Negative Thoughts, Positive Actions

On days when I wake up and feel the urge to start the day with lifted spirits, I select a Joel Osteen sermon on the DVR. I have several to choose from and last week I watched one about negative thoughts.

Joel said that negative thoughts take up more space in our brains than positive ones. We find ourselves dwelling on the things that hurt us.

Did you realize that every second you are alive, your brain is actively thinking? We have between 50,000 - 70,000 thoughts each day. With 35 to 48 thoughts bouncing around in your brain each minute, it seems that some of them would have to be negative. Life deems that bad things are going to happen to good people. You are going to be put down, criticized, humiliated, make stupid mistakes, have terrible thoughts, lie, cheat, hurt other people, go a little haywire from time to time…the list goes on and on.

Well, guess what? We have this massive filing system in our brains where all those ugly moments are stored. Entire events are stored in our brains, complete with the emotions associated with them—good or bad. When something makes us retrieve a negative file, we open the Pandora’s box inside it. Rushing out of that file are all the emotions associated with the memory, taking us back to a place we don’t want to be.

When you have a loved one with Alzheimer’s you can build up a huge emotional file cabinet. I gave a presentation on caregiver emotions last week at the Senior Center in Warsaw, Missouri. We talked about guilt, resentment, worry, anger, loneliness, defensiveness, and grief. These are common emotions stored in caregivers’ memories. We also talked about strategies to take control over these emotions.

Now that I’m getting older and more philosophical, I find myself wondering just exactly how those pesky negative thoughts pop into my head and how to lessen their impact on my daily life. Joel Osteen said that when negative emotions dominate our thoughts, we need to switch the channel instead of replaying those hurts.

A similar idea surfaced in an article written by Joseph M. Carver, Ph.D, psychologist. He points out that the brain operates automatically, pulling files randomly throughout each day depending on memory triggers. “When the brain operates on automatic, the files it pulls are greatly influenced by our mood. For example, if you are severely depressed, if your brain is on ‘automatic,’ it will pull nothing but bad, trash, and garbage files.” A powerful tool at our disposal, according to Dr. Carver, is the ability to change a depressed mood by “simply switching the brain to manual, taking more control over our thoughts.” Or, as Joel Osteen put it, switch the channel.

Although I don’t think I have as much negative energy bouncing around in my brain as I once had, the occasional pessimistic thought can dominate my thinking. Fortunately, I’ve learned how to “switch the channel.”

The goal is not to bury emotions. In fact, the opposite is often more beneficial. If we can deal with our emotions immediately, the solutions are stored along with the traumatic experiences and help us cope with that emotion. Yes, most of us can direct our thoughts into a positive direction. At first, I couldn’t even tell people that Jim was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s without choking up and bursting out in tears. I took control of my thoughts by turning a negative into a positive. I started to speak about Alzheimer’s, began the Early Onset Blog, and became an Alzheimer’s advocate.

Chemicals in our brains determine our moods and feelings. Sometimes traumatic events or long-term negative thoughts can throw our brain’s chemical balance out of whack. When that happens, it may be necessary to take medication to bring the chemicals back in balance. Through positive thinking, physical activity, and mental stimulation, we can handle temporary or fleeting negative emotions.  

Earlier, I compared the brain’s negative emotions to opening Pandora’s box, but the most important part of the legend is what she found in the bottom of what she believed to be an empty box. When she opened it again to show it was empty,  Hope was released. We, too, can replace negative emotions with hope by taking control and switching the channel.

copyright © June 2014 by L.S. Fisher

earlyonset.blogspot.com

Sources:

Joel Osteen, www.joelosteen.com, Joel and Victoria’s Blog, February 28, 2014

“Emotional Memory Management,” www.drjoecarver.com, Joseph M. Carver, Ph. D., Psychologist  

Alzheimer's Experience—Effective, But Cruel Teacher

Jessica Snell, Alzheimer's Volunteer

I’m sure you’ve heard that experience is the best teacher. I’ve come to the conclusion that not only is it the best teacher, it can also be the cruelest teacher when it comes to an Alzheimer’s caregiver.

When life delivers a knockout punch, we have two choices: Lay on the mat and writhe in pain, or push off the mat and stand up and fight back. Experience tells us the only way to survive is to drag our butts off the ground and prepare ourselves to do battle.

You’ve seen it haven’t you? I’m referring to those life warriors who leave shock and awe in their wake as they fight back against all odds. The Davids of affliction fighting the Goliaths of disease. These warriors don’t know the meaning of giving up, or quitting. They trampoline off the mat reaching new heights, beyond anything they could have imagined.

In the past fifteen years I’ve met hundreds of amazing caregivers and people with dementia. There’s Tracy who has lived with dementia for more than a decade. She worked at several different jobs, raised a child, and soldiered through marital ups and downs. The one thing she has never done is give up. She makes the most of each day placing her trust in God. Another friend, Karen, showed tremendous strength by keeping her husband at home until his death from familial Alzheimer’s. I’ve seen courageous people step out of their comfort zone to become speakers, support group facilitators, advocates, and fundraisers.

Not everyone goes forth and becomes a public face, but that doesn’t mean they have given up. They do what they have to do, excel at it, and quietly go about their business. Casual acquaintances never notice the soul scars left from being a caregiver to a loved one with dementia. 

Last week, I spoke to a group of local business leaders about Alzheimer’s, the September 6 Walk, and several upcoming team fundraising events. When I finished, a man sitting next to me gave an impassioned testimony to the difficulty of taking care of a loved one with Alzheimer’s. “Only someone who has provided care can really know how hard it is,”  he said. Bullseye.

Being a caregiver is the hardest job I ever tackled in my life. The most famous Alzheimer’s disease caregiver’s guide  is called The 36-Hour Day for a reason. When I first read the book, it scared me. I thought that surely, only rare cases got that bad. And after the initial shock, and realization that yes, it could be that bad, I panicked as I doubted my ability to do this.

Experience became my teacher. At first, I learned from other people’s experiences. In turn, I passed on their experiences and added my own to the mix. We Alzheimer’s caregivers have to think on our feet, be creative, and not be afraid to call for help.

It is when we internalize our caregiving fears and anxieties that we set ourselves up for failure. And, failure is not an option when someone needs our attention, devotion, and loving care. Part of being a successful caregiver is to become part of something bigger than yourself. That can be personal spirituality or it can be a public commitment as a volunteer.     

As a volunteer, I found that I helped myself as much as I helped the Alzheimer's Association. It also allowed me to keep company with more amazing people. 

In the midst of a downpour Saturday morning, I attended a fundraiser organized by two of our walk team captains. I was happy to see the weather hadn’t deterred anyone from eating a delicious breakfast. Jessica Snell, team captain and co-chair of our Sedalia Walk, wore an Alzheimer’s awareness T-shirt that said,  “We don’t know how strong we are until being strong is the only choice.”

This slogan is used for many diseases because it has a universal appeal for anyone who has been surprised by his or her inner warrior. Understanding this concept is the diploma handed out by the cruel teacher of life to those who refuse to stay on the mat.

copyright © June 2014 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Alzheimer's Speaker at Senior Center, Warsaw, MO

Linda Fisher, Sedalia, MO, author and speaker, will present a one-hour program on Caregiver Emotions, 10:00 a.m., June 12, at the Senior Center at Harbor Village, Warsaw. The presentation focuses on Alzheimer’s caregivers, but caregivers for other diseases are encouraged to attend.

“Being a caregiver for a loved one is on-the-job training for a job you never wanted,” Fisher said. “Caregiving is an emotional rollercoaster. Before you tackle caregiving, it is essential to  take care of your own emotional wellbeing.”

Fisher became an Alzheimer’s Association volunteer when her husband developed dementia at forty-nine years old. She is an award-winning author and blogger who has published six books of essays from her early-onset Alzheimer’s blog at http://earlyonset.blogspot.com. She is an Alzheimer’s advocate and serves on the Alzheimer’s Association Greater Missouri Chapter Board of Directors.

The presentation is free and open to the public. Reservations are not required, but RSVP’s are appreciated. For more information contact Charlene, Senior Center, at 660-438-3569.

Moving On

Life is always moving forward, and I participated in two different types of promotions this week. One promotion was my grandson from kindergarten to first grade complete with cap and gown. The children performed delightful programs, but not all entertainment was during the performances. My grandson decided his hat was more comfortable twisted sideways and that was how he wore it most of the evening. The boy sitting next to him had his tassel swinging between his eyes.

We ended the evening with cakes, cupcakes and punch. One cake said, “Goodbye Kindergarten” and the other, “Hello First Grade.”  I’m sure time will fly by between now and the day this group of youngsters will walk the stage again to receive high school diplomas. It might be interesting to compare their behavior at that graduation with this one.

  

The other “moving on” event this week involved a promotion from the world of work to retirement. Staff, board members, and former board members surprised Linda Newkirk, executive director of the Alzheimer’s Association Greater Missouri Chapter, with a retirement reception.

It was good to see some of the former board members I had lost contact with over the years. Some of the Board members at the reception were those I had served with the first time. After a self-introduction, each person told of his or her connection with the disease, the chapter, with Linda, and more importantly—the mission.

We were a roomful of people who understood the heartbreak and challenges of Alzheimer’s. Like many of us, Linda’s first connection with the Alzheimer’s Association was because of a loved one with dementia. She found the information, support, and resources she needed.

Later, Linda was offered a job with the Chapter and eventually was promoted to executive director. Her positive, capable leadership helped our chapter flourish. She isn’t one to seek the limelight and was a little uncomfortable with being the center of attention in a roomful of people who wanted to honor her and her accomplishments.

I served on the Chapter board for six years, was off six years, and returned in 2012. Because of my hiatus from the board, I wasn’t on the board when they hired Linda as the executive director. I really got to know her better when I approached her with the idea of the Alzheimer’s anthology. She immediately supported the idea—which was amazing considering I had no experience in publishing a book. I just had a big idea, and she became one of my staunch supporters.   

We will miss Linda’s leadership. She guided us through the transition becoming a national chapter. When two Missouri chapters consolidated into the Greater Missouri Chapter, Linda stepped up as the executive director for a much larger area. Linda’s main focus has been to ensure the Chapter succeeds in its mission to provide excellent service to folks coping with Alzheimer’s disease.

The board members dished out a lot of good natured teasing about Linda chairing the Columbia walk. Oddly enough, that didn’t seem to be on her retirement agenda. Linda is saying “Goodbye Work World” and “Hello Retirement.” She is moving on and we just need to step out of her way.

copyright © June 2014 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Memorial Day Traditions

My earliest memory of Memorial Day was going to the cemetery to place flowers on graves. It always made me feel just a little bit weird to realize that in the ground beneath my feet lay all that remained of a human body. Since I didn’t have x-ray vision, I imagined that mummified bodies lay in air-tight coffins. When we visited the old cemeteries where some of the graves were sunken, I carefully avoided those areas fearful that I might fall through.

I always noticed the American flags, but most of the graves we visited were family and not necessarily military. Sometimes we would run into other family members who were placing plastic floral arrangements on graves. Then, it was a time to enjoy seeing the living.

It seems it was usually hot, and shade is hard to come by in most cemeteries. Often a table is set up where you could make donations for the upkeep. Nobody likes to see overgrown brushy cemeteries. The old cemetery where my great-grandparents are buried is usually cleared by family members. I saw some people on Facebook planning a time to work on it since it wasn’t done this year.

Most people celebrate life on Memorial Weekend with picnics. The red, white, and blue is the only thing that says Memorial Day more than grilled hotdogs and hamburgers.

For the last nine years I have visited the Missouri Veterans Cemetery in Higginsville for their Memorial Day Services. Although several artificial arrangements will be placed on graves, the cemetery rules call for cut flowers. Flowers are usually easy to find, but  it is a challenge to find a plastic (unbreakable) vase to put them in. This year, I lucked out. I bought a dozen roses and found a clear plastic container. I decorated it with patriotic duck tape and with some red ribbon. I always like to put Jim’s name on the arrangement I take, but this year it suddenly occurred to me to put his picture too. I printed out a shipping label, covered it with clear packing tape. I was pleased with the results.

This year, my sister-in-law Ginger and my great-niece made the trip with me. We stopped at McDonald’s and arrived at the cemetery a mere twenty minutes before the scheduled start time. We were directed to park near the new columbarium. We followed the sidewalk, crossed the bridge, and made it to the original columbarium just in time for the services to begin. The special guest speaker, Senator David Pearce, talked about how families had put special inscriptions on the stones. He began to read a few of them and one was “Rest High on That Mountain”—Jim’s stone.

Mayor Bill Kolas, Higginsville, spoke about how the traditions of Memorial Day has changed. Memorial Day used to be the signal that it was okay to wear white shoes. Of course, in today’s world, we wear white shoes when we feel like it. Instead of being “Decoration Day” to honor the fallen, for some people it’s all about picnics and sports. He talked about how school children no longer learn the history of World War I, or World War II—how they’ve never learned about Pearl Harbor, Normandy, Iwo Jima, Okinawa—because text book companies have left them out. This lack of history, he said, included governments. When President Charles DeGaulle demanded that all U.S. troops be evacuated off French soil, President Johnson directed Secretary of State Rusk to ask if that included the American soldiers buried there.

I was able to walk along the side and placed the roses in front of Jim’s niche during the ceremony. I stood beneath the shade of my umbrella for the remainder of the program. When the speakers were finished, the rifle volley and “Taps” reminded us more than words of the veteran’s sacrifices for the good of the country, for our freedom.

It was a lovely service in a beautiful cemetery that honors our Missouri Veterans. Flags from the branches of service, the POW flag, the Missouri State Flag, and Old Glory flapped in the breeze, keeping watch over the veterans.  As the crowd began to clear, peace blanketed the cemetery.

copyright © by L.S. Fisher, May 2014

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com    

There's an App for That

It seems that no matter what you want to do, someone will remind you, “There’s an app for that,” and sure enough there is. Often it is things you don’t even think about. “How did you tie that scarf?” There’s an app for that. Apple owns the trademark for the slogan, but it now pops up in everyday language.

It has become a running joke that apps can make the difficult easy. They provide quick, simple solutions. We now have an “app generation” that knows they can click on an icon and have the knowhow that used to be passed from generation to generation. They take for granted having the world at their fingertips, a world that we couldn’t even imagine when we were kids.

As personal electronic devices become easier and more user friendly, we boomers have come to embrace the wonderful world of technology. What we have learned is something that younger generations have always had. We went through years of schooling without spell check, grammar check, the ability to just back up to erase the typed word, no Google search for research papers, rotary telephones plugged into a wall that served one purpose—conversation, and no concept of what an “app” was, or that it would ever exist.

Even those of us boomers with wild imaginations didn’t foresee the day when school kids would be walking around with text books on a slim device. And the thought of being in constant communication with our parents would have probably seemed more like a nightmare than a desired condition. Our parents were parents—not our best friends.

Now that we boomers are reaching the age when we are most vulnerable to Alzheimer’s, the brave new world has come up with a possible solution—maybe, just maybe, there is, or will be, an app for people with dementia.

I read an article this morning about Apple and Google technology helping fight Alzheimer’s disease. The article spoke of tests and treatments disguised as games. Wrist watches and eye glasses that could be used for GPS tracking, facial recognition, and help with daily living.

Maybe more research should go into developing smart phones, or other electronic devices, specifically for people with dementia, especially those who are in early stages. Devices would need to be easy to keep track of, super easy to use with voice activated apps, and pictures.

Think about the problems that people in the early stages of dementia have—they forget appointments, forget to take medication, get lost, have trouble communicating, and trouble problem solving. Well, I know for a fact that I’ve used my smart phone to solve the first three problems on that list. I’m not too likely to forget appointments when my smart phone reminds me. I had trouble remembering to take my morning medication until I put a reminder on my phone. Getting lost is not an option with GPS on my phone. Wouldn’t it be easier for the memory impaired to communicate if they could see the person they were talking to instead of just hearing them? After all, words are only seven percent of our communication with each other. Facial expressions are included in body language and account for 55 percent. We’ve already discussed that there’s an app for solving a myriad of problems.

Why not have Medicare dollars pay for technology to enhance independent ability rather than drugs that cause side effects and often diminish alertness? Not only can technology help now, it will be even more beneficial for future generations who have technology entrenched in their long-term memories.

copyright© May 2014 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Article: Sun, Leo. http://www.fool.com/investing/general/2014/05/18/how-apple-and-google-are-helping-fight-alzheimers.aspx  

In the Still of the Night

I used to think that older/retired people didn’t need much sleep. Seemed like after years of forcing themselves out of bed during their working years, they found themselves jumping out of bed at sunrise just because that’s when they felt like getting up. When you think about it, that works well for someone who goes to bed early. If you have your eight hours of shut-eye in by daylight, you are going to want to jump up and start the day early.

Then there’s those like me who stay up until midnight. A full night’s sleep will still get me out of bed by eight and that’s plenty early. What I don’t like is when I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. Last night, I woke up at about three thirty. I tossed, turned, and tried to go back to sleep. No luck. Then, when I thought it might happen, my weather alert radio went off. I dragged my sleepy self to the kitchen to turn it off. I pushed the button that tells what the alert is, and it started giving a regular forecast. I didn’t hear anything resembling weather that warranted the alarm.

Back in bed, I couldn’t help but think there should have been a reason for the bells and whistles disturbing my peace. Well, with my smart phone, I normally receive weather alerts on Facebook and via email, not to mention radar, and Google news. I debated. Browsing the Internet tends to keep me awake, but better safe than sorry, right? Okay, curiosity won.

First email. No alert. Then, Facebook. Oh geeze, couldn’t help but look at all the old photos posted for Mother’s Day. They just went on, and on. Time passed. It was soon four thirty, and I was wide awake. Still, determined to sleep awhile longer, I put down the phone and resumed tossing and turning, mind churning.

In the still of the night, I started thinking about how seemingly insignificant decisions or events changed the entire course of my life. I thought about the chain of events that led up to meeting Jim… On a summer Saturday, my mom and I were in the Dew Drop Inn eating hamburgers and fries when Kenny Fisher walked in. My mom knew him and introduced me. A week later, Kenny, “Uncle Orvie,” introduced me to his nephew. In many ways, it was a random meeting on an otherwise uneventful day in a series of uneventful days. Yet, that chance meeting changed the course of my life.

Sometimes the randomness of life scares me. The thought that if I do this, or don’t do that, it can change my destiny for better or worse. My life sometimes seems out of control, careening through time and space, heading toward that final frontier.

I’ve always had this insatiable curiosity as to what makes me, me. Why are my thoughts, fears, joys and sorrows, and life’s experiences inside this particular body, living this unique life, in this specific place?

In opposition to the scary thought of where the path of life is taking me is the comfort of what I consider to be my master plan. This isn’t just based on my decisions, but on my destiny. This isn’t to say that I don’t think my decisions are important anymore, in fact, I think they are crucial. But somehow, it seems that when I reach a crossroad, I choose the path that is right for me.

All my heavy thinking didn’t help me go back to sleep. So, just like other “older” people I used to shake my head at, I was up before dawn. A few cups of coffee, and I was good to go.

I wonder if today will bring one of those life changing decisions, or will it be merely another forgettable day? I may not know that answer for years—or I may know it by sundown.

Whatever the day brings, I’m confident it will fit into my master plan.

copyright © May 2014 by L. S. Fisher

www.earlyonset.blogspot.com

Dare to Inspire and to Be Inspired

April was a busy month and the first week of May was more of the same. On May Day, I went to the Lodge of the Four Seasons to spend time with some of the most inspiring women I have ever had the pleasure to add to my circle of friends. Business Women of Missouri are focused on improving life for all women, but especially those who are struggling. I am proud to be part of a group that focuses on legislation to help women, scholarships, collecting personal care products for women’s shelters…everywhere you looked, women shared ideas, hugs, and helping hands.

My friend, Nancy, has served as the state president for the past year. As part of Nancy’s team, I learned just how complex planning a conference can be. Fortunately, we had capable leaders who were able to crunch the numbers to find that, indeed, we could meet our obligation. They dared to break the mold and try some new ideas. Because of this, our Saturday morning program included two dynamic, and inspiring, speakers.

Nancy finished her term as president and turn the reins over to Sherry whose theme is “Dare to Inspire and to Be Inspired.” Inspiration—the word comes from the same Latin root word as respiration, spirare, which means “to breathe.”  Inspiration makes me feel alive.

Today has been both a sad day and an inspiring day. This morning, the sun was shining and a breeze provided a perfect day for being outdoors. The day started with setting tomato and pepper plants into the earth, with the promise of fresh produce later in the summer.

It was still early when I headed toward Versailles to a memorial for a lovely lady who left this earth too soon. Loretta had asked two family members to speak at her services. Both spoke of how inspiring and life-changing their relationship with Loretta had been. There’s no better legacy to leave than to be a positive influence on others.

Afterwards, my mom, sister, brother, and sister-in-law went out to lunch. As is typical in a small town, the place was filled with people we knew. When my aunt and uncle came in, we squeezed together to make room at the table for them. The conversation was lively, filled with humor. I was sitting at a table with people who inspire me. Then, more cousins/aunts (our family is complicated because my dad’s cousins married my mom’s brothers). It was heartening to spend some time with people I’ve known my entire life. Inspiring.

My day ended with board members of our local Business Women’s Club. Once again, I sat at a table with caring women whom I admire and am inspired by. These women give generously of their time and talents.

As we said our goodbyes, shared hugs and encouragement, I walked out of the restaurant thinking I would jump in my car and head home. It had been a long day. Instead, I decided to walk across the street and look at the veteran’s bricks I had purchased in honor of Jim and my dad.

The evening breeze whipped the eternal flame. Suddenly, I realized how beautiful the evening, and how inspiring the tributes to those who dared to lay their lives on the line for our country. The names on memorials and the rows of bricks were evidence of sacrifice and commitment. I wandered down the sidewalk reading the names. I saw one inscribed with a date when a life was lost in the Philippines. Sad, but inspiring.

I walked around snapping pictures of this familiar landmark, that had suddenly taken on a special atmosphere. I was the only person on the courthouse lawn. Had that ever happened before? What a perfect evening. What a great day to be alive, and appreciate those who died so that I could walk around the courthouse on a peaceful May evening. The breeze, the very breath of inspiration,  ruffled my hair, caressed my skin, and filled my heart with hope and happiness, as I dared to be inspired.

copyright © May 2014 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

The Easter Butterfly

This Easter seemed to be a bit of a letdown as I drove to church. Of course, maybe that was to be expected since Good Friday marked the ninth anniversary of Jim’s death.

I was bummed because I was going to Easter at the Matthewson alone. I love the years when my kids and grandkids go with me, but this year everyone had other plans. My sister-in-law had planned to go with me, but she called Sunday morning to let me know that she couldn’t go either.

Once I realized I’d be going by myself, I thought about not going. But since I had already taken my shower and had my clothes laid out, I decided to go solo.

Driving time is thinking time for me. So driving to the Fairgrounds, I found my mind wandering to the ghosts of Easter’s past. I thought about Dorothy’s famous Easter cake that she always sent to the employees at the Coop. It was a fluffy white cake topped with coconut “grass” beautifully decorated. I thought about my mother-in-law, Virginia, fixing a huge Easter feast and inviting everyone in the family. Easter was a big deal with Easter dresses, Dinah wearing her Easter hat, laughter, music, and dozens of little ones filling baskets with eggs.

I thought about Jim and when our kids were little, ready for church in western shirts I had made for them, complete with pearl snaps. It seems like a different world, a different me. I can’t believe I had the patience, or time, to sew those little shirts. I thought of school plays, baskets, family, spring flowers, butterflies, the days when April was a time of rebirth and not a time of sorrow and death. All these thoughts left me teary eyed as I suddenly found myself longing for the happy Easters of the past.

I pulled myself together, and parked my car as directed by the people assigned to the parking lot. Our church puts a lot of effort into Easter at the Matthewson. Normally, our church has different services at two different locations, but on Easter everyone comes together and invites the community to join us. It is always an uplifting, spirited service.

A giant cross was rolled inside and kids with butterfly wings swirled and swooped on the stage and down the aisle. Pastor Jim asked us to turn on our cell phones and hold them up in remembrance of loved ones. He said to send the message that “God is alive.” We sang songs, celebrated the rebirth of our Savior.

During the message, Pastor Jim said a few words that really touched me. Not relying on my memory, I typed his thoughts on butterflies into Quick Office on my phone. You can’t put wings on your back and pretend to be a butterfly, and you can’t have wings and continue to crawl.

When you think about it, butterflies begin life as a lowly caterpillar, crawling around searching for food. Their lives are totally boring, mundane, as they eke out their very livelihood by eating the leaves beneath their feet. They mature through stages called instars all the while filling themselves with toxic substances that stick with them and protect them from predators once they become adults. Through metamorphosis, the homely caterpillar emerges as a stunning butterfly and begins life anew. Butterflies don’t crawl anymore, they flit around showing off their colorful regalia while they feed on sweet flower nectar.

Butterflies symbolize rebirth. In ancient Greek, the word for “butterfly” means “soul” or “mind.” In other cultures, butterflies symbolize love, long life, transformation, animal spirits, celebration, good luck, spiritual evolution, or a sign of God’s favor.

To me, the butterfly symbolizes hope. I believe that no matter how low I might be at times, or when I think about what might have been, the butterfly promises that the days ahead will unfurl moments of breathtaking beauty. No pretending necessary—just spread those butterfly wings and fly.

copyright© April 2014 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com   

          

Voices for Alzheimer’s—Nine Hundred Purple Sashes

I just returned from my fourteenth annual journey to Washington, D.C., for the Alzheimer’s Advocacy Forum. My sister, Roberta, made the trip with me this year—for her third trip to our nation’s capitol to be a voice for Alzheimer’s.

We went to D.C. early in order to take a look around. As I browse the photos I snapped along the way, images emerge showcasing a city of stunning architecture, monuments, cherry blossoms, reflecting pools, fountains, gnarled trees, gawking tourists, honking taxis, a Sponge Bob Mailbox, a street musician playing a soulful saxophone…

My camera captured images of the past and future statues in front of the National Archives, and I read the words beneath: “Study the Past,” and “What Is Past Is Prologue.” As I pondered those two statements, I had turned and snapped a photo of the building across the street. Then, in the corner of the frame, I saw him. He was sleeping on a park bench, covered with a tattered green plastic tarp. This thin shelter was expected to ward off the chill of the night.

As we walked past him, we could hear his snores and see the blanket rise and fall. He was one of the unsheltered homeless. Out of D.C.’s 6800 homeless, more than 500 are unsheltered. They sleep in parks, in doorways, cubbyholes throughout the city. We saw a homeless man in Subway counting coins to buy a breakfast sandwich. Others beg for coins, or wander the streets pushing a cart overflowing with their treasures, hollow-eyed and defeated. I couldn’t help but wonder how many were confused and suffering from dementia.

It bothered me to know that statistically the odds were high that at least some of the homeless must have Alzheimer’s. After all, the focus of this journey  was  Alzheimer’s and a strategy to keep Alzheimer’s research funding in the budget.

Alzheimer’s is the most expensive disease in America and drains Medicare and Medicaid of $150 billion annually. Yet to fight this monster disease that gulps our economy, we wield a plastic sword.

Testifying on Alzheimer’s research before the U.S. Senate Appropriations Subcommittee, Francis Collins, Director of the National Institutes of Health, said, “We are not, at the moment, limited by ideas. We are not limited by scientific opportunities. We are not limited by talent. We are, unfortunately, limited by resources to be able to move this enterprise forward at the pace that it could take.”

 Our mission, as advocates, was to storm Capitol Hill to bring attention to the serious underfunding of Alzheimer’s research. Nearly 900 of us showed up in our purple sashes to tell our stories and to ask our legislators to increase Alzheimer’s research funding by $200 million. If we receive this increase, our funding will be $766 million—the most ever invested in Alzheimer’s research.

To put it in perspective—Alzheimer’s is the sixth leading cause of death with one-third of seniors dying with Alzheimer’s or another dementia. Approximately a half million people die each year because they have Alzheimer’s. This deadly disease cannot be prevented, cured, or even slowed. Yet, our nation is taking a pass on investing enough resources to take advantage of the talent, opportunities, and ideas generated by the brightest scientific minds in America. 

Help us make Alzheimer’s a disease of the past. Tell your legislators that we need to invest in America’s future by finding a cure for Alzheimer’s. It can be done; it will be done if we care enough.

We can’t win a war with a plastic sword. One of the health aides gave us a hint. She said that to get funds increased, we had to be visible and audible all year. Don’t let them forget about Alzheimer’s! Nine hundred purple sashes make a statement, but if you want to end Alzheimer’s and couldn’t go to the forum, please make a phone call, shoot off an email, or visit a district office. If we become a big enough pest, Congress will listen.

copyright © April 2014 by L. S. Fisher

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