Inspiration--Good for Your Health

I attended a conference in July where Dr. Mike Perko talked about inspiration. He talked about how other people can inspire us, and how we can inspire others through volunteering. Inspiration can help us to accomplish more than we ever dreamed possible.

 

One of the inspiring people Dr. Perko talked about was Oscar Pistoruis, from South Africa—the fastest man without legs. You may remember Oscar from the Olympics. Oscar ran the 400 meter semi-final race amid some controversy as to whether his carbon fiber blades gave him an advantage. He finished last, but was by no means a loser. He inspired people all over the world and more important than where he finished in the race was that he ran the race.

 

In church this morning, I learned that the origin of the word inspire means to breath in. Inspiration is literally the breath of life. Inspiration is what makes us more than our physical beings. When we are inspired, we change how we think and even how we feel about ourselves.

 

How less meaningful would life be without inspiration? Without inspiration, we would go through life without inhaling that sense of awe and wonder that boosts our spirits and gives us a feeling of balance with the world around us.

 

It doesn’t take fame or fortune to inspire others. One of my inspirations is my niece, Angie, who is battling cancer. Angie says that cancer gave her clarity. Things that once seemed important have been replaced with those that really are important—family and love. Angie posted on Facebook that her hair had started coming out in clumps, so with the help of her best friend and her husband, clippers, and a lot of sobbing, the hair came off. She said it would probably be awhile before she allowed any pictures to be posted. Two days later Angie posted a picture where she is wearing her beautiful smile and proudly sporting her new ’do. Today she posted a picture of her and her best friend, who shaved her own head too, with the caption, “Baldies stick together.” When someone faces adversity with a smile and a lust for life, it inspires others.

 

We find the purpose of our lives from the events that drop us to our knees, the times that touch our hearts and our souls. Jim’s dementia was that defining moment in my life when I felt a call to action and became an Alzheimer’s volunteer. It wasn’t long before I realized that my volunteer work helped me as much as it did anyone else.

 

Research shows that volunteering can be good for your health, attitude, and feelings of self worth. Volunteers are less depressed and healthier than people who do not volunteer. Older adults who volunteer for about two hours a week have additional benefits of higher function levels and increased longevity.

 

When you think about it, volunteering helps get your mind off yourself and increases your awareness of the more important aspects of life. Or as Angie would say, “Clarity.” 

 

Most of us aren’t in a position to change the world. What we can do is work on our little corner of the world to make it a better place. We can inhale breath from those who inspire us and exhale breath to help pass that inspiration on to those we care about, those we love. 

 

Copyright © October 2012 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

I Remember So Many Things

A Walk to End Alzheimer’s is a time for us to think about and remember those with the disease. This year we had pinwheel flowers to symbolize our relationship to those with Alzheimer’s. Those of us who had lost a loved one to Alzheimer’s received purple pinwheels, and thirty-three members of Jim’s Team received purple pinwheels in remembrance. Purple was, indeed, the most popular color.

As I signed copies of My Recollections, Our Memories, I heard recollections of a lot of loved ones with Alzheimer’s. One man told me that his mother was in a nursing home in Florida and had all my books. “She reads them over and over,” he said. “She’ll be so happy to have a new one.”

Longtime volunteer, Anna Lee, had recently lost her brother to Alzheimer’s. She had her big smile, as usual, but tears glistened in her eyes as she talked of her loss. They shared their stories, their hugs, their tears, and their hope that someday this disease that brought us together would become a distant memory.

At the conclusion of the Walk, we held what might be our last symbolic balloon release. The company where we’ve been buying our balloons told us that helium is hard to get and they may not have helium next year. As we released the purple balloons, they flew off toward heaven with our messages of love on them.

As I was packing up after the walk and preparing to hustle off to another appointment, my niece, Rhonda, showed me a handmade poster. She had written some of her thoughts about her Uncle Jimmy, and surrounded the words with photos, butterflies, and hearts. She had found several photos of Jim in his denim jacket, one where he is wearing his favorite blue plaid shirt, one in a tux, and yet another where he is wearing a sweatshirt and sweat pants sitting in his recliner at the nursing home.

Rhonda gave the poster to me, and I hugged her as I hustled off to another appointment. Later in the afternoon, I pulled into the Walmart parking lot and took a moment to catch my breath. I picked up the poster from the passenger seat where I had stowed it. As I read her words, I cried for the first time that day.

This is what Rhonda wrote:

Always Remember My Uncle.

I remember so many things about my Uncle Jimmy. When he and my Aunt Linda lived in their trailer, they had a big black bird that could talk; it was mean to everyone except Jimmy. They had a mean cat too, that bit me, lol.

When they were building their new house, Jimmy had a nervous breakdown and had to go to the hospital. I can remember when I went to see him that he got on one knee with his arms out to me, waiting to give me a big hug.

When the house was finally built, they began working on the basement. There were paint cans everywhere and I was running around and fell. When I fell on the paint can, I busted my nose. Jimmy kissed it and carried me upstairs giving me hugs and kisses, and candy, making it all better. Later he got in trouble for giving me the candy ’cause I left sticky fingerprints all over the hallway walls.

I was sick a lot when I was growing up and had to spend much time in the hospitals. When you’re a kid in the hospital, you don’t know anyone and it kinda feels like you are in outer space. But Jimmy never failed to be there for me. Every time I was in the hospital, he would drive all that way even if he didn’t have an appointment. It always made me feel a lot better to have him there with me.

These are just a few of my many memories of my Uncle Jimmy. I love and miss him very much.

Even though in the end, he couldn’t remember us, we will NEVER forget him.

I couldn’t have said it better myself, Rhonda. Only I don’t think your Uncle Jim ever forgot you, and your visits to him in the nursing home brought smiles and love into his world.

Copyright © September 2012 L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Different Way of Looking at Life

I like to start the day with a bowl of oatmeal, and usually it goes without incident. I scoop out a quarter cup of oatmeal, sprinkle cinnamon on top, throw in some raisins, a half spoon of Splenda, and a half cup of water. Easy peasy, right? Well, at least most mornings. One day last week, I went through the whole routine, but when it was time to put the oatmeal away, I couldn’t find the lid. I searched the countertop, checked the living room, and even looked in the refrigerator. How could a lid disappear into thin air?

Since I’m on a tight schedule in the mornings, I decided the best thing to do was slip a freezer bag over the top.As soon as I put the makeshift lid on top and picked up the oatmeal to put it away, I discovered the lid was on the bottom. Somehow, I’d managed to set it down perfectly and the lid was invisible because of the way I looked at the box.

Had I logically thought about it, and looked at the box in a different way, I would have seen the lid. Instead, I saw just what I expected to see—a box of oatmeal with the lid missing.

I seem to spend a lot of time looking for items I can’t find. It reminds me of how Jim used to say, “Right here but I can’t find it.” That’s how I felt Thursday, when I took a day’s vacation to be prepared for my two commitments that night. I was so geared up that I woke up hours before the alarm was set to jangle me out of bed.

First, I needed to get things ready for my Business Women’s meeting, and then for the Walk to End Alzheimer’s bank night. For bank night, I needed to register more team members, and type donations into the spreadsheet. I put on a pot of coffee, fired up my netbook and prepared to go to work.

For the Business Women’s meeting, I went to my roll-around bag to get my president’s pins to put in the box I use for items to put on the “sharing table.” Not a problem. That’s where I keep them. Except, they weren’t there. I spent an hour searching high and low, while the clock ticked away. I wasn’t getting anything done. Finally, I decided hunting for something I couldn’t find wasn’t a good use of the limited time I had, so I moved on. I worked steadily throughout the day and was proud of my accomplishments. Done in plenty of time for the three o’clock setup for Bank night.

I dressed for the evening’s activities, in purple, of course. My purple nail polish was wearing off, so I decided to re-do my nails. They sure looked pretty—at least until I dinged one of them up and had to strip that nail and polish it again. I knew my nails weren’t completely dry, but I needed to be going. I hauled my bags to the car, and took off. Wow! On time and all. So good.

About a quarter of a mile down the road, I noticed I had another messed up nail—much too bad to ignore. But, no problem, I could touch it up since I’d put the polish in my purse—hadn’t I? Just to be on the safe side, I stopped for a quick search. I didn’t see the polish, so I turned around and went back home.

I parked my car in the driveway and hustled down the walk to the door. I was drenched in sweat. I re-applied deodorant and walked into the living room to pick up the polish. It wasn’t there. Okay, it must have been in my purse after all. Back to the car, dumped out the purse—no polish. Down the walk, to the door, more sweat, re-apply deodorant, and search for nail polish. There it was in the kitchen. Why? I have no idea. Had I only looked in a different way when I came through the door, I would have seen it. After all, it was hiding in plain sight.

When I think back on the last few days, I have to consider Alzheimer’s warning sign #7: Misplacing things and losing the ability to retrace steps. Hmmm. Yep. That’s been happening a lot lately. I refuse to look at the other warning signs—I’m not in denial, I believe my brain has simply short-circuited with the overload. At least, that’s the way I choose to look at it.

When we look at life, we often look at it in the same old way. We miss so much because we don’t step back and take a fresh look. We see what we expect to see instead of what is right in front of us.

Copyright ( c) 2012 L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Age Discrimination Plagues Those with Early Onset Alzheimer’s

The law protects us against age discrimination when we pass our fortieth birthday—at least for employment purposes. We are up in arms when someone is discriminated against because they have an age disadvantage. We don’t think about how age discrimination can affect someone who is too young.

With early onset Alzheimer’s, discrimination works in reverse. This was pointed out in a recent Town Hall Meeting to discuss the National Alzheimer’s Plan.

At a meeting organized by the Alzheimer’s Association Southeast Florida Chapter, Laura Jones spoke of the lack of services for her husband, Jay, who at fifty years old, is too young to qualify for services in place to assist the elderly.

The Jones family story is one that any of us who have had a loved one with dementia understands. Almost all programs are developed to deal with Alzheimer’s only as disease of the elderly.

Alzheimer’s is not a normal part of aging, it is a disease. The vast majority of people with Alzheimer’s are sixty-five or older, but an estimated half million Americans develop Alzheimer’s before their sixty-fifth birthday.

When Jim was diagnosed with dementia, I left no stone unturned in my efforts to find a cure. I just couldn’t believe that he could have a disease that had no effective treatment or cure. It was our hope that he had a reversible condition. His Alzheimer’s type of dementia diagnosis came after a process of elimination. Once we received the devastating news, my next hope was to get him into a research program where a new, untested treatment might be the answer to our prayers.

We had our hopes up when he was able to enter into a trial for a new drug developed by Bayer. The small study was conducted by a neurologist in Columbia, Missouri. After discussing it with our sons, we began the process to enroll Jim in the study. Unfortunately, none of the study group finished the six-month trial when side effects brought the study to a screeching halt.

Regardless of the outcome from our initial experience, I watched for other studies. When I looked at the guidelines, one of the criteria for the larger drug trials was always—“must be older than sixty-five.” I saw news about innovative research where  studies would be conducted across the country—the closest one was in Oklahoma. I knew it would be inconvenient, and I would have to take time off work, but I wanted Jim in that study.

Of course, it had the minimum age, but I decided to pursue it anyway. I talked to one of the researchers and explained that my husband was in his early fifties, but had been diagnosed with an Alzheimer’s type of dementia. Boy, was I flying high when he agreed to waive the age limit. Then, in the same conversation, my hopes were dashed over Jim’s problems with communication. Because of Jim’s aphasia, he would not have been able to answer the researcher’s questions necessary to measure the effects of the treatment.

There is probably no greater test for a family than to watch a loved one succumb to an incurable, progressive disease. I have never been prouder of my family than during the ten years of Jim’s disease when they hung in there providing love and support for us.

Jim was shy of his sixtieth birthday when he died. Monday will be a hard day for those who loved him and remember that he would have turned sixty-seven. Ironically, he would have met the age requirement for those services and research studies he didn’t qualify for in his lifetime.

I don’t think many of us consider sixty-five to be elderly. At least I don’t, but then I’m inching closer to that magic age every birthday. When it comes to being included in medical studies, there is no place for age discrimination.

Copyright © 2012 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

I heard on the news that a new survey indicated most people thought they looked better than they actually do. We have become a nation with the wicked queen attitude chanting, “Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, who is the fairest one of all?” No matter how beautiful you think you are there is a Snow White in everyone’s world.

In a way, you have to admire people with that much self confidence, but I can’t help but think about the ones that zoom in on their flaws. Anorexia can sometimes be blamed on the image a person sees when she looks into the mirror. She may be thin to the point of starvation and still see herself as an obese person.

Mirrors are not always our friends, especially for someone with Alzheimer’s. For a long time I didn’t truly understand how much trouble a mirror could be in a special care unit. Jim never seemed to have a problem with his mirror—in fact, he seldom looked in it. I combed his hair, washed his face, and shaved him, so he didn’t have any need for a mirror.

Then, one day as he passed in front of the mirror, he glanced into it. He started yelling, grabbed his head with both hands and rubbed his hair vigorously. Either he didn’t recognize himself or he was upset with the way he looked. We removed the mirror from his room.

Jim didn’t talk, but from conversations with other residents, it was obvious that most thought they were many years younger than their actual age. Most of the female residents in the unit flirted with Jim because he was the only one young enough to interest them. These women didn’t need a mirror to tell them they were young and good looking; they just knew it.

It is enough to make you wonder whether they see their image as a distortion of the real person they are inside. When a person has Alzheimer’s, it is possible that what they see is similar to what we see when we look into a funhouse mirror. Do you remember the short squat images, or the tall wavy reflections? In those cases, we could laugh because we knew it was not a true image of how we look. But what if instead of the familiar face we expected to see in a normal mirror, we saw the reflection of stranger? It would be like a horror movie come true.

Many Alzheimer’s units do not have mirrors in the rooms. If you take care of a person with dementia at home, you may have to cover or remove the mirrors.

No matter how we picture ourselves in our minds, we do recognize ourselves in the mirror. In the fairy tale, the wicked queen talked to the mirror, but I wonder what the mirror would say if it could talk back. In that extreme, she saw herself as the fairest of all. Some people focus on the negative when they look in the mirror. People with Alzheimer’s see strangers.

Copyright August 2012 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

The Last Frontier

Jim was always adventurous and talked about the places he really wanted to go, but hadn’t been. With his extensive traveling, it was a pretty short list. He wanted to go into space—the final frontier of Star Trek fame.

More realistically, Jim wanted to go to Alaska—the last frontier. Jim talked about Alaska and the wide open spaces, mountains, snow, ice, sled dogs. I thought about glaciers, landslides, grizzly bears, danger, and goosebumps from bone-chilling below zero temperatures.

Jim and I were alike in many ways, but this frontier business wasn’t one of them. He always said he wished he had lived back in the frontier days.

“Have you ever thought about how long it would take to cross Kansas?” I asked him. It seemed to me that it took forever to cross Kansas in a car, and couldn’t fathom making that trip in a wagon. “Not to mention the little problem with having to hang onto your scalp.” He really didn’t want to get me started on this topic. I didn’t think about the adventure—I thought about the inconveniences. Not even Matt Dillon or Rowdy Yates could have lured me back into the untamed Wild West. No thank you.

As far as the “final frontier”—space—no way did I want my body rocketed into the wild blue yonder at warp speed. I won’t even say what going into space would scare out of me.

Jim never personally saw either of these “frontiers” but, ironically, I was invited along for an Alaskan cruise. My brother and sister-in-law planned to treat Mom to a cruise and even stranger was that it took only about a nanosecond for me to agree to go as my mom’s roommate. The process took several months, but on the first of July, we flew to Seattle to board the ship for our cruise.

As I looked at blue icebergs in Tracy Arm Fjord, rode a train to White Pass and Yukon, gazed at glaciers, admired upside-down tree gardens, rode in a horse-drawn carriage, and cruised on a luxury liner that reminded me of the Titanic—especially as we navigated through the icebergs. The rugged landscape does indeed look like a frontier.

The cold was the extreme opposite of the weather at home. Cell phone conversations were filled with the triple-digit weather while I shivered in my coat. I heard about the drought at home while we lamented the elusive sun and the almost constant rain.

Okay, I’ll admit, that seeing Alaska from a private deck on a Carnival cruise ship is not in anyway a hardship . We spend days relaxing and cruising past majestic mountains, icebergs, and glaciers. Heck, I could even watch from the comfort of my bed. And we never knew what it was like to be hungry. It seemed that we spent our time onboard either eating or being entertained at one of the full production shows. My mom, of course, enjoyed the casino and we were forced to keep her company. We had trouble finding our way to the dining room, but never had a problem finding our way to the casino. Then, when we would make our way back to the cabin after our activities, our bed would be turned down, a mint placed on the pillow, and towel art animals would be on the bed. Snuggled beneath the covers, it was easy to forget how chilly the weather was outside.

It was a trip I enjoyed, but Jim would have been ecstatic to behold the Alaskan landscape. At times, I could almost feel Jim looking over my shoulder and know he would have loved spotting whales, bears, and wildlife. I used his “animal watching” binoculars to get closer views of the wonders unfolding around us.

Traveling with Jim is one of the things I miss. Jim loved frontiers whether final or last. Strange, unchartered ground brought out his sense of adventure.

Copyright © July 2012 L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

  

ABC Article about Alzheimer’s International Conference Features Jim’s Story

Recently, I heard from Dr. Christopher Tokin, an ABC health writer, requesting an interview for an article about new therapies for Alzheimer’s disease. After reading my blog and one of my books, he wanted to include information about Jim in an article introducing the Alzheimer’s Association International Conference in Vancouver.

Being the skeptical person I am, the first order of business was to check out Dr. Tokin to make sure he was the person he said he was. After a Google search, I was confident that Dr. Tokin was a health writer for ABC news. I had no problem answering his questions as long as he did not ask for my social security number, birth date or bank account number.

I was getting ready to leave on an Alaskan cruise so I used my time in Seattle to answer Dr. Tokin’s interview questions. I’ve been interviewed before by national news media including a telephone interview while I was at a conference in Boston. I know that national media will interview several people and then choose one or two of the stories to include in the article. When I read the previous article, my interview was not included. This time, I just didn’t mention the interview and thought I’d wait to see if Jim’s story was included in the article.

My first day at work after my cruise, I heard from my son.

“Did you know there’s an article online about dad?” He went on to tell me he was browsing the news on his cell phone when he saw an Alzheimer’s article. He started reading it and realized the Jim Fisher in the article was his dad.

“Dr. Tokin interviewed me before I left on the cruise,” I said. “He was going to send me a link to the article when it was published.”  I looked at the news feed on my phone and the article was indeed in the health section.

A few hours later, I received an email from Dr. Tokin with the link to the article. By then, the article had been shared on Facebook.

This morning, I went in to read some of the news from the conference and one of the articles is “New Drugs Aimed at Ending Alzheimer’s Decline.”  This in Dr. Tokin’s article. He used Jim’s story to personalize an article on new drug treatments. Two of the drugs targeting beta-amyloid, Eli Lily’s solenezumab and Pfizer’s bapineuzamab, are in Phase III clinical trials. 

The Alzheimer’s Association’s International Conference gives the world a chance to learn about research targeting 2025 as the date to find a cure for Alzheimer’s. Scientists try many approaches to diagnosing Alzheimer’s early and developing therapies to target the hallmarks of Alzheimer’s—beta amyloid plaques and tau tangles.

As the week unfolds, we will learn more about new studies like the one that shows a change in walking can indicate Alzheimer’s disease before cognitive symptoms appear. People with undiagnosed Alzheimer’s disease may begin to walk slower and take shorter steps. The interesting thing about gait is that some people performed well on the clinical tests, but at home, family members observed that their loved one walked much slower. Walking speed, like other symptoms of dementia, rely on family observations as a key component of making a diagnosis.

When you know someone well, you notice things about them that doctors don’t. A ten-minute exam might miss many of the symptoms of serious brain disorders. When Jim developed dementia, it was my observations of changes in his behavior and skills that convinced the doctor that it was more than depression.

We lost Jim more than seven years ago, but he is not forgotten by the family that loved him. Jim would have been pleased to know that his story provides an illustration of hope for the 5.4 million Americans with Alzheimer’s.

“New Drugs Aimed at Ending Alzheimer’s Decline.”  

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/Alzheimers/drugs-aimed-ending-alzheimers-decline/story?id=16766730

copyright © July 2012 Linda Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Lunch at Perkins

I met Carolyn outside of Perkins for a late lunch. “There’s my sister’s car, so she is already here,” she said.

Just inside the door, Carolyn hugged stood a pretty dark-eyed woman, so I knew this was her sister Julia. We admired the pies while we waited to be seated. How well this lunch would go remained to be seen.

I was about to meet a woman who was beginning the Alzheimer’s journey. Julia’s husband has early onset dementia, and she is just beginning to understand what a complex and emotional road lies ahead.

We studied the menu and had pleasant, light conversation just like any three women without any serious cares. We contemplated the merits of breakfast versus lunch. As usual, I chose the tilapia and Julia followed suit. Carolyn easily chose breakfast.

Julia pulled up pictures on her phone of her beautiful daughters and grandchildren. Her eyes sparkled with love and delight as she talked about her family.

Eventually, the talk turned to Alzheimer’s, the elephant in the room we had been avoiding. I wanted Julia to lead the conversation.

She talked about how everyone seemed to have a solution. She has already read up on the scary disease and knows how limited the choices are and how unpredictable day to day can be.

The things she was talking about reminded me of a man who interrupted a presentation I was in the process of giving to announce he had cured his wife of Alzheimer’s. He had given her some kind of concoction that, according to him, was a miracle cure.

“How is she doing?” I asked.

“Oh, she passed away, but she didn’t have Alzheimer’s anymore.”

I didn’t relate this story to Julia, but I shared others. We talked about medication. Her husband is using an Exelon patch. I told her that none of the Alzheimer’s medications worked for Jim and that he had side effects. We talked about how some medications work the opposite on someone with dementia. A prescription used to calm most people may hype up someone with Alzheimer’s. Julia had a good grasp of how important it is to tweak medications and monitor them.

“I’m confident that I can take care of him no matter what happens physically,” she said. “What I’m not sure about is how I can handle the grief.” Her eyes now sparkled with unshed tears.

“Grief is the hardest part,” I said. “There is no defined beginning and it just goes on and on.” There wasn’t any way to sugar coat her emotional future, and I wouldn’t insult her by saying it would get better.

I was impressed that Julia did understand even at this early stage what her biggest challenge was going to be. Initially, most of us worry more about the physical challenges of Alzheimer’s—behavior, incontinence, feeding, bathing—instead of the emotional upheaval of losing someone we love one memory at a time.

Julia does has the same important advantage that I had. She has family to love her and support her throughout the challenging days ahead. Julia doesn’t need a lot of unsolicited advice from well-meaning friends or acquaintances. She will get her medical advice from a trusted physician, and her emotional support from her family and close friends.

We met as strangers and parted as women who had bonded. With the love and support of her sister and the rest of her family, she will make it through the journey. As I hugged her goodbye, I’m confident that she is a strong, grounded woman who will meet the challenges ahead of her.

Copyright © July 2012 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

  

Milestones in Life's Journey

My day begins with music when my radio comes on a few minutes before the alarm tells me it is time to jump out of bed. Last week, I heard a song by Hometown News called “Minivan.” The song tells a story about the milestones in a man’s life through the vehicles he owns. Dad trades in his Corvair for a butt ugly station wagon. The trade was so traumatic for a young boy that he hid beneath the dashboard when they drove through town. Then as he grows up, another milestone, he buys his own car…a four by four…and cruises for chicks. Of course, life doesn’t stand still so eventually, when he has kids of his own, it is time to trade in his pride and joy for a minivan.

As we travel through life’s journey, our trip is marked with milestones. From our first breath to our last one, we meet milestones with anticipation, or perhaps regret.

While day-to-day humdrum events fade into memory, milestones are set apart with their own set of reminiscences fraught with feelings. Our entire lives we move along looking forward to the next milestone. Do you remember how you wanted to be an adult so your parents couldn’t tell you what to do? Since being an adult took too long, you may have settled for getting your driver’s license—another milestone. Graduation, marriage, becoming a parent…more milestones.

The “Minivan” song struck a chord with me. It stayed on my mind, and I asked my son if he had heard the song.

“No,” Rob said, “but I’ve heard about it. One of the guys at work was talking about it.”

The song reminded me about a conversation at work last week. One of my co-workers mentioned how she and her family were ready to go out to eat and her oldest son, a teenager at the time, refused to go to town with them because they weren’t wearing designer jeans.

“He says he can’t believe he acted like that,” she said. “I was so upset at the time.” Now she laughs about it.

“That’s our job as parents,” I said. “We’re supposed to embarrass our kids.”

Looking back on those times that once mortified us can be some of our best memories. Distance can take away the anger and hurtful words and replace it with the powerful love we feel for family.

Sometimes family members talk about how embarrassing people with dementia can be. Especially those with frontotemporal dementia can be outspoken, or even rude, as they struggle with out-of-control emotions and verbal communication.

Each personality change is a milestone we dread. Jim, who had smoked from the time he was a young teenager until he was nearly fifty years old became completely intolerant of cigarette smoke. He constantly told his sisters, “You should quit smoking those damn cigarettes.” They merely laughed and agreed with him. Not satisfied with telling his sisters, Jim became focused on telling everyone he saw they should quit smoking. We walked out of Walmart one day and three or four people were sitting outside on a bench smoking. Jim walked over to them, pointed his finger to emphasize his words, and said, “You better quit smoking those damn cigarettes.” I hustled him toward the car before any of them had time to react.

As the disease progressed, Jim’s behavior became more erratic. On one trip to Eddie’s Drive-In, Jim picked up tip money off a table, and I made him put it back. We walked outside, and as I fastened his seatbelt, I discovered he had the salt and pepper shakers clutched tightly in his hands. When I took the shakers back inside, the waitress laughed and said, “Just when you thought you had him figured out he did something different.”  

I finally reached a milestone when I knew the disease was to blame, not Jim, and I was no longer embarrassed. In fact, I’ve found with age, I’m not easily embarrassed. When I was younger, I might have found myself beneath the dashboard just like the boy in the song. Now that I’ve traveled many miles along life’s journey, my philosophy is that it’s more important to see the view.

Copyright © June 2012

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Alzheimer’s Research: A Little Mouse Told Me

Picture courtesy Michael Muin

At our last Alzheimer’s Board meeting, we were treated to a tour of Missouri University’s Center for Translational Neuroscience. Our tour included the stroke laboratory, behavior core facilities, surgical suite, cell culture facilities, and neuropathology-histology laboratories.

This was the first time I had ever seen the inside of a research lab and it was doubly interesting to be inside a lab dedicated to studying the brain. One reason mouse models work well for Alzheimer’s research is their brains similarity to human brains.

I was impressed by how Alzheimer’s treatments can be evaluated, and the extensive research conducted on exercise and diet. Agnes Simonyi, PhD, is the researcher who “trains” the mice to find their way through a maze to measure spatial memory.

We saw the different mazes Dr. Simonyi uses in her research. One maze has symbols around the sides, such as an X or plus sign. One symbol has an opening beneath it. The mouse runs around and around until he discovers the opening. Each day the mouse is in the maze, he can find the opening by making fewer trips around the parameter, until eventually he heads straight for the symbol that shows the way out of the maze.

You wouldn’t think that watching a mouse run around in circles could be so fascinating, but the studies prove which therapies improve the mouse’s performance. When Dr. Simonyi showed us the graph, a few things became evident. Food and exercise make a big difference in memory.

One of the tests evaluated green tea. Oh, yeah, I thought, a human would probably have to drink a gallon of green tea a day to show a similar improvement in memory. As if she read my thoughts, Dr. Simonyi said, “The mice were given the equivalent of two cups a day.” She went on to show a wheel where the mice could exercise. It looked kind of like a treadmill for the little fellows—one of those contraptions were you run and run but don’t go anywhere. I didn’t see any little TVs like Brian’s Gym has. They were just running around and around for the fun of it, I guess.

The graphs showed  mice that exercised and drank green tea were the smartest of the groups, followed by the ones that only drank green tea. At the bottom were the mice that resemble most of us—not enough exercise and not paying attention to filling our bodies with antioxidants.

Dr. Grace Sun talked about her research comparing Alzheimer’s mice to their healthier counterparts. She talked about current Alzheimer’s therapies and how available drugs work only for a limited time. One of the studies Dr. Sun is working on is how a healthy diet, exercise, and stress reduction can be preventative therapies for Alzheimer’s. Some of the foods she mentioned as having a positive impact on memory are grapes, curry, green tea, and elderberries.

Dr. Sun said MU will host an international symposium on elderberries in June of 2013. These healthy berries are plentiful in Missouri and have always been popular for jelly and wine. “The Power of purple” in the June 2012 issue of Rural Missouri talks about the promise of elderberries as a super fruit. They aren’t the kind of berry you would eat fresh—they are too tart and not that tasty without a little sweetening.

I have often promoted the healthy brain initiative on my blog and the rule of “what’s healthy for your heart is healthy for your brain.” Nothing drives that home like having a researcher stand in front of you and talk about their personal observations of the benefits of a healthy diet and exercise.

Part of research is geared toward delaying the onset of Alzheimer’s. It would seem that an important part of the key is in our supermarkets, our gardens, and maybe even along the fencerows and road right-of-ways in rural Missouri.

If we pump up on exercise and eat a brain healthy diet, we can follow the example of the mouse in the maze. I’m looking forward to stocking up on healthy food and then being able to go straight to my car in Walmart’s parking lot instead of running around in circles until I happen upon it. I know it can happen because a little mouse told me—with a little help from his friends, the researchers at the Center for Translational Neuroscience.

Copyright © June 2012 by L. S. Fisher
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