Still Alice Page 0,69
concentrate and I can’t multitask at all. I feel lonely, too. I can’t wait to meet you.
Cathy Roberts
P.S. Do you know about the Dementia Advocacy and Support Network International? Go to their website: www.dasninternational.org. It’s a wonderful site for people like us in early stages and with early-onset to talk, vent, get support, and share information.
There they were. And they were coming.
MARY, CATHY, AND DAN REMOVED their coats and found seats in the living room. Their spouses kept their coats on, bid them a reluctant good-bye, and left with John for coffee at Jerri’s.
Mary had chin-length blond hair and round, chocolate brown eyes behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. Cathy had a smart, pleasing face, and eyes that smiled before her mouth did. Alice liked her immediately. Dan had a thick mustache, a balding head, and a stocky build. They could’ve been professors visiting from out of town, members of a book club, or old friends.
“Would anyone like something to think?” asked Alice.
They stared at her and at one another, disinclined to answer. Were they all too shy or polite to be the first to speak up?
“Alice, did you mean ‘drink’?” asked Cathy.
“Yes, what’d I say?”
“You said ‘think.’”
Alice’s face flushed. Word substitution wasn’t the first impression she’d wanted to make.
“I’d actually like a cup of thinks. Mine’s been close to empty for days, I could use a refill,” said Dan.
They laughed, and it connected them instantly. She brought in the coffee and tea as Mary was telling her story.
“I was a real estate agent for twenty-two years. I suddenly started forgetting appointments, meetings, open houses. I showed up to houses with no keys. I got lost on my way to show a property in a neighborhood I’d known forever with the client in the car with me. I drove around for forty-five minutes when it should’ve taken less than ten. I can only imagine what she was thinking.
“I started getting angry easily and blowing up at the other agents in the office. I’d always been so easygoing and well liked, and suddenly, I was becoming known for my short fuse. I was ruining my reputation. My reputation was everything. My doctor put me on an antidepressant. And when that one didn’t work, he put me on another, and another.”
“For a long time, I just thought I was overtired and multitasking too much,” said Cathy. “I was working part-time as a pharmacist, raising two kids, running the house, running around from one thing to the next like a chicken with my head cut off. I was only forty-six, so it never occurred to me that I might have dementia. Then, one day at work, I couldn’t figure out the names of the drugs, and I didn’t know how to measure out ten milliliters. Right then, I realized I was capable of giving someone the wrong amount of drug or even the wrong drug. Basically, I was capable of accidentally killing someone. So I took off my lab coat, went home early, and never went back. I was devastated. I thought I was going crazy.”
“How about you, Dan? What were the first things you noticed?” asked Mary.
“I used to be really handy around the house. Then, one day, I couldn’t figure out how to fix the things I’d always been able to fix. I always kept my workshop tidy, everything in its place. Now, it’s a total mess. I accused my friends of borrowing my tools and messing up the place and not returning them when I couldn’t find them. But it was always me. I was a firefighter. I started forgetting the names of the guys on the force. I couldn’t finish my own sentences. I forgot how to make a cup of coffee. I’d seen the same things with my mom when I was a teenager. She had early-onset AD, too.”
They shared stories of their earliest symptoms, their struggles to get a correct diagnosis, their strategies for coping and living with dementia. They nodded and laughed and cried over stories of lost keys, lost thoughts, and lost life dreams. Alice felt unedited and truly heard. She felt normal.
“Alice, is your husband still working?” asked Mary.
“Yes. He’s been buried in his research and teaching this semester. He’s been traveling a lot. It’s been hard. But we both have a sabbatical year next year. So I just have to hold on and get to the end of next semester, and we’ll be able to be home together for a whole year.”
“You can