Alice Monologue

"Mrs. Henshaw, no matter what you may have read, Chris and I are dating, nothing more," Mary Alice said.

Career, emotions, values, family, and memories are all things that make a person who they are. The film “Still Alice” is of a woman named Alice who being fifty finds out she has early onset Alzheimer. Her life takes a turn in an unknown direction with her and her family, both having to figure out “what to do next?”. Alice and her family struggle with her disease as they each try to make the best of a bad situation with trying to help her remember anything they can and taking care of her as best they can. Alice struggles the most with trying to the responses from the family and the walls they build along with losing what defines her.

Hi Alice! How are you doing? Fine? I hope so.

I am 21 years of age with no one to count on, no hopes for a brighter future, and feeling all alone trying to be the best mother I can be for Abigail-Rose. I’m wondering who can help guide me through my journey of motherhood and as a young woman, where I try to be as visible as possible in covering my emotions through a smile. I’m trying to show that I am a strong young woman, yet I’m scared to do or say the wrong things. I desperately hope no one will ask me if “I’m okay,” because then I’ll burst into tears.

Her lips formed strange and unusual sounds, her eyes closed softly and her cheeks paled. From her side belt she withdrew a small knife, a dagger. With a quick movement she cut her left hand with the dagger. As the drops of blood hit the cold marble floor the knife also clattered to the ground. The girl remained speaking her foreign tongue and let her life's blood run down her outstretched arm.

(Juan and Eva are arriving to a night at the opera and sit down to applause. Music starts. Eva and Juan enjoy the music until, suddenly, Eva doubles over in pain and starts gasping for breath. )

The fistful of hair wrapped snugly in a vice-like grip was beginning to bring tears to my eyes; however, he burning pain that shot through my scalp was nothing compared to the burning deep in my heart. The wails of a woman, presumably my mother, but possibly my own, were stuck in a never ending loop, consisting of pleas and indistinguishable sobs that made my head throb. The light yellow walls of the kitchen and the deep red shade of the door came into focus through bleary eyes, causing panic to constricted around my chest like a

“Alzheimer's disease (AD) is a slowly progressive disease of the brain that is characterized by impairment of memory and eventually by disturbances in reasoning, planning, language, and perception.” (Howard Crystal) In Health 1000 we were asked to read the book Still Alice. I have never dealt with or have done any study on Alzheimer’s disease before reading this book. After finishing this book it has really opened my eyes to how bad of a disease and how it cripples the mind. I never imagined the effect of this disease on a patient and the patient family. This book is about a upper middle aged lady named Alice who is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and how she and her family learn how to deal with disease. One of the things this book

When walking inside, his eyes adjusted to the beach house, dimly lit compared to the beating sun outside. The first figure he could make out was the one he’d been expecting. Sitting on a bar stool, while leaning on the table was Amethyst, her mouth coated in white dust. “Hey there, curly hair!” Out of her mouth came sugar that had not quite dissolved in her saturated mouth. “What's goin’ on?”

As we approach Club Stang, I'm amazed by the length of patrons lined along the building, huddled together and shivering as they wait for entry. I press my nose against the window, while Alice leans against me to scrutinise the extending line. “Didn't Angelo sell New Year's Eve tickets weeks ago?” she asks.

She hoped that a bit of poison would help to light up the night, and possibly help loosen up those nerves she, oddly, could never shake around her friend. All it took was a quick tuck of hair behind the ear before bright lights shone outside, inching closer before coming to a halt. Out of excitement, Ariana rushed to the door, waiting for the doorbell, and then waiting an extra or moment or two as to not seem as expectant. Letting out a small breath, she swung open the mahogany door before beaming up to the taller girl, simply joyous to be in her presence once more. She enveloped her tightly, taking a quick second to embrace the all-too familiar scent, before pulling back and grasping her hand. "I'm so glad we could do this!" Ariana exclaimed, pulling Liz inside and kicking the door

“I’m here!” I say looking at her book and remember the great adventure I just had, “The most amazing thing happened! So there was this rabbit and I followed him into a whole and it went down and down! An--” I started.

Alice always saw his talent, his passion. She saw his soul every time he played, and she was obsessed with it. Maybe even enamored. That’s why she kept sneaking into his practices, risking her reputation every night just to listen to him. But was that tenuous, furtive connection enough of a reason to take the final step? Could she stand by his side, when that meant standing alone?

His hand pressed harder into his side. The slide of fabric against raw flesh made him suck in a breath through his teeth. He stumbled, had to grab the wall for support. For a moment, he just leaned his forehead against the cool brick. It gave him some relief, cold against the sweaty heat of his forehead; the dull throbbing of his head subsided slightly. The throbbing in his side, sadly, did not. He could still feel the heat of blood, sticky and coating his palms, stuck between the creases of his fingers. He felt as though he could never wash it off. His hands would permanently be stained with the red of his own blood.

He didn’t notice other people’s gazes. He accelerated his steps to track the smell of food like a grey hound, and he finally reached the source of that luscious scent. It was from inside of a small, orchard door at the end of a dark alley of 68th street. The door was aged and full of scratches without any windows on the wall. However, the smell of delicious food was definitely leaking from the narrow gap under the doorstep, but he hesitated. He hadn’t decide what to offer to trade for his meal, and he knew nothing about the people who lived inside a small apartment at the end of a dark alley in Brooklyn. He sat down, camped at the porch, but he was exhausted so he fell asleep immediately. He dreamed about his childhood, his first cello from his father, his small band at high school, his private studio a few years ago. He was woken by a young girl, who was pale but still attractive, with a thick magazine curled in her right hand. He saws the girl only dyed the nails of her third fingers with cerise, the same color of his favorite strawberry