What It's Like to Live With Early Alzheimer's Part 1
Reprinted from: http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/05/01/nyregion/living-with-alzheimers.html?_r=0
FRAYING AT THE EDGES
By N. R. KLEINFIELD
By N. R. KLEINFIELD
A withered person with a scrambled mind, memories sealed
away: That is the familiar face of Alzheimer’s. But there is also the waiting
period, which Geri Taylor has been navigating with prudence, grace and hope.
A LIFE-CHANGING
DIAGNOSIS
IT BEGAN WITH what she saw in the bathroom mirror. On a dull
morning, Geri Taylor padded into the shiny bathroom of her Manhattan apartment.
She casually checked her reflection in the mirror, doing her daily inventory.
Immediately, she stiffened with fright.
Huh? What?
She didn’t recognize herself.
She gazed saucer-eyed at her image, thinking: Oh, is this
what I look like? No, that’s not me. Who’s that in my mirror?
This was in late 2012. She was 69, in her early months
getting familiar with retirement. For some time she had experienced the
sensation of clouds coming over her, mantling thought. There had been a few
hiccups at her job. She had been a nurse who climbed the rungs to health care
executive. Once, she was leading a staff meeting when she had no idea what she
was talking about, her mind like a stalled engine that wouldn’t turn over.
“Fortunately I was the boss and I just said, ‘Enough of
that; Sally, tell me what you’re up to,’” she would say of the episode.
Certain mundane tasks stumped her. She told her husband, Jim
Taylor, that the blind in the bedroom was broken. He showed her she was pulling
the wrong cord. Kept happening. Finally, nothing else working, he scribbled on
the adjacent wall which cord was which.
Then there was the day she got off the subway at 14th Street
and Seventh Avenue unable to figure out why she was there.
So, yes, she had had inklings that something was going wrong
with her mind. She held tight to these thoughts. She even hid her suspicions
from Mr. Taylor, who chalked up her thinning memory to the infirmities of age.
“I thought she was getting like me,” he said. “I had been forgetful for 10
years.”
But to not recognize her own face! To Ms. Taylor, this was
the “drop-dead moment” when she had to accept a terrible truth. She wasn’t just
seeing the twitches of aging but the early fumes of the disease.
She had no further issues with mirrors, but there was no
ignoring that something important had happened. She confided her fears to her
husband and made an appointment with a neurologist. “Before then I thought I
could fake it,” she would explain. “This convinced me I had to come clean.”
In November 2012, she saw the neurologist who was treating
her migraines. He listened to her symptoms, took blood, gave her the Mini
Mental State Examination, a standard cognitive test made up of a set of
unremarkable questions and commands. (For instance, she was asked to count
backward from 100 in intervals of seven; she had to say the phrase: “No ifs,
ands or buts”; she was told to pick up a piece of paper, fold it in half and
place it on the floor beside her.)
He told her three common words, said he was going to ask her
them in a little bit. He emphasized this by pointing a finger at his head —
remember those words. That simple. Yet when he called for them, she knew only
one: beach. In her mind, she would go on to associate it with the doctor,
thinking of him as Dr. Beach.
He gave a diagnosis of mild cognitive impairment, a common
precursor to Alzheimer’s disease. The first label put on what she had. Even
then, she understood it was the footfall of what would come. Alzheimer’s had
struck her father, a paternal aunt and a cousin. She long suspected it would
eventually find her.
Every 67 seconds, with monotonous cruelty, Alzheimer’s takes
up residence in another American. Degenerative and incurable, it is democratic
in its reach. People live with it about eight to 10 years on average, though
some people last for 20 years. More than five million Americans are believed to
have it, two-thirds of them women, and now Ms. Taylor would join them.
The disease, with its thundering implications, moves in
worsening stages to its ungraspable end. That is the familiar face of
Alzheimer’s, the withered person with the scrambled mind marooned in a nursing
home, memories sealed away, aspirations for the future discontinued. But there
is also the beginning, the waiting period.
That was Geri Taylor. Waiting.
Right now, she remained energized, in control of her life,
the silent attack on her brain not yet in full force. But what about next week?
Next month? Next year? The disease would be there then. And the year after. And
forever. It has no easy parts. It nicks away at you, its progress messy and
unpredictable.
“The beginning is like purgatory,” she said one day. “It’s
kind of a grace period. You’re waiting for something. Something you don’t want
to come. It’s like a before-hell purgatory.”
Ms. Taylor is an effervescent woman, with a round face and a
froth of swirling hair. Well spoken and ruminative, she evinces a nimble wit
and a droll manner. She is 72. She and her husband, also retired, live near
Lincoln Center, and they keep a weekend place in Sherman, Conn.
In her health care career, she had seen Alzheimer’s in
action. Now she would live it, in high resolution. Those who learn they have
the disease often sink into a piercing black grief, try to camouflage their
symptoms from a dismissive world as they backpedal from life. Ms. Taylor was
wired to absorb adversity, and she pictured Alzheimer’s differently, with
gumption and defiance and through a dispassionate, unblinking lens.
As she crossed the pitted terrain of Alzheimer’s, she would
find surprises. Disturbing ones and ironic ones, but also uplifting ones. Many
days she would not only experience wells of frustration, but also discover
wisps of joy. The disease, her new invisible companion, was much larger than
she was, and she would have to live submerged in its shell. It made her
question her purpose and hunt for possibility.
Her career was concluded. Mortality was pressing in. Was she
simply a woman with Alzheimer’s, limited to backward glances, or could this be
a new beginning?
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