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Table of contents

However, what about the wherewithal of which loneliness snips the wings? When I am not busy, I am lonely. The time will come when I will be focused only on my bodily needs. This topic has kept me busy seriously for the past year. I have come so far that I say not only the children have to become independent from the parents, but also the parents from the children.

For me this process was accompanied by much quiet heartsoreness and emotion and I had to work very hard at it. I gave my emotion and heartsoreness over to the most holy in myself and to the Holy of Holies, since I feel I can love the children more when I am not mad with heartsoreness or distracted by emotion. To me love is openness in every direction, and in respect of my children this is only possible if I expect nothing from them and blame them for nothing—then they will come to me out of love.

Dementia is a catchall term for various disabling problems with memory and thinking. Although the end results are very much alike no matter the cause of a particular dementia, diagnosing a cause helps establish a timeline and whether any medications are available to slow the progression. It is caused by deposition in the brain of plaques misfolded amyloid protein and the presence of tangles an abnormal number of protein tubes. A clinical diagnosis is made by excluding other forms of dementia and rating the patient on two different scales, one that measures cognitive decline, the other functional decline.

Vascular dementia, which I have, results from the blockage of blood vessels in the brain, which can be detected on an MRI as lesions.


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These blockages eventually lead to repeated strokes. Both are widely used in the medical and psychiatric community. Each scale ranges from stage 1, in which no cognitive deficits or odd behavior are noticed by either the patient or her loved ones, to stage 7, in which very severe cognitive and functional decline are evident. Even stage 7 patients are always still dementing, never done. Until they die. Retired University of Utah faculty still have library privileges. As you stop for a pedestrian crossing, your mother tongue asserts itself: zebra oorgang.

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Why did the zebra cross the solar system? Because it was immortalized as an image on the gold-plated disc affixed to the s Voyager spacecraft, launched along with greetings in 60 human languages and the calls of the humpback whales. Like the one in which you suddenly find yourself. But yours is not comfortingly galactic. Uncanny, rather. Trees arch overhead. Stage left, a cottage slouches behind the trunks. Are you going east-west or north-south? Are these the trees near the gas station where you turn west, or the foresty tunnel you enter after already having turned?

There are no street signs.

The birds have eaten your breadcrumbs. In the rearview mirror you note cars backed up behind you. Dear Professor Einstein: I understand the world moves so fast, it in effect stands still. A honk from the vehicle on your heels sets the others off. You cede the road, sidle almost onto the sidewalk. Part of the time it seems a person is standing right-side-up; part of the time, on the lower side of the world, he stands on his head.

And part of the time he sticks out at right angles and part of the time at left angles. The aggrieved drivers pass, bestowing dirty looks. You sit with the engine running, waiting for—what?


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Baba Yaga in her speeding mortar fixing to scoot you along with her pestle? The Moskva? From your face, emotions sprout in warty patches. Your brain has dried up. The European Space Agency will soon launch two spacecraft, the Hidalgo and the Sancho , to divert asteroids hurtling toward Earth. An approaching semitruck blasts its troll breath from its overhead exhaust pipes, reminding you that the windmill you face is neither the size of Manhattan nor celestial.

You have a scientific bent. Continue along this street and you will recognize something sooner or later. You are big Nanny Goat Gruff confronting your inner troll. Up you jump. For a while, Anytown, USA, keeps rolling by. But finally—a boxy two-story building differentiates itself from its lookalike neighbors: the dentist where Newton had his wisdom teeth out.

Trip-trap, trip-trap. Just half a block to the Sizzler. Up goes the troll. Right angle, 10 blocks to the light on East. Big Nanny Goat Gruff is over the bridge. The Nanny Goats Gruff have fun in the grass. They eat and eat. We like it here, they say. You stack the library books next to your two-seater La-Z-Boy couch.

La-Z- girl , excuse me! Your hand greedily clamps the top two books from your hard-won stash. She had him begin violin lessons. Remembering her later in life, he would say, A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit, and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy? Before you settle on which book to open, your eyes fall on Peter, who is working on his laptop at the table. After my retirement on Aug. However, my last years at Gender Studies had left me fearful that I might not be able to edit a page novel and resume another; at work, writing had come to drain my mental energy to the point where I had none left for my family or home life.

Just about every aspect of my university job had involved writing. The program emails, office circulars, meeting reports, letters of recommendation, and other official letters had been quite doable just about up to the time of my retirement—they were relatively short, self-contained pieces. However, longer, research-based documents—which I used to love—had become very, very difficult.

As fate would have it, a major responsibility during my 62 nd year would be just such a piece of writing: a policy and procedures document creating a new position in our program. Given that this manual runs to hundreds of pages and that my short-term memory already seemed to barely function, I had to contend with the fact that a mere switch between screens erased from my mind the item I was researching.

Accordingly, I wrote down, in longhand, what information I needed before switching screens. Once I had electronically copied the answer, I used the same process in reverse, jotting down keywords so that I would know what to do with the information once I got back to the draft screen. And so on for the bulk of the academic year.

My Dementia

Work, for me, had become unconscionably time-consuming and stress-provoking. After thinking about my retirement writing projects for a month or two, I decided against revising my books-in-progress. I instead started writing an essay about the changes with which I am struggling as the result of my developing dementia. Then I wrote more.

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Could I possibly keep writing well enough and long enough for the accumulating essays to become the chapters of a book? When I returned, someone was waiting for my parking spot—but too close. I waved her back, she retreated—but not enough.

Taking matters in to your own hands

I motioned again, she moved another inch. Still feeling cramped, I reversed. I got such a fright that I reversed and hit the concrete wall. Back home, I told Peter I was no longer going to drive. Because it was the day I usually took our elderly neighbors shopping, I went over to tell them I would not be taking them that day or again in the future. I could not bring myself to tell anyone else. By bus. At Fashion Place Mall. An hour there and an hour back on weekends.

How dementia transformed one anxious mum and brought her closer than ever to her daughter

Nothing like being one of the elite on the bus who are not toothless, homeless, in a wheelchair, or on oxygen to take my mind off myself. Nothing to make my troubles seem trivial like the disproportionately large number of African-Americans, Native Americans, and Hispanics awakening my post-immigration guilt about still being racially privileged. In time my better-than-expected albeit painfully slow progress on my book about dementia—from which this essay is derived—became its own puzzle.

Could I be faking dementia? During his research Shenk discovered Morris Friedell, a sociology professor diagnosed at age 59, whose final year of teaching, four years before his diagnosis, sounds uncannily like mine. So, it seems that dementia can sometimes go like this: Persons having spent a lifetime mastering particular knowledge structures and intellectual skills may retain access to this expertise even after becoming utterly dependent on others in living their lives.