Regression

"A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once." 

                       -- Shakespeare

I would hardly call my mom a coward, but watching someone with Alzheimer's is like watching them die a thousand times. Alzheimer's is death by a thousand cuts, dying a little bit each day, slowly, slowly, slowly. The mind and then the body falling into decline.

My dad had to put my mom in a Memory Care Unit yesterday. It must have been one of the most difficult days of his life. She couldn't take care of herself because of her Alzheimer's, and it got to the point where he could no longer take care of her. She can't remember how to walk sometimes, can't bathe herself, or brush her teeth. My dad couldn't keep up with maintaining her basic hygiene. It was almost like inadvertent neglect, which was by no means his fault for not keeping up.

I have a friend whose son is profoundly disabled with autism. She said that for families with disabled children, every milestone their child doesn't reach is a loss, and grief ensues. When other kids are mastering counting or the alphabet, some of these children lag behind. They might not ride a bike, or learn to drive, go to prom. They might not leave for college or work or marriage. For the parents who see the missed milestones, they grieve. So it is with losing a parent to Alzheimer's. Instead of just having a funeral and dying straight up, each step is an erosion and loss, with the knowledge that things won't move forward.

In many ways, my mother has regressed to being a toddler. Unlike toddlers, my mother won't improve. Unless a miracle cure is invented in the next few weeks, her path is towards decline. The Memory Care Unit sounds almost like preschool. There are three activities a day. Today, they baked cookies. My friend Eleanor, who is 94, said she has been to nursing homes where they teach those with dementia letters and how to read. There are even places called "Adult Day Care" where people can send their ailing loved ones during the day to be cared for so the other adults can go to work, grocery shop, or care for children. My dad is fortunate he can pay for this service, buy what about those who can't? What becomes of them and their families? Or, perhaps my dad isn't so lucky. Jack spoke with a friend whose father spent $1.2 million on his wife's institutionalization for his wife with Alzheimer's.

My friend Eleanor said "We are living too long nowadays." This is true for some but not all people. She is of very sound mind and has a healthy body whereas my mother is outliving her life. I wonder is Shakespeare had ever heard of Alzheimer's disease, or if such levels of dementia existed during his time. What did they do? Did those people die because they wandered off in the woods and were eaten by a bear? Who took care of them in a world of subsistence living? Even today, wandering off and getting lost is one of the major causes of death for people with dementia. They might fall into a creek, or get hypothermia in the winter. Again, my mother is fortunate that my father can take care of her, if not by himself, but that he has found a safe place for her to stay.