Still Alice
This book is beautiful. And awful.
I understand completely why it’s been endorsed by the National Alzheimer’s Association. A book about the “Scarlet A”, written from the perspective of someone with an early-onset diagnosis? Unprecedented.
Simply put, this book made me sad. It brought up memories of my great uncle, who died from Alzheimer’s. His wife, my funny-as-hell Aunt Terry, also died of it. The last time I saw her was 1992, and she was deep in the disease. She said that she recognized me by my eyes, which sounded so sweet and hopeful. Unfortunately, her daughter-in-law confirmed that she rarely knew anyone at that point.
Possibly the saddest thing about my uncle & aunt’s story is that their only son (my second cousin) has early-onset Alzheimer’s. He’s been on meds for a decade, give or take, and they’re working as best they can. He certainly hasn’t had the same progression as Alice, the title character of this book. He still knows me, walks his dog multiple times a day, and hasn’t become a huge burden on his wife. He still seems like himself.
With Alzheimer’s, I’m not sure what would be worse: seeing your loved one deteriorate, and being able to do nothing, or finding out that you carry the gene, and will get the disease for sure. 100%. No prevention available. I think I’d struggle more with the knowledge, and would possibly decide not to know. But only if I had someone who could watch me for symptoms.
Sometimes, I ask myself what I would choose to lose, if I had to: sight or hearing. We humans are such morbid creatures, and I’m no exception.
Now I know that the loss of my mind, my memories, my very sense of self, would be much, much worse. And so much more heartbreaking.