hired a company to install “a home system” for us, one that would link everything together, and we marched into “WiFiville”.  I hadn’t considered what it would mean to Joe and Al as users.  That was a serious mistake.

Even the simplest basic functions of the system now seem complicated.  The Smart TV’s touch screen remote control operates a host of components that completely baffle and perplex Joe.  He frequently struggles to change the channel only to get frustrated and opt for a nap instead.

It’s a similar battle with Joe’s cell phone.  Assuming he remembers to plug it into its charger, there is still the problem of multi-function keys, directories and options, all of which can send him into an electronics induced tizzy.

For Joe (with Al helping), using a PC to write and send an email is a huge undertaking, a bit like launching a rocket into outer space. Because of this, he avoids doing it.  I glanced at his email account the other day and was horrified to see that he had almost seven hundred emails in his inbox.  (I think that constitutes hoarding.  They certainly were junk mail.)

The thing is, the world of technology doesn’t recognize cognitive impairment.  Even without Alzheimer’s in the picture, things are complicated and getting more so with every new “doflicky” on the market.

There will come a time when Joe simply won’t be able to keep up, and whether we like it or not, he will be back into the “good old days”, operating without all of our fancy gadgets.  I don’t think he’ll care.

The task for me now is to help Joe manage as many things as he can on his own without feeling assaulted by the complexity of the tools.  The other day, our daughter sent a picture of the remote control with everything on it covered with duct tape except the channel selector and ON/OFF switch (a little extreme but not a bad idea).

Sometimes, but not often, I long for those days when something sizzled and smoked to let you know it was a goner; there would be no chatting support, no remote diagnosis, you just unplugged it, grumbled a bit, (maybe kicked it) and bought a new one.

A couple of weeks ago, most of the United States switched to Daylight Saving Time, but not Arizona.  Sunday morning, all of the electronic clocks in the house made the switch anyway.  Even our cell phones were confused.  It took three people (including my niece and her boyfriend) to investigate and confirm the correct time.  Joe and Al abstained. 

There is one thing I know for sure. Joe will not miss the high-tech jargon, geekspeak, or hybrid shorthand of today’s touch screen world.  He will not go kicking and screaming, dragging a Smartphone and laptop behind him and wishing he’d saved everything to “The Cloud”. (What the heck is The Cloud anyway?)

Joe showing "real pictures" to his grandchildren

ALZHEIMER'S--SPRING TRAINING

Joe & Jane Spring Training 2015

This is the most perfect time of year to be in Arizona.  The desert has started to bloom, nights are warming up, sweaters are being stored, and best of all, it’s Spring Training.

If you’re a baseball fan you already know that every spring, just like the swallows returning to Capistrano, big league baseball teams return to sunny Arizona to tune and test their skills. 

They call it “The Cactus League”, and there’s a month long schedule of games which includes the Padres, Mariners, Royals and Rangers, to name a few.

This is our first Spring Training and Joe’s very excited about the opportunity to be up close to today’s baseball greats.  My dear niece and her guy are coming this weekend, and we’re all going to a game.

Since Al joined our household, I’ve learned the importance of planning for such events.   The more Joe understands about the details of what’s happening, the less stress and confusion we’re likely to experience.   

So last week, Joe and I drove out to the Surprise Campus to buy tickets, scout which gate we’ll use, and plan where to park.

As I mentioned, it’s a large complex that has several gates and parking lots.  Buying the tickets is the easy part, but figuring out the gate and parking is a whole other thing.

I quickly manage to get us in the wrong place, have to make several corrective moves, and wind up circling the park trying to get back to where we started.

Nowadays when we go out in the car, Joe’s role is to navigate.  He takes this very seriously and I’ve just totally confused him. His reaction is quite typical (no need to say more).  

He demands that I stop the car and let him out so that he can go ask someone who “knows what they are doing” (anyone other than me) how to get where we need to be. 

By now I am about to push Joe out of the car anyway, so I stop, put on the emergency flashers (I’m in traffic), and Joe gets out.  He walks over to a guy manning a gate entrance and after what seems like a long time, the two walk back to the car.  I’m still in traffic blocking a lane. 

The gate guy asks if I want to see the inside of the park.  Before I can answer, Joe tells me that I do.  So the gate guy gives me directions and I drive off to find the park lot, wondering how I get into situations like this in first place.

It turns out the gate guy is a very nice older gentleman.   He ushers us toward the stadium which, at this point, isn’t open to the public (it’s not a game day).

Joe and I walk through the gate and as we round a corner we see that we’re well above the field overlooking a beautiful, perfectly mowed playing surface. The entire stadium is pristinely polished and very quiet.  The only other people we see are a couple of employees busily unloading supplies.  

It’s like we have just entered a grand cathedral before a service; everything is perfectly prepared and waiting.  We stand there in awe and look out over the scene with a kind of reverence that makes you feel like you should whisper.

We eventually wander over to where we will be sitting, and agree that we have good seats (no stairs for Joe to climb and near to the restrooms).  It’s all good. 

By now, Joe’s mood is completely transformed from what it was before we walked into the stadium.  He shares some of his baseball knowledge with me as we slowly walk back out, neither of us really wanting to leave.

  

Back at the entrance, we stop to thank the friendly gate guy. I shake his hand and ask his name.  He smiles and says, “I’m Al.”

Joe and I turn to each other with big knowing smiles.  Al, (the gate guy) gives us each a souvenir pack of baseball cards (just like we were kids) and we say good bye.  We hold arms and try not to get killed jaywalking back to the car. 

It’s funny how things work out sometimes.  If I hadn’t been worried about going to the game and how Joe would deal with the hubbub, decided to drive out and scout the place, then gotten lost and frustrated, we wouldn’t have met Al (the gate guy), and had such a lovely and surreal experience inside the park.

Joe with the family (Kathleen and Cobey)

Now we both are looking forward to going to the game with our family and seeing the park transformed into its crowded, noisy, concession smelling greatness.

“Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd.  Buy me some peanuts and……”

ALZHEIMER'S--I'D LIKE TO MAKE A DEPOSIT

THE MEMORY BANK

ACT 1, Scene 1

It’s an average sunny morning in Arizona.  Joe has just finished breakfast and is ready to start his day. He calls his trusted Memory Bank.  The conversation in his mind begins.

JOE.  I’d like to make a deposit into my memory bank.

THE CLERK.  (A pleasant voice.)  Certainly sir, please enter your password.

JOE. (Seems puzzled.)  I don’t know my password.

THE CLERK. (Still a very pleasant voice.)  I’m sorry sir, but without your password, we won’t be able to accept any memories today.

JOE.  (Stunned.)  I didn’t even know I had a password.

THE CLERK.  (Persistent tone.)  Yes Sir, you have a password.  Let me see here.  (Joe hears typing.)  Here it is.  It was added about a year and a half ago, someone by the name of “Al Heimer”.  

JOE.  (Sound effects from “Law and Order” play in his mind.  He starts getting agitated.)  Alright then, let me just withdraw a few memories for today.

THE CLERK. (Speaks louder.)  Sir, as I told you, without a password we won’t be able to accommodate you.

JOE.  (Now quite agitated.)  For crying out loud, who do I need to talk to around here to get a few memories?

THE CLERK. (Condescendingly.) I would suggest that you call your neurologist.

THE NARRATOR. (Soft music plays in the background.)

“Memory banks”, that’s what we call them because they are so valuable.  They’re what defines us as an individual, serving as a road map as we maneuver through our lives. 

Some memories are simple and require little thought.  Some are so important that we back them up by writing them down.  And others may be so terrible we try hard to forget them.

Each day we make deposits and withdrawals through our memory banks.  It’s an automatic process, no passwords or authorizations, we own them; they’re ours to manage, unless you’re living with Al.

Memories are becoming an everyday struggle for Joe because Al has added a password to Joe’s Memory Bank and keeps changing it.  (This is, of course, a metaphor for how it feels to Joe.)

ACT 1, Scene 2

Later that same day.  Things haven’t been going well for Joe.  His memory bank is still locked up.  (The quiet is shattered by the same male voice.)

JOE.   (Search for the lost item.) I know I had it this morning.  It was right by my chair.

JANE. (Trying to be supportive.)  Well, did you look in the bathroom?

 

JOE. (Annoyed.)  Why would it be in the bathroom?  I always put it next to my chair.

JANE. (Frustrated)  Well, why don’t you look anyway?

JOE. (Shaking his head.)  Okay, but I know it isn’t there. (He leaves and returns again without it.)  I told you it wasn’t there.  (Exasperated, he circles the house searching.)  It’s been stolen. 

JANE. (Working in the kitchen, opens the refrigerator and see’s it on the top shelf.)  Well now, I think I see where the thieves have hidden it.

JOE. (Moves hastily into the kitchen and looks into the open refrigerator.)  Why in the world would they hide my remote control in the refrigerator? 

JANE: (Big sigh.) Maybe they’re Television Critics.

The End (Curtain)

Well, maybe not the end.  I have a feeling there will be a sequel.

The Star of the Show

ALZHEIMER'S--LET'S GET THEATRICAL

Joe, the early bird, waiting for the play to start 2012

“Just give me the first word, that’ll get me started.”

Every time I auditioned for a play it was the same thing, a little panic and lots of worry that I just might have bitten off more than I could chew.  Maybe this time I wouldn’t be able to memorize the umpteen lines of the character I wanted to play.

What if I got on stage and blanked?  It happens, not just to community theater actors, but to professionals on Broadway, too. 

It is the most terrifying experience to believe that you are “well-rehearsed”, that you have it down pat, only to step on stage, open your mouth, and have no words come out.  It is to be avoided at all cost.

Joe knew how much I loved theater and performing, and he was always more than willing to help me prepare for a part.  We would spend hours running lines. 

I would set a daily goal, maybe three pages.  That doesn’t seem like many, does it? 

For me to memorize three pages a day required intense concentration and a lot of backing up and doing it over.  Joe would sometimes get annoyed with me after I screwed a line for what seemed like the hundredth time, but we persevered and eventually I would get them.

By opening night of the play, I would be as ready as I possibly could be, and so would Joe.  Not only had he coached me to remember every line, but in the process he could say virtually every line himself.  I used to say that if I fainted and fell off the stage he might have been able to go on as my understudy.  (Well, that might have been a bit far-fetched.)

He sat through many performances of a play, and no one was happier than Joe when I would make it through the final act without a major blow up.   He was an excellent partner in the process.

Many times I tried to get Joe to join our theater group, to become openly involved.  He always declined.  Back then I didn’t understand why, but I now believe it was Al. 

I’m sure that Joe felt the changes that had begun.  He knew something wasn’t exactly right with his ability to socialize, hang out with a group, and mingle; the way he dealt with his discomfort was to withdraw from anything that would reveal a problem.

Joe started a slow social shut down.  Watching sports was in his comfort zone, so that’s what he did.  After all, he had always loved sports and watching it didn’t require any social interaction. 

He still played golf, but it was with people that he knew very well, that wouldn’t tax him socially, letting him focus on golf and the competition.

I wish I could go back to some of those experiences with Joe.  I think I would be more sympathetic and understanding of his withdrawal. 

I’d get upset with his refusals to come out of the cave (the den).   Back then, I’d have been happy if he had shown interest in anything that would have gotten him out into the world (poker, ballroom dancing, bodybuilding, falconry). 

There were many nights that I left Joe “home alone” to fend for himself, dinner in the fridge.  

Joe didn’t complain about any of that, but in retrospect I understand that being alone wasn’t what he needed.  Now that we’re more familiar with Al, we know the importance of social interaction, exercise and healthy eating, and that each are of equal weight in dealing with this beast.

It’s still a challenge to get Joe going and out of the house.  I have to be creative sometimes, or just plain pester him until he gives up.  There are days he really would rather sit in his chair and view a high definition world through a 50 inch screen.

Me getting theatrical

It’s probably time I thanked Joe for the support he provides to all of my endeavors.  For 35 years, he’s put up with my creative digressions, all of my nonsense, every wacky design idea.  The guy has been through a lot with me and my menagerie.

That’s why it’s not hard to put the brakes on my other interests and focus on Joe.  When he needs a little help figuring things out, I’m there to point the way.  If he needs support to keep Al at arm’s length or duct taped to a lawn chair, it is my pleasure to assist. 

I’m there when he says, “Just give me the first word, that’ll get me started.” (Déjà vu.)

In a play when there is a radical change in its expected direction, it’s called a “plot twist”.   Life is full of “plot twists”.

Bravo, Joe!