Broken Minds and Broken Brains

Whenever I buy eggs, I always open the carton and look at the eggs inside to make sure the shells are all intact. Egg shells are fragile. A cursory look will not always spot broken shells in the carton, and the last carton of eggs I bought had two broken eggs in it.

Since I don’t want to get sick from eating a cracked egg, I threw the eggs away. Those eggs will never reach their full potential. They could have been scrambled, boiled, fried, poached, or used in a recipe. Eggs are versatile; at least they are, if they are not broken before their time.

Sometimes, people are broken before their time too. They can be broken mentally or physically. Humans are remarkably resilient, while being fragile at the same time. The mystery of why adversity makes one person stronger and breaks another is beyond my comprehension.

John D. Loudermilk wrote the country song “Break My Mind,” a song about one of the ways people are broken—through failed relationships. Minds can be broken by abuse, failure, humiliation, physical pain, loss, feeling trapped, feelings of not living up to expectations or potential, or PTSD from a past event. Some people become depressed, which can lead to suicidal thoughts.

Jim suffered from PTSD caused by his tour of duty in Vietnam. He dealt with depression and suicidal thoughts for several years. I believe this brokenness was brought on by his experiences in the military and exposure to Agent Orange. I also believe there is a connection between the effects long-term depression had on his brain and the dementia that would eventually be the cause of his death.

War doesn’t just kill and maim people during combat; it has residual effects that change lives forever. It makes some people stronger and breaks others. The VA reports that the suicide rate is twenty-two percent higher for veterans than nonveterans. Twenty veterans take their lives each day.

It took me a long time to realize that I couldn’t make Jim’s depression better. I am thankful that he didn’t commit suicide. Considering the vulnerability Jim had while surrounded by a loving family, I can’t imagine how dire the situation is for homeless veterans, or those set adrift because of alcohol and drug abuse.

In life, circumstances beyond our control can determine whether we live up to our potential or whether we lay broken and bruised. Depression broke Jim’s mind and dementia broke his brain.

Source: 2017 “VA Releases Veteran Suicide Statistics by State.” https://www.va.gov/opa/pressrel/pressrelease.cfm?id=2951

Copyright © September 2018 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Biscuits and a Bunny

Some people find it hard to write, but for some of us, not writing is harder. Throughout my entire life, I’ve found writing to be a way to set my mind at rest, put things in perspective, and to, more importantly, move on.

Some of my friends and family, who had missed the hyperbole and drama, were floored when the social media queen left Facebook. I assure you, physically, I’m healthy.

Emotionally, I’m a mess. My heart is black with hurt and anger, my mind is spinning out of control for the things left unsaid. It is not my story to tell, and I respect that.

Getting off social media has its downside, I’m not seeing the photos my brother is posting during his trip, I’m not interacting with my Facebook friends, and I have nowhere to post the beautiful sunset photo I took a few nights ago. The upside is I’m avoiding the aggravation of the political uproar. I have more time to read. 

I’m catching up on all the chores set aside prior to our local Walk to End Alzheimer’s. We tackled the grass yesterday. The rain had made the yard too soggy to use the tractor and we’d mowed what we could with the regular mower. It finally dried up enough to mow with the tractor so Harold fired it up, drove out of the machine shed, and went to work.

I had trouble engaging my brain to figure out the sequence necessary to start the Bad Boy. The most I could get was a click. I thought that maybe the battery was dead. I went outside to see if I could get Harold’s attention, but he was already far away, and headed in the other direction. I tried several different moves, and finally realized the blade was down. Well, duh.

Mowing is a time to think, and my spinning thoughts made my eyes water, the words I wanted to shout made my throat hurt.

I had finished my part of the mowing and made a final swath down a bank through some too-tall grass. As I turned to climb up the bank, I noticed the grass moving. Curious, I stopped the mower and looked at the ground expecting to see a mouse or mole. Instead, it was a baby rabbit bleeding out on the grass. I cried for destroying the small, living animal who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This morning, I reminded myself of a person in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. I mixed up some biscuits to go with our leftover sausage gravy. Harold set the timer, but instead of putting the biscuits in the oven, I set the pan on the countertop. I bustled around taking care of other things, and about the time I poured an extra glass of milk, I realized the biscuits weren’t exactly baking. After resetting the timer, I put the biscuits in the oven and poured the extra glass of milk back in the jug.

The timer went off, I checked the biscuits, and closed the oven door. I proceeded to set out the dishes, get the silverware, and totally forgot the biscuits. When it crossed my mind again, I grabbed a mitt, opened the oven, and breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t charred.

After a few bites, Harold said, “These are the best biscuits you’ve ever made. I love the little crunch on the bottom.”

“I like them too,” I said. “They remind me of Virginia’s biscuits. They always had that crunch.”  

Well, the biscuit story had a happier ending than the mowing story. That’s how life goes. Life isn’t fair and the good guys don’t always win. Sometimes, you feel like a perfectly baked golden brown biscuit, but other times you feel like you’ve been run over by a lawnmower.

Copyright © September 2018 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Women and Alzheimer’s: The Double Whammy

Two-thirds of the 5.5 million Americans with Alzheimer’s are women. Why? The most obvious factor is age. Women have longer lifespans and are more likely to reach the age of highest risk. Women worry more than men do about developing Alzheimer’s, and with good reason. A sixty-five-year-old woman has a 20 percent risk of developing dementia during her lifetime. I don’t know about you, but I’m not happy with those odds.

Being a caregiver for my husband was never a part of my vision of our life together. Jim was decisive, a man of strong convictions, protective, creative, and loving. Never in my wildest imagination could I have envisioned the turn our lives would take when he developed dementia. And certainly, if an Alzheimer’s type of dementia had entered my mind, I would have thought of him as an elderly man, not one who wouldn’t live to see his sixtieth birthday.

The job of caregiver falls more often on women. They are two and a half times more likely than men to provide around the clock care for a loved one who is in the late stages of the disease. Female caregivers are daughters, wives, siblings, friends, and in younger onset—mothers. In a study of caregivers, indications are that females are substantially more likely than males to provide intimate personal care for their loved one with Alzheimer’s. Female caregivers assume responsibility for bathing, dressing, toileting, and changing adult diapers.

Caregiving adversely affects women’s employment. Twice as many women as men give up their careers entirely to be caregivers. Seven times as many women as men go from working full-time to part-time in order to be a caregiver.

I was in my forties when Jim developed dementia and worked full-time. Quitting work wasn’t an option for me. There were times when the challenges of juggling a job and caregiving seemed overwhelming. Jim required only about four hours of sleep at night, and I often went to work sleep deprived and emotionally drained. To further complicate things, from time-to-time I would receive a phone call and have to go home to tend to the latest challenge—wandering, refusing to let someone else do something for him, or just to comfort him when he was scared or depressed.

Think about it—as a woman you are more likely to be a caregiver for a loved one with Alzheimer’s, and then, after years of caregiving, you are more likely to develop the disease. We women have a large stake in ending Alzheimer’s. Our brains matter to us, and we want to keep them healthy throughout our lifetimes. We need to join together as women, as caring people, and as advocates to end Alzheimer’s now.

Copyright © September 2018 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Walking in the Rain

When Mindy asked me if I wanted a tent for the Mozark Press sponsor booth at the Sedalia Walk to End Alzheimer’s, I said, “Yes, it will provide shade.” Last year, it was miserably hot.

Two days prior to the walk, the rain moved in. Sometimes, it sprinkled; sometimes it poured. The walk is rain or shine. I was definitely hoping for shine, even hot shine.

The morning of the walk, I was encouraged, but still wore my waterproof snow boots and my “Memory Walk” purple rain jacket from fifteen or so years ago.

Volunteers and the committee showed up at the Highway Gardens before dawn to set up tents, and arrange tables and chairs. I unloaded copies of Treasure Trove of Memories and put them on the table safely encased in their waterproof tubs.

Things were shaping up nicely—then, the rain came. Registration began and an additional tent was set up near the registration table. My team members started showing up, including my friend and fellow advocate, Jennifer, who had driven in from Jefferson City to walk in the rain with us.

A few team members watched my table when I went to greet Congresswoman Hartzler and her field representative, Rachel Gilroy. Rain dripped from the Congresswoman’s umbrella as I introduced her to family, volunteers, and Faith Bemiss, a reporter from the local newspaper. During an interview, Vicky Hartzler talked about Alzheimer’s research funding. After talking about the increases approved by Congress, she told the reporter, “Alzheimer’s is the most expensive disease in America.”

I escorted Congresswoman Hartzler to the stage area. As we were waiting for the presentation of the flag and the national anthem, I saw that WyAnn had her trophy, but mine was still in my car. Our teams won the trophies from last year, hers for the biggest team, and Jim’s Team for the best fundraising team. I sent a text to my son who retrieved the trophy from the car.

Congresswoman Hartzler shared encouraging words with the walkers. She spoke of her hope that a cure would be found in her lifetime. During the ceremony, she held a purple flower in memory of her mother and mother-in-law.

The walk began and I looked for my team. I found them, and realized the team banner was still in the car. The walk was a short-cut of the short-cut that we had used in the past. Most people headed to their cars while some of us started putting the tables, chairs, and tents back where they belonged.

This was my twenty-first walk and only the second time we had to walk in the rain. I’ve never been so wet in my life outside of a bathtub. The snow boots were great and never leaked. I peeled off my jacket and climbed into my car. My hair was plastered to my skull. I couldn’t remember where I’d put my comb so I fluffed it with my fingertips.

The difference between waterproof and water repellant became apparent. My Grand Champion shirt, which was hidden the entire day, was soaked. My jeans were soaked, but I wasn’t too uncomfortable because my feet were dry. The snow boots did the job!

Sometimes rain falls in our lives at the most inconvenient times, but rain is essential to life itself. I certainly didn’t blame the people who stayed home, but it was inspiring to see the ones who were compelled to come and walk. It did my heart good to see those who smiled, hugged, and encouraged each other.

I walked for Jim. I walked for all who have died from the disease. I walked for the five million Americans living with Alzheimer’s and their caregivers. I walked for my kids, grandkids, and babies not yet born. I walked for a world without Alzheimer’s.

Copyright © September 2018 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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