A lecture which is called “From Diary to Graphic Memoir, How and Why I Wrote Tangles: A Story About Alzheimer’s, My Mother and Me” was held by Hiram College’s Center for Literature and Medicine on November 3rd. I was just curious about that lecture because I have read a novel about Alzheimer and I like books. A speaker, Sarah Leavitt is a writer and cartoonist, and teaches Creative Writing at University of British Columbia.
Actually, I couldn’t understand all of her lecture, but my impression is that her family and her always had a fun even though her mother was Alzheimer. Maybe it is appropriate to say “Her mother was Alzheimer. That’s why her family always had a fun.” I imagined if I realized my mother is Alzheimer, what I will behave, but
Living with an insidious cognitive declining illness, individuals diagnosed with early onset familial Alzheimer’s disease often fear losing their sense of self (Borrello et al. 2495). This theme is carried out in the film through the character of Alice, a 50 year old linguistics professor at Columbia University. The inevitable decline in memory, communication, and eventually independence strike those with the disease (Borrello et al. 2494), which will quickly affect not only themselves, but also relationships with others. In this essay, I will discuss the level of accuracy in the film, Still Alice, directed by Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland, by analyzing its display of knowledge on neurological and psychological
My grandfather's dementia had gotten worse with age. He had developed a habit of walking out of the house randomly. They lived alone in their apartment in Pakistan. One day he walked out the same way and did not return for a long time. We were later informed that he had tripped on his way and broke his hip. After surgery my grandmother called me, I was living abroad at that time, and said, "I don't think he will recover, he is in a lot of pain" I assured her otherwise. She said, "I can't live without him. I don’t want him to die." The helplessness and grief in her voice was agonizing. She would often call and cry, it became tough overtime as I was abroad and not fully aware of his progress. I am her oldest grandchild, and she treats me like
I wandered throughout the hospital hallways. An unfamiliar place to me, thus I began to explore. It was 9 am and some patients had already lined up to see their physicians. I was shadowing Dr. Waterman, a family medicine resident. I followed her on the morning patient rounds, she would introduce me to her patients, asking for their permission for me to observe. As the shadow, I tried to remain imperceptible but observant. That day, I got exposed to different medical disciplines. In one case was an 83-year-old Caucasian female with dementia. She had come with her two children who broke down in tears when she couldn’t even remember who they were. Dr. Waterman’s response transcended beyond patient care and got families involved. She would report
She welcomes anyone who comes into view yet stands near her husband. She develops small talk with her close knit family, the people she recognizes. Extended relatives and a few measly encounters do not form a new bond in her mind. She repeats stories, she repeats sentences and she repeats questions. She poses for a picture with her sister, lifts up the bottom crease of her sweater and pulls out a bright pink scarf to swing over her neck. She illustrates a world of imagination and fun through the playful pose. She represents a disease of heartbreak and loss. The woman shows early signs of Alzheimer’s. Alzheimer’s is a merciless disease in the family that killed her brother and is grabbing hold of the rest of her siblings.
Throughout this semester in our family and aging course we have talked about caring for elderly adults. Alzheimer’s has become one of our focused topics. Over time we have discussed: spousal caregiving, the grief process, and we’ve talked about caring for adult children with mental illness. In the book the author’s mother has Alzheimer’s, and she decided that her taking care of her mother was a bit much, so she took her to a nursing home. The author still hasn’t come to terms with her mother’s death, and the way she handled her time being has a different way of dealing with her grief.
This study evaluated how people with Alzheimer’s disease present their life story. The authors utilized a narrative design using interviews as their basis for researching the importance in developing the knowledge about how people with Alzheimer’s disease present their life story, since life story work is believed to be a key concept in person-centered care according to these authors. A total of nine (9) participants (5 women and 4 men), aged 60-81 years were recruited via a geriatric clinic, healthcare center or by advertisement in local newspapers. All data collection, through interviews, was conducted in the patient’s home. Participants were asked questions pertaining to the following areas of their life: childhood, adult life, occupations,
I was 16 when I learned what it meant to be dead. I had known of it before, but I didn’t really know death -- I was too young to really understand. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to ward off the waves from washing away my grandparents when they were in Mexico, and I was here. We were separated by oceans of land so our contact was limited. And the oceans only got deeper as I realized that Alzheimer's meant something beyond just memory loss. It meant I watched my Abuelito’s glassy eyes lead to an empty attic, and knew I was waiting for a tsunami to take it over like it had the rest of him.
The memoir went exactly how I thought it would be. Bette Ann Markowitz’s situation of taking care of a parent who has Alzheimer is very common; having an aging parent who can no longer fend for themselves. Markowitz is not an only child so she had to constantly consult her sibling on “what is the best option” (Moskowitz41),
In 2009, my grandfather was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Prior to this determination, my family and I had simply attributed it to the forgetfulness of old age. However, as my grandfather began to ask the same questions within a matter of minutes, we knew there was a deeper issue. After my mother had to stay on the phone to help him navigate previously familiar roads, she took him to the doctor. Years went by and his cognizance and memory began to deteriorate even further. Upon the death of my maternal grandmother, he moved in with my family due to his inability to live alone. My grandfather required constant supervision and monitoring at all waking hours. These circumstances exposed us even further to this disease as we realized the
A harrowing, poignant account of caring for not only one, but two Alzheimer’s patients, Slow Dancing with a Stanger Lost and Found in the Age of Alzheimer’s is a first hand experience with Alzheimer’s disease that leaves the reader moved, intrigued, and a little worried about what is to come with the aging process. The book is not an easy read as it gives a very unromantic summation of being a caretaker to a person with Alzheimer’s disease.
It was faded red, and slow: on Volkswagen time. Others rushed impatiently. It said, “Speed limit will do. No hurry.”
For my undergraduate degree, I had to complete a one-hundred-and-sixty-hour internship with private, non-profit, or a governmental agency that provides care and services for families and children. I selected the Alzheimer’s Association because at that time I was also caring for my grandmother-in-law who was in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s. During my internship, one of my responsibilities was to attend, participate, and help facilitate a local Alzheimer’s caregivers support group. Additionally, because I had experienced Alzheimer’s in my personal life, my role was both maintenance and facilitative. Furthermore, I could share my story, as well as focus on the emotional well-being of the other members, and what struggles they were experiencing. Within the group, I also had a facilitative role of providing information and resources to the members.
Having Alzheimer’s would cause your parents to forget everything over time, including you, their only child. Because you were so young, Alden and I decided to tell you that they had just been killed. We figured it would be better for you to believe that they were dead than to tell you that they do not even remember who you are. But, throughout these past few months, we have noticed that you haven’t forgotten about them, and no matter how hard we have tried to prevent you, you have always tried to find a way to see your parents again.”
Attention Material: At some point in the sixth grade, early one morning, at around 3 a.m., I woke up to an eerie feeling. I felt as though someone was watching me, and to my surprise, someone was. I woke up to a perplexed face on my grandfather’s face. A baffled face that read, “Who is this person in my house, and why is she here?” Immediately I said, “Papa, it’s me! Big Baby (that’s what he called me), and in response he let out a big sigh of relief. Puzzled and disturbed, I called my mom and explained to her what had just happened. (I asked her what was going on and why had he just reacted in such a manner.) The following day, she sat me down to discuss what was going on. On that day, she told me that my grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and mixed dementia.
How long have you been doing your current job? It seems like you have a pretty good system going for you. I like how you use physical reminders in order to help direct your brain in the right direction, almost like leaving a sticky note around to remember. What I do doesn't involve any physical reminders. I'm naturally a person who will over analyse situations, so I kind of learned to harness that into a positive way of thinking. I use my overthinking to run specific tasks and terminology through my head so many times that I have no choice but to remember it. It helps that the job I do is constant repetition that not much thought goes into. I use that time to think about a specific topic throughout the day (I use my phone to refresh my memory