Posts Tagged Alzheimers

A Day Late and a Dollar Short

26 May 2009
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I’ve written on this before, but one of Neil Gaiman‘s latest blog posts brought the issue to mind again, and I very nearly missed the deadline to add my own thoughts to the open forum discussion on this topic.

You see, my grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease. She is at a very late, advanced stage. She is no longer easily able to form entire words, much less sentences, she does not recognize her daughters, grandchildren, or husband. She has to be fed, or she forgets to eat any food placed in front of her, and she has to wear diapers, for she has forgotten how to use a toilet or clean herself.  And yet, her body, such as it is, remains fairly healthy. She exists lost in a mind that has become so twisted and tangled that she cannot find her way out.

There is no hope that she will ever regain her memory, that she will ever be able to function normally again, that she will ever regain the dignity she has lost.

But Alzheimers is a hereditary disease. She was not the first in our family to have it, all of her sisters had it.  It’s probable that my aunt, my mother, my cousins, or myself will one day face this same thing.

Stem-cell research is the only research avenue offering hope for a real result, perhaps not a cure, perhaps only a stay-of-execution….but of a far better and more successful result than any of the current medicines can offer.

If you have anything to say on this topic, whatsoever…please visit the links mentioned here: http://docs.google.com/Doc?id=dd5vs2xt_0hkwp6xd8 and let your voice be heard.

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And Now…the Rest of the Story

2 March 2009
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Paul Harvey died this weekend. I heard nothing about it until I was driving to work this morning, and couldn’t help but pause and think over the times when I had heard his oh-so-familiar and relaxing, gentle voice over the airwaves throughout my life.

Most of the time, I was with my grandparents when he came on in the afternoons. Usually, one or the other would be driving me home from school, or I might be riding around with my grandfather as he visited the businesses of the people he did taxes for. I specifically remember sitting in the back seat of my grandmother’s old, enormous wine-red Lincoln, with a Dairy Queen chocolate dipped cone in my hand, listening as he told “The Rest of the Story.” Nanny would always turn the volume up. I might’ve been five or six, but that memory is clear and sharp, something that happened often enough to imprint itself in my mind.

If, instead, I was riding with my grandfather, or if he were in the car, the topic of the broadcast would inevitably spark some sort of discussion. I was always included in the discussion, even when I was really too young to fully understand what was said, but my grandfather always listened to my contributions and even when we disagreed, never treated them as invalid, and always respected my right to voice those opinions.

This morning, when I heard Mr. Harvey’s obituary on NPR, it was those memories that popped fresh to my mind. Memories of my grandmother when her mind was still whole, listening to that mellow voice as if it held all the secrets of the universe; memories of my grandfather when I thought he could never get old, teaching me lessons that I didn’t even know were being taught.

Thank you, Paul Harvey, for your service. Yours was a trusted voice throughout my life.

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