Alzheimer's is the C of the week. 2018/07/18

Seriously. Screw that disease. My mom was diagnosed with it in 2013, but she was showing signs of it long before that. It started with general forgetfulness. She'd tell me the same story on multiple days. When I'd say she already told me, she'd say, "Oh, that's right - I forgot." Then it was lists. And post-it notes. Everywhere. I told my dad I was concerned and felt like he should take her to a neurologist. He said their primary care doctor said it was "just elderly dementia" and nothing to worry about. I told my dad that was bullshit, but I didn't persist. The symptoms, while disconcerting, were fairly mild.

A few months later, my mom left the house in Granbury to go to the dentist in Granbury. She never made it. My dad got a call from the dentist's office saying she hadn't arrived for her appointment. My dad called her repeatedly - her phone was turned off in her purse. When she finally pulled over to call my dad, she was an hour away in Mineral Wells, didn't know how she got there, where she was, or how to get home. My dad had to call the sheriff who pinged her phone & sent a deputy out to sit with her until my dad & uncle got there to bring her & her car home. That was the last day she drove. That was also the day I insisted she see a specialist.

Diagnosis: Alzheimer's - otherwise known as the C of the week. Or the year. Or a lifetime. My mom was put on meds that were supposed to "slow the progression of Alzheimer's" according to the advertisements. This was later found not to be true at all, and the drug companies had to rescind that statement - nothing slows the progression. But the meds do minimize the symptoms. Or they did. For a time.

In 2015, my dad had a sudden, unexpected stroke. He passed 10 days later. My mom had a significant decline. The trials & tribulations of getting everything handled & my mom settled into assisted living, then memory care, then an Alzheimer's specialty care center is a different post for a different day. Let's just say it all sucks. All of it. In a cruel twist of fate, my aunt - my mom's older sister - also has Alzheimer's. I feel like she was more advanced, but my dad's passing catapulted my mom far ahead. Hysterical outbursts, middle-of-the-night calls, catatonic episodes all became the new normal. Eventually, we got her back to a "baseline", as people in the memory care industry like to call it. She was put on Zoloft and Abilify, and they seemed to help even her out.

Alzheimer's is such a strange disease. Every once in awhile, my mom will have this moment of clarity & lucidity. And you almost think, "Everything's going to be okay!" I remember one time before we got her settled in assisted living, I had fixed us lunch. We were sitting on the couch, and I asked if she'd had enough to eat. She looked at me in all seriousness & said, "I'm at the corner of happy and healthy!" I mean, she doesn't remember what she had for breakfast, but she remembers the Walgreen's slogan!? Those moments of clarity are few and far between now.

I went to go see my mom today. I took her some jewelry - mostly costume stuff and a few pieces that are special to her but won't bother me if they go missing (as most things do - including someone stealing her wedding rings off her finger at her previous residence). Today was not a good day. To say she's off her rocker is putting it mildly. She was looking at me & talking like we were having a conversation - it's actually the most I've heard her say in months - but it was all nonsense. Except every few minutes, she would say, "Okay. Okay. Okay. Oh dear. Okay. Okay." She would look at me expectantly like I had fully understood the gibberish that was coming out of her mouth. Then she would say, "But you! Look at you! You're just beautiful!" Four seconds of clarity...and then gone again.

I didn't stay long. I feel guilty. She's my mom, but it's like visiting a stranger. It's uncomfortable. I know she loves seeing me, even though she doesn't remember I've been there the second that I leave. I'm not sure if my visits are for me or for her.

My mom is declining. Fast. I don't know how long she has left on this earth. But to me, she's already gone.