Still Alice Page 0,41
and ocean-salty skin intoxicating her every inhalation. She could remember all of that, but not the name of the damn h-thing they lay on.
She sailed through the WAIS-R Picture Arrangement test, Raven’s Colored Progressive Matrices, the Luria Mental Rotation test, the Stroop test, and copying and remembering geometric figures. She checked her watch. She’d been in that little room for just over an hour.
“Okay, Alice, now I’d like you to think back to that short story you read earlier. What can you tell me about it?”
She swallowed her panic, and it lodged, heavy and hulking, right above her diaphragm, making it uncomfortable to breathe. Either her pathways to the details of the story were impassable or she lacked the electrochemical strength to knock loudly enough on the neurons housing them to be heard. Outside of this closet, she could look up lost information in her BlackBerry. She could reread her emails and write herself reminders on Post-it notes. She could rely on the default respect her Harvard position embodied. Outside of this little room, she could hide her impassable pathways and wimpy neural signals. And although she knew that these tests were designed to unveil what she couldn’t access, she was caught unsuspecting and embarrassed.
“I don’t really remember much.”
There it was, her Alzheimer’s, stripped and naked under the fluorescent lighting, on display for Sarah Something to scrutinize and judge.
“That’s okay, tell me what you do remember, anything at all.”
“Well, it was about an airport, I think.”
“Did the story take place on a Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Just take a guess then.”
“Monday.”
“Was there a hurricane, a flood, a wildfire, or an avalanche?”
“A wildfire.”
“Did the story take place in April, May, June, or July?”
“July.”
“Which airport was shut down: John Wayne, Dulles, or LAX?”
“LAX.”
“How many travelers were stranded: thirty, forty, fifty, or sixty?”
“I don’t know, sixty.”
“How many children were stranded: two, four, six, or eight?”
“Eight.”
“Who else became stranded: two firemen, two policemen, two businessmen, or two teachers?”
“Two firemen.”
“Great, you’re all done here. I’ll walk you over to Dr. Davis.”
Great? Was it possible that she remembered the story but didn’t know she knew it?
SHE WALKED INTO DR. DAVIS’S office surprised to see John already there, sitting in the seat that had remained conspicuously empty on her previous two visits. They were all there now. Alice, John, and Dr. Davis. She couldn’t believe that this was really happening, that this was her life, that she was a sick woman at her neurologist’s appointment with her husband. She almost felt like a character in a play, this woman with Alzheimer’s disease. The husband held his script in his lap. Only it wasn’t a script, it was the Activities of Daily Living questionnaire. (Interior of Doctor’s Office. The woman’s neurologist sits across from the woman’s husband. Enter the woman.)
“Alice, have a seat. I’ve just had a few minutes here with John.”
John spun his wedding band and jiggled his right leg. Their chairs touched, so he was causing hers to vibrate. What had they been talking about? She wanted to talk to John in private before they began, to find out what had happened and to get their stories straight. And she wanted to ask him to stop shaking her.
“How are you?” asked Dr. Davis.
“I’m good.”
He smiled at her. It was a kind smile, and it dulled the edges of her apprehension.
“Okay, how about your memory? Are there any additional concerns or changes since the last time you were here?”
“Well, I’d say I’m having a harder time keeping track of my schedule. I have to refer to my BlackBerry and to-do lists all day long. And I hate talking on the phone now. If I can’t see the person I’m talking to, I have a really hard time understanding the entire conversation. I usually lose track of what the person is saying while I’m chasing down words in my head.”
“How about disorientation, any more episodes of feeling lost or confused?”
“No. Well, sometimes I get confused as to what time of day it is, even looking at my watch, but I eventually figure it out. I did go to my office once thinking it was morning and didn’t realize until I got back home that it was the middle of the night.”
“You did?” asked John. “When was this?”
“I don’t know, last month, I think.”
“Where was I?”
“Asleep.”
“Why am I just finding out about this now, Ali?”
“I don’t know, I forgot to tell you?”
She smiled, but it didn’t seem to change him. If anything, the edges of his apprehension