Missing Steps

Missing Steps by Paul Cavanagh, © 2015, Not That London, Publisher

Dean Lajeunesse has a chip on his shoulder. He was only 10 when his father first started showing signs of early-onset Alzheimer's. Back then, no one knew that the erratic behaviour, memory lapses, and withdrawal from normal everyday activities were signs of a disease. They were embarrassing at best, and stress-inducing every step of the way for everyone touched by his father's illness.

Dean's mother coped the best she could; she worked several jobs, leaned on the neighbours when they needed to borrow their vehicle to track down Dean's Dad after he had wandered off, and tried to stay stoic in the face of his worsening condition.

Dean's brother Perry lost himself in sports, extracurricular activities, and his school studies. Any closeness that had existed between brothers was lost in the confusion surrounding their father's illness.

And Dean? He was left to figure out his Dad's dementia on his own. His response was to draw away from everything and everyone. And even after his father was hospitalized, institutionalized, and then died, Dean still refused to step out of his own shell.

Flash forward several decades and not much has changed for Dean. He is still loathe to let people in to his life and blames others for his lack of intimacy and overall success. But when his boss pulls him into his office to discuss his recent questionable behaviours and erratic performance at work, Dean can't help but fear that perhaps his father's Alzheimer's has struck him. Before he can think too much about it though, he is summoned to his mother's bedside and discovers not only that she is dying, but that his big brother Perry, who was always the successful and popular one, has been diagnosed with the dreaded Alzheimer's disease. And the years of animosity, standoffishness, and enforced separation come tumbling down when their truths are laid bare.

Paul Cavanagh doesn't aim to have you like his characters, but as his stories unfold, you learn to understand them and perhaps get a little insight as to why they act the way they do. We are all formed from the experiences we live, but we don't have to be stuck in their shadows. With a little honesty and insight, we can learn or perhaps unlearn a lifetime's worth of lessons. Sometimes we just have to give life a chance to show us the way and accept help when it is offered.

Still Alice

"Still Alice" by Lisa Genova; © 2007, Simon & Schuster

Dr. Alice Howland is a Professor of Psychology at pre-eminent Harvard University. She travels and speaks all over the world, is active in research and development of psycholinguistics and is highly respected by her students, peers and fellow teachers. She has a loving husband, three highly successful children and is riding high on a successful lifetime devoted to life.

That is until she stumbles one day in the middle of a presentation. She simply cannot find the word she is looking for. While most might miss her transgression, she is flustered by this slip in her normally flawless lectures. She recovers, but is bothered by this unusual turn of events. As the weeks go by, other small incidents occur that rattle her usually confident demeanour. She is 50 years old and has always been the stalwart in the family for remembering every and any small detail. Concerns that perhaps menopause is wreaking havoc with her internal systems, she makes a trip to her family physician. That leads to further tests and other doctors. The ultimate shocking diagnosis is early-onset Alzheimer's.

As the story unfolds, the reader walks the path of confusion that Alice slowly gets ensnared in. It is far worse than confusion though, as more than just words escape her in her steady spiral out of cognitive control. No amount of drugs, hope, wishing or praying can slow this horrific disease as it steals everything that Alice has ever held dear in her life. Genova's heart-breaking telling of the story is sad in its following of Alice's descent into the worst that Alzheimer's has to offer - memory loss, inability to recognize places, words and people, inability to interact in group settings or even perform normal everyday functions (everything from handling money, going out by oneself, to cleaning and grooming one's person). All this at the age of 50 in a Harvard Professor.

My heart broke for Alice, as she struggled to maintain control on the unsteady slope she slid down. I recognized her symptoms, as those that my own grandmother has suffered and shed a tear in understanding the unfairness of it all just that little bit more. No amount of reminding, pressuring, cajoling or humouring truly makes a difference. The neurons fail and they don't come back no matter how much you wish it to be different. It steals who the person was and the loved ones that surround that person are left to cope as best they can, trying to reconcile the person they remember with the damaged soul that is left. It isn't fair to any involved and Genova makes that sadly clear. The point she so saliently makes though is that even as the former personality slips away, the individual is still there and deserving of our respect.

I came to this book through my book club, but I take it with me to heart. I have visibly seen the symptoms Genova describes on the page, but her words helped me to see the disease a little clearer. It doesn't make me feel any better, but the tears I shed helped me to understand a little more.

~Thank you Lisa~

Saturday's Email of the Week: Remember to Breathe

Saturday's Email of the Week

Today I will be going on another road trip. I may have seen my sister last weekend, as well as my mother, but we will all be gathering again to celebrate my sister's upcoming birthday. That is what we do. There will be laughter, dinner and more than likely some cards to be played, long before we crawl into bed for the night. Fun, but nothing especially remarkable. 

I shall be going in early tomorrow though, as my sister and I have a little road trip planned. We will arrive, hug our Mom, wave goodbye to our children, then get back into a vehicle and drive away. We are going to see my Grandmother. She will not be joining us for dinner, even though I will almost drive by her new home on the way to my Mother's. No. Sadly, it is beyond her now. 

Last weekend, my Grandmother moved into a nursing home. She had been living in a retirement home, but was not getting on there anymore. She is pretty much at the point, where she is unable to function in a gathering, such as a family dinner. She is out of touch with current events, cannot remember what is going on in the lives of her grandchildren, let alone her great-grandchildren and pretty much doesn't even care anymore. Not that she doesn't us. I know in my heart that she does, but time has been cruel. 

My grandmother has Dementia. 

It came on gradually. She forgot what she had bought at the grocery store and bought multiple items of it. Food rotted in her fridge. When the fire department had to be called because she left a pot on the stove to boil and forgot about it, we moved her closer to my Mom, so that she would have someone to look out for her. She also moved into a retirement facility, so that she would get better care. Her meals were provided for her, her laundry done and general housekeeping performed. But it was not enough. Her short-term memory doesn't last much more than five minutes and she is getting angry. She is quick to snap at anyone and disagreeable to the nth degree. I can theoretically understand it, as I think I would be defensive and perhaps a little snappish if I couldn't remember things and people kept treating me like a child. That is theory though. In reality, I don't think she even understands what she is doing when she attacks the workers with a vicious tongue. Or when she stares at family with such fight in her eyes that it feels like hate. I struggle with that. I know I should be understanding, but when she vehemently attacks words of truth, turning them into falsities that we all know are fake, my tongue bleeds as I try to prevent words from flying out. 

You know me. Words are my strong point. My Grandmother's anger, the dementia that has turned her into a nasty and negative shell of who she once was, is so hard to deal with. She taught me never to tell a lie. And I learned those lessons well. Now I struggle not to counteract the words that come out of her mouth. I am ashamed to say that I don't always do a very good job of that. 

So tomorrow my sister and I will go to visit my Grandma. I won't take my children, as I don't want to explain her words that sound like lies, but are in truth the warped reality that is the world of dementia. We will lean on each other, as we pay our respects to this woman who was once such a powerful influence on my life. She taught me how to bake and attempted teaching me to knit. I watched her cook, can and smoke anything that she came across and loved those lessons more than anything as I grew up. Now I will offer platitudes and bring up memories of days gone long ago. For the past is the only place where she lives now. I tear up now, but hope that I have the strength not to get dragged into a fight there. I shall just have to remember to breathe. Smile and breathe.

And keep this video that my Mother emailed me in my head. 

Happy Saturday all.