Monday, August 31, 2015

As They Lay Dying...

Thank you to Dylan Landis for this sensitive report on how difficult it is to watch your parents die.

http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/08/30/books/review/closing-the-book.html?referrer=&_r=0

Ordinarily Dylan spends much time writing and reading books, but during the summer and fall of her parents' death and for nearly a year afterward, she could do neither.  

We often think of reading as an escape, a way of passing time when we can't do other things.  

But Dylan found her mind too preoccupied to get into a book.

This time, I found myself staring out the train windows, book in lap, unread.

And when my parents napped, instead of curling into the guest chair to read, I daughtered, picking up Kleenex blossoms, straightening papers and updating their friends. I opened books, listlessly closed them and talked to the aides about their boyfriends, their money and, with some of them, God.


I love her use of the word daughter as a verb-- to daughter!

I find myself infinitely distractable with daughtering, housekeeping, shopping, errand-running... It's so hard to pick up a book and stay in one chair, ignoring all the other demands on my life.

** Dylan Landis is the author of a ­novel, “Rainey Royal,” and a story collection, “Normal People Don’t Live Like This.”

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Another kind of dementia

John Carroll is the renowned former editor of the Los Angeles Times and the Baltimore Sun.   The Times earned 13 Pulitzer prizes during his 5-year tenusre.  He's a brilliant and kind man.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Carroll_%28journalist%29

He has been diagnosed with a rare form of dementia, Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.

http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/cjd/detail_cjd.htm

There are only about 300 cases of this disease per year in the US.  It's very fast-moving.

Here's what the NIS says about the disease:

CJD belongs to a family of human and animal diseases known as the transmissible spongiform encephalopathies (TSEs). Spongiform refers to the characteristic appearance of infected brains, which become filled with holes until they resemble sponges under a microscope.

One form of the TSEs is mad cow disease.

If you have a relative are struggling with Alzheimer's disease, remember that there are worse fates.  One of them is Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Robin Williams & LBD

One of the sadder aspects of dementia is that it can lead to suicide.

My mother tried to leave her assisted living residence and "get hit by a truck" with her walker.

It's not surprising that Lewy Body Dementia was probably a factor in Robin Williams taking his own life.

http://www.salon.com/2014/11/13/autopsy_robin_williams_had_lewy_body_dementia/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=socialflow

With a healthy frontal cortex, people would have more chance of getting help rather than letting the illness and impulses of a moment end their lives.

Thank you to Juanita Wright Potter for alerting me to this post on Salon.com.  

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Either Laugh or Cry

Roz Chast, staff cartoonist for The New Yorker, has a new book out on care of her elderly parents.

http://www.amazon.com/Cant-Talk-about-Something-Pleasant/dp/1608198065/ref=cm_wl_huc_item

I haven't read it yet, but it's probably a great gift for anyone involved in elder care.

It was a finalist for the 2014 National Book Award, as well as a #1 NYT bestseller and one of the top 100 books chosen by Amazon's editors.

Here's a quote from them:

the themes are universal: adult children accepting a parental role; aging and unstable parents leaving a family home for an institution; dealing with uncomfortable physical intimacies; managing logistics; and hiring strangers to provide the most personal care.

Saturday, December 06, 2014

Older and More Joyful

My friend Sharon Billings and I are closely tracking the event of aging and its effects on our lives and the lives of our friends.

I thank her for pointing out David Brooks' essay in the New York Times this week about the emotional effects of aging:

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/12/05/opinion/david-brooks-why-elders-smile.html?rref=collection%2Fcolumn%2Fdavid-brooks

He confirms what I have long suspected: old age can be a time of greater happiness, even in the presence of health issues and other losses.

I noticed how happy my mother was in her last several years--not all the time, but on the whole.  She had to live in assisted living, but it was a comfortable and warm environment with great caregivers.  She didn't spend any time focusing on the large home she had sold a few years earlier.  

When she came to my house on Sundays and holidays, she often said she wanted to stay and spend the night, but she accepted the reality that it was easier to return and sleep at Sunrise Assisted Living.  

There was a sharpness in her face during her fifties and sixties, when she was still ambitious, hard-working, tired and anxious.  That vanished in her eighties.

Brooks points to well-researched changes in the brain as the source of this happiness and relaxation: greater focus on the present, less worry about the future.  

He doesn't address worry about death--how and when it will happen, whether it will be painful.

"I'd like to think that people get steadily better at handling life's challenges," Brooks writes.  Really?  That sounds like Emile Coue's mantra,  "Every day in every way I'm getting better and better."  Sheer fantasy--though positive thinking does have beneficial effects.

Brooks lists four changes that really do happen in many older people:

1) Bifocalism--the ability to see a situation from multiple perspectives;
2) Lightness--the ability to be at ease with disappointments and loss, realizing it's not the end of the world;
3) Balance--the ability to meet competing demands in a given situation, such as being honest but kind;
4) Empathy and pattern awareness--what Brooks calls "an intuitive awareness of the landscape of reality."

For each of these changes he cites a book or research study.

I like his discussion of bifocalism, especially the ability to be detached while at the same time compassionate:

"Only with experience can a person learn to see a fraught situation both close up, with emotional intensity, and far away, with detached perspective," he writes.

This dual focus reminds me of T.S. Eliot's poem "Ash Wednesday":  "Teach us to care and not to care."

Persons with dementia may not achieve all these four skills, but they are really good at being "in the moment."  Sometimes the moment is all they have; this was true for many of the residents on the memory-care floor where my mother lived.

I'm pretty content with the possibility of ending my life in a blissful fog while others care for me, making sure I am eating, sleeping, and being diapered. 

My mother did have frustrations and outbreaks such as smashing a glass of water on the dining room table, but five minutes later when I arrived she was cordial and happy to see me.  

As for Ekekiel Emanuel's essay about preferring to die at 75 yrs. rather than waste away later, why bother to make such wishes?  

The bottom line is that we don't get to choose when to clock out... unless we oppose both law and custom.


Thursday, May 29, 2014

Outside for Alive Inside

Only in Telluride would some 200 people sit outside at night in 46-degree weather to watch a documentary on Alzheimer’s.
I’ve seen memorable performances in Town Park—Peter, Paul & Mary, Bob Dylan, Shakespeare in the Park—but Monday evening’s screening of Alive Inside: A Story of Music and Memory takes the cake.
This 2014 film won audience choice for Best Documentary at this year’s Sundance Festival because it focuses on how music—a personalized iPod—can bring joy and vitality to persons who seem locked away from their own past by loss of memory. (Mountainfilm 2014 gave its audience choice award to DamNation.)
Director Michael Rossato-Bennett profiles seven patients in the film, as well as providing statistics and explaining neurologically why Alzheimer’s patients can be reached through music.  Emotion and motion are controlled by parts of the brain that are the last to be harmed; music evokes emotion and often includes dance, so it’s stored in these areas and provides access to pathways long blocked.
I was deeply moved to witness Alive Inside in Telluride, not far from Lone Tree Cemetery, surrounded by the ghosts of old timers, some of whom suffered from dementia in their last years.  My grandfather, his sister Mary, and several others in the family lived most of their lives in Telluride but finally succumbed to various forms of dementia.
My mother, Evelyn Gustafson Eggebroten, was born in Telluride in March of 1919.  Because of the flu epidemic, her mother was not allowed to go to the town hospital to give birth.  As she grew up, she became interested in nursing and eventually taught public health nursing at the University of Maryland.
Evelyn died in 2008 after a ten-year ordeal with Alzheimer’s disease.  In the faces and voices of those interviewed in the film, and in looking up at the stars overhead, I felt her presence.
In her last years on the Memory Care floor of an assisted living residence, I played music of the 1940s and earlier for her—everything from Big Band favorites, ballads and hymns to Lawrence Welk shows.
In doing so, I was only following her training.  She had given her public health nursing students experience with not only door-to-door visits but also trips to laundromats and nursing homes. 
In 1975 she placed her students in Keswick Nursing Home in Baltimore, Maryland, and challenged them to experiment with music as a way of reaching withdrawn patients.  They titled their project “Hello in There.”
In her memoir, my mother describes the effect of music on a German woman who was very quiet and seemed depressed: “I told the students to play tape-recordings of songs this patient had enjoyed in earlier days.  Our son, Bill, had studied German and had a phonograph record of German folk songs.  On a hunch, I made a cassette tape recording of it and let her hear it.  Our depressed patient was thrilled, as shown by her sudden talking and humming with the music of her native songs….”
All of us sitting in the cold darkness in Town Park witnessed multiple awakenings of this sort through Alive Inside.  We came away hopeful about ways to find quality of life for the five million persons in the US who suffer from Alzheimer’s disease.
In fact, as in many of the Mountainfilm presentations, we were given tools to make a difference ourselves, starting with a visit to the Music & Memory website: www.musicandmemory.org
Another approach is to support the research of the Institute for Music and Neurologic Function, imnf@centerlight.org.
Awake Inside reports on the overuse of medications to sedate dementia patients into compliant behavior instead of seeing their anger or depression as a natural result of their situation.  I witnessed this problem with my mother when she was hospitalized after disruptive behavior; for days she was so heavily sedated she could not hold her head up.
Dan Cohen, the social worker at the heart of the film, believes that a small investment in iPods and music can heal people in ways that medications can’t. 
One of the patients in the film makes a profound statement about the need for music and joy while living in a nursing home: “Even if you’re dying, you still have to live.”
Alive Inside (73 min.) is available through various online resources such as www.IMDb.com.    The following clip from the film went viral on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FWn4JB2YLU
Evelyn’s memoir, Adventures of a Telluride Native, is available at the Telluride Historical Museum and at Between the Covers Bookstore.
For additional information and statistics, see the website of the Alzheimer’s Association:
http://www.alz.org/alzheimers_disease_facts_and_figures.asp?gclid=CLHm9MCnzr4CFQJqMgodbSIAEw#quickFacts

Tuesday, April 08, 2014

Reflections: 6 years

My mother's life ended six years ago today.
Evelyn with Anne - passport photo, March 1950








She lived from March 12, 1919, to April 9, 2008.
  
She did it all: 
childhood in Telluride and Mancos, 
college in Boulder and Denver, 
serving as a Navy nurse for WWII in Calif., 
love and marriage,
living in Tokyo during the Korean War, 
B.S. and M.S., 
raising four kids in Boulder & Bakersfield, 
teaching nursing at the Univ. of Maryland, 
retirement in Boulder, 
grandkids, 
widowhood,
writing her memoir, 
moving through the various levels of senior care: 

  • independent
  • assisted 
  • memory care
  • skilled nursing 
  • hospice.


May we all be so fortunate.

I trust in you, O YHWH.
I say, You are my God.
My times are in your hand. 
            ~ Psalm 31: 14, 15.

YHWH, You have been our dwelling place
from one generation to another.

Before the mountains were brought forth,
or the land and the earth were born,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

You turn us back to dust and say,
"Go back, O child of earth."

For a thousand years in your sight
are like yesterday when it is past,
or like a watch in the night.

You sweep us away like a dream;
we fade away suddenly like the grass.

In the morning it is green and flourishes;
in the evening it dries and withers.

For we are consumed by your anger;
by your wrath we are overwhelmed.

You have set our wrong-doing before you,
our secret sins before the light of your face.

All our days pass away under your wrath;
we bring our years to an end like a sigh.

The span of our life is seventy years,
or perhaps in strength even eighty;
even then their sum is but labor and sorrow,
for they pass away quickly and we are gone.

Who considers the power of your anger?
Who rightly fears your indignation?

So teach us to number our days
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
     ~ Psalm 90: 1-12


How's your CRP?

My brother Bill, the doctor, tells me that the drugs they gave Mom ten years ago for dementia were worthless.

Now a blood test can determine whether you have elevated levels of a certain protein, CRP.

Apparently the liver produces more of this as we age (especially if you have the wrong genes), and too much of this protein causes inflammation of blood vessels in the brain and elsewhere.

Inflammation is one cause of the production of the placque that causes Alzheimer's Disease.

There are now medications to lower the production of this C-reactive protein.

Of course, exercise and low intake of carbohydrates and sugar are also good.

http://www.drweil.com/drw/u/ART03424/Elevated-Creactive-Protein-CRP.html

Make sure you are tested for the levels of CRP in your blood--and if you do, start doing things to lower your level.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Evelyn Frances--born 95 years ago

Mother would have turned 95 today if she were still living.  
My mother and I with my sister-in-law and her two daughters

March 12, 1919, is a date I will never forget.  I filled it into forms so many times while handling her medical care and business.

She lived a full life: childhood in a little mining town in Colorado, college in Boulder in 1936-37, two years in Denver earning her RN at Children's Hospital, service as a Navy nurse in World War II, marriage, raising four children, teaching public health nursing at a two-year college and at the University of Maryland, enjoying 14 grandchildren, volunteer work in retirement, and finally residence on the memory care floor of Sunrise Assisted Living.

She didn't like the limitations of old age.  Her fiercely independent spirit chafed against having someone else dispense her medications and tell her when to go to bed or show up at meals.

In 2005 she even tried to push her walker down a stairway and out into a busy street so she would be hit by a truck.  Of course it didn't work, but the event was her attempt to die without further indignities.

She lived on four more years, a time that included wearing Depends, being showered by caregivers, and having her Depends changed at night by men she didn't know with skins of brown and black.

Pneumonia was what finally took her father's life when he was aged.  In 1976 she had said that nurses called this illness "the angel of mercy" because it gave a swift and gentle exit to a person who was ready to die.

She was not so lucky, however.  Her life ended by starvation and dehydration.  

There came a time when her throat muscles no longer knew how to swallow because of the damage done to her brain by the plaque deposits of Alzheimer's Disease.  Her children decided not to start a feeding tube of pureed food into her stomach.  We felt that her quality of life had deteriorated far enough without doing that.

On her birthday in 2008 I took her to lunch at Carrow's Restaurant near my house.  She ordered fried shrimp, which she could not eat.  Mashed potatoes and applesauce went down well.  She drank milk.  

She wanted rhubarb pie, a food rarely found on a restaurant menu today.  Her grandmother had made that pie, and she had occasionally stewed rhubarb for us.

Today the amaryllids are blooming at my front door, as they were five years ago during her last month of life and in the week of her memorial service.  

It's like the poem "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed" by Walt Whitman, remembering the death of Abraham Lincoln.

Every year the perennials return in full bloom, reminding survivors of the one they lost in a previous spring.

We are mortal, but the little flowers live on.

Sunday, March 02, 2014

Laugh or Cry!

You can either laugh or cry about Alzheimer's.

I laughed all the way through Nebraska, the 2013 comedy about an older man trying to collect his prize after he receives a letter telling him in large, bold print that he has won a million dollars.

Of course, he is told that there's an "if" in small print, but he still believes he is a winner.

http://www.fool.com/investing/general/2014/03/02/how-alexander-paynes-nebraska-is-a-game-changer.aspx

I went through this with my mother when she got repeated mailings from Reader's Digest Sweepstakes telling her that she was a winner.

Just like the son in Nebraska, I tried to convince Mom that she was still a few stages away from winning a big jackpot, but she persisted in thinking her doorbell was going to ring and she was going to fly to Plainsville, New York, to claim her prize.

She had her suitcase packed and would call me to discuss which outfit she should wear when the big day came.  

Bruce Dern does an excellent job of playing the confused but lovable old man, Woody.

Will Forte from Saturday Night Live portrayed Woody's younger son David, a salesman of audio/video electronics, who finally decides to drive his father to Lincoln, Nebraska, to let him walk into the magazine office and discover he has not won.

The roadtrip with his father is hilarious, from the losing-false-teeth episode to peeing on the side of the road to visiting Mt. Rushmore.  I've done so many of those trips with my mother that it was fun to see the humor captured on the big screen.

Reacting to his father's antics, David's emotions range from frustration to grim persistence to moments of sheer love.  I was with him 100%: been there, done that.

Director Alexander Payne also did a great job presenting the dysfunctional family around these two: David's mother, brother, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  If you liked the crazy but true-to-life family in The Descendants, also directed by Payne, you'll love these folks.  

Some people don't like this film.  Its subject is too scary.  After all, if your parent has Alzheimer's, you have a good chance of getting it too.

But hey, the situations that arise are genuinely funny.  It's your choice, to laugh or cry.

I choose to embrace our common destiny and laugh.  

As Rashi said, "Accept with simplicity whatever comes to you."

(This quotation appears at the beginning of another funny/sad film, A Serious Man, directed by the Coen brothers in 2009.)

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/envelope/moviesnow/la-et-mn-screenwriting-guru-robert-mckee-oscar-contenders-20140226,0,240582.story#axzz2usnDdKTc

http://dearcinema.com/review/nebraska-best-picture-will-get-oscar/4951

http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/a-serious-man-2009




Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Deja Vue

I have two dear friends in their 80s who live together, friends for a long time.

Lucy has been diagnosed with dementia and requires assistance with daily tasks.  Greta is her caregiver.  

I visited them today, and it was like watching myself with my mother in 2007. 

Lucy recognized me and was gracious and gentle, as usual.  She loves flowers and is devoted to her garden. 

A nurse was there for her daily visit, wrapping Lucy's elbow, injured in a fall and slow to heal.

There was also a jigsaw puzzle, just completed, on the dining room table, part of Lucy's mental exercises.

After the nurse left, Greta asked if Lucy needed to use the restroom and then assisted her as she stood and used her walker to get there.

After ten minutes, nothing had happened, so Greta had to decide whether to bring Lucy back to the living room.  

I remembered times when I would wheel my mother to the toilet, turn on water at the sink, and wait.  She had no control over her bowels, so I would often end up taking her back to her chair with no results.

Then, of course, after the movement of getting up and down from the chair and the toilet, she would announce that she needed to urinate.  

I would get so impatient: "No!  You can only go to the bathroom once per hour, Mom."

Now if I'm drinking lots of fluids and make two visits to the toilet within less than an hour, I wish I had been more accommodating.  

Feeling guilty over not doing more is one ever-present aspect of care-giving.  Where do we draw a boundary that allows for self-care as well as attention to the needs of another?

Greta gave Lucy a bit of Metamusil and explained to me that she had forgotten to give Lucy her evening laxative the night before.

"Can you help me get it out?" asked Lucy.

I remembered my aunt, who has a daily visit from a nurse to dig the waste from her bowel.

Ah, the trials we never imagine we might face.  


Sunday, November 17, 2013

National Day of Listening: Nov. 29

You thought Thanksgiving was over on by midnight on Thursday?

No, you have a job on Friday, and it's not Christmas shopping.  It's a continuation of the family- and heritage-centered day of giving thanks.

National Day of Listening is November 29.  StoryCorps has designated this day for us all to honor a loved one through listening.

http://nationaldayoflistening.org/    

0.00 | 1.55
0.00 | 10.48

VIVIAN CHUM INTERVIEWS TERRY BURKE

BY VIVIAN CHUM

Terry tells the story of his friendship with Tony Stevens and their adventures in Madrid and Harlem in 1976.
X
0.00 | 13.54
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  • What makes us such good friends?
  • The National Day of Listening is a day to honor a loved one through listening. It's the least expensive but most meaningful gift you can give this holiday season. You can choose to record a story with anyone you know. Learn more.

    You can sit with someone who was at your Thanksgiving table and ask him or her questions about the life he or she has had.  StoryCorps offers a list of great questions.

    You could even record the conversation using a cell phone, computer, or microphone and upload it to the StoryCorps Wall of Listening.

    Stop stressing over the turkey and make your plans for a gift that will last.



    Friday, November 08, 2013

    Do Your StoryCorps Tribute!

    StoryCorps is celebrating ten years of giving average Americans the chance to make an oral recording of memories or experiences that will literally go down in history. 
    with facilitator Mayra Sierra at the StoryCorps mobile booth


















    After two people talk in a mobile recording booth, the recording is sent to the Library of Congress, and the pair are given a CD of their conversation.
    http://storycorps.org/

    My friend Sandy convinced me to go with her to downtown Los Angeles to record a tribute to my mother, Evelyn Frances Gustafson Eggebroten, who died in 2008.

    StoryCorps seeks to record voices from many walks of life, including:
    • Military voices
    • Public school teachers, both urban and rural
    • People facing serious illnesses
    • People with memory loss
    • People affected by the September 11 tragedies
    • African-Americans
    • Latino-Americans
    • Alaskans
    Because my mother suffered from Alzheimer's Disease, I checked "Memory Loss Initiative" as the type of recording I wanted to make. 

    Sandy is a big fan of StoryCorps, which she listens to on National Public Radio, as do I.  

    David Isay, the founder of StoryCorps, was signing his new book Ties That Bind at a local bookstore earlier this week, so Sandy went and had the opportunity to speak with him.  Then she checked the online waitlist and noticed that there was an open hour in the appointments for Friday; she called a friend of ours who couldn't take time off from work, and then she invited me.

    Thus we showed up at 10:30 am near the Science Museum and the African-American Museum at Jefferson and Figueroa for our interview.

    Our facilitator was Mayra Sierra, who earned an MA in Museum Studies at JFK University in Berkeley, CA.  Her thesis was titled "The Use of Oral History in Engaging Underserved Communities in Museums," and her focus was the Japanese-American National Museum in downtown Los Angeles.

    Mayra said that so far there have been 80,000 participants in StoryCorps recording 50,000 stories.

    There are permanent recording booths in Atlanta, Chicago, and San Francisco, as well as a few mobile booths that traverse the nation recording local populations.

    The booth we recorded in had previously been in Rapid City, South Dakota, and will move to Thousand Oaks, California, and then to Tampa, Florida.  

    The most heart-stirring recordings (about 1%) are broadcast via NPR and other media, but the purpose is simply to record lives and to improve listening and group listening skills.

    Mayra had recorded an interview with her own mother here in Los Angeles earlier this summer.  She worked at StoryCorps headquarters in Brooklyn, New York, before starting road trips.  She spent two months in Yakima, Washington.

    Sandy asked wonderful questions, and I did my best to answer them.  It's hard to remember the important things you want to say in the allotted time of 40 minutes.  
    Left to right: Anne, Sandy, and Mayra

    I want to encourage everyone to contribute your own story to the Library of Congress by visiting the StoryCorps mobile booth when it comes near you.  Or travel to one of the three permanent locations.  

    You can ask a family member to interview you, or you can interview a parent, aunt, uncle, grandparent, or friend.  

    If you can't get to one of the locations, you can still interview an elder and record it yourself, or get someone to record you asking questions from your mother or father.

    You can interview an older family member and write down all his or her answers.  You can make a timeline of your own life or of major events in the life together of your family.

    You can start a blog focused on your senior relative, or you can outline his or her life.

    And yes, you can put together a book about your parents or grandparents.

    The main thing is to create a gift to future family members and to historians.  

    Don't let a life slip away leaving no trace of the person's thoughts and experiences.

    I never met two of my grandparents (except as a toddler), and I would dearly love to have a few pages of their words written down or ten minutes of their voices recorded.  My great-grandparents are even more distant from my reach, and I regret that.

    For more photos of our StoryCorps experience, see:
    https://picasaweb.google.com/102150538747404124091/2013StoryCorpsExperience?authkey=Gv1sRgCIWlhOrnkcmdPg

    Sunday, April 21, 2013

    Walking for Parkinson's



     Today the beach at Ocean Park Avenue is filled with tables and banners for the Beach Brigade Walk-a-thon sponsored by APDA Los Angeles.

    I'd never heard of it but learned that is is the LA chapter of the American Parkinson's Disease Association.

    http://www.parkinsonla.org/site2.0/articlesList.php?category=49

    I need to pay attention: my grandfather died of Parkinson's disease, and that could be my fate too.

    His mother and his cousin Walter also died of some combination of either Parkinson's or Alzheimer's.  

    If this illness is in your family tree too, get in touch with this group.

    There's also the Parkinson's Action Network, which educates and lobbies government leaders for "better politices for research and an improved quality of life for people living with Parkinson's."

    www.parkinsonsaction.org

    The second annual Pasadena Parkinson's Disease Symposium will take place on May 4 at San Marino Community Church with exhibits, presentations, and workshops.

    Michael Gross of the television series Family Ties will be there.  His co-star Michael J. Fox is the most prominent spokesperson for this illness.

    Tuesday, April 09, 2013

    Of Rats and Men and Women

    Mice don't develop Alzheimer's Disease, so they are of only limited use in research on AD.

    Rats, however, are a few million years closer to humans in the evolutionary journey, and they do develop the illness.

    This discovery means that rats can be used to test various treatments to prevent the build-up of amyloid plaques, according to a study published in the Journal of Neuroscience today.

    http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/04/130409173455.htm

    Apparently the development of these plaques is the result of one or more mutations of genes.

    President Obama's allocation of funds for brain research is important in relation to the prevention of Alzheimer's Disease.  If the right preventive medication can be found, our economy will save billions of dollars by not having to provide care for aging citizens.

    Maybe those meds will be available in time to help me--but meanwhile I will continue to exercise three times per week, try to avoid gaining weight, and stretch my brain by studying Hebrew.

    One Woman's Life in the 20th C.

    Evelyn on one of her last Christmases
    Evelyn Frances Gustafson Eggebroten died on April 9, 2008.

    She fought the good fight--many of them.  

    When she was born on March 12, 1919, women did not yet have the right to vote in most of the United States of America.

    When she died, a woman was a serious candidate for the presidency.

    Less than a year after she was born, the 18th Amendment prohibited the sale and distribution of intoxicating beverages.

    She grew up under Prohibition, saw it end when she was 14 years old, and eventually married a man who turned out to be addicted to alcohol.

    Though her parents only had high school diplomas, she attended college during the Depression years, eventually earning a B.S. and an M.S. at the University of Colorado.  Her undergraduate years were interrupted first to earn money in a grocery store in Telluride and later to serve in World War II.  

    She entered one of the few professions open to women, nursing.  It became her passion as well as her means of surviving economically and having the means to send her four children to private colleges.  She taught nursing for 14 years at the University of Maryland.

    Like her three brothers, she enlisted in the Armed Services after the War began, and all four survived the war.

    Being a "working mother" in the 1950s meant facing disapproval, but she transmitted her dreams to her sons as well as her daughters.  

    She loved being a Navy nurse in California during World War II, and her son Jim became a naval officer.  Her son Bill became a doctor and surgeon.  

    Her daughter Emily became a physical therapist and later a Presbyterian pastor, a profession just opened to women in 1956.

    Her daughter Anne inherited the feminist bug, perhaps from all Evelyn's tales about egotistic and bumbling doctors.  "He thought he was God's gift to woman," she sometimes said about one doctor or another.

    She loved babies and lived to see four grandchildren from Bill, five from Emily, three from Anne. and two from Jim.  

    She stayed in a difficult marriage and became a widow at the age of 74.  She suffered from Alzheimer's in her last 9-10 years and survived six years in various levels of care: independent living, assisted living, and memory care. 

    She resented being impaired and decided to push her walker into a busy street to end her life, but the plot was foiled.  Four years later she died gracefully, saying accurately "I won't be here tomorrow."

    Today marks five years since she "laid down her sword and shield."  

    Mother, your achievements over nearly a century sustained this country, marked progress for women, and live on in your children and grandchildren.

    Friday, March 22, 2013

    Memories of Memory Care

    I visited Sunrise Assisted Living of Santa Monica today, for days of auld lang syne (for days of old long since gone).  

    My mother lived there from 2004 through April, 2008.  I visited her often and knew all the caregivers and all the residents of the third floor, which is "Memory Care..."  for those who have lost their memory but are otherwise fairly healthy.

    All the caregivers I knew have moved on.  Only Angela, whom I met in October 2011 at the Memory Walk for Alzheimer's Disease, was there today.   Marnie, J.R., and others aren't there any more, but I'm still in touch with them through Facebook.

    All the residents I knew so well have moved on too--to greener pastures.

    Regina died a month ago--gentle, dignified soul from Latvia or Lithuania, who could speak several languages.

    Betty White died a few years ago.  Her daughter and I visited our mothers and talked occasionally.

    Verma, from Claremont, another sweet person with dignity and a gentle spirit, African-American, is gone.  I remember her two daughters.

    I felt sad to be in that building where my mother lived her last four years and died... I looked in her room, now occupied by someone else.

    Being there is a reminder that my own years are numbered.

    Teach us so to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. --Psalm 90:12  

    Tuesday, March 12, 2013

    My Mother's Birthday

    Evelyn with Roz's chihuahua, Irie
    March 12 will always be my mother's birthday.  

    I went to dinner with my daughter and mentioned this anniversary.

    It has been almost five years since she died in April 2008.  In the normal course of my life, I don't think about her often, but on holidays and on her birthday, the full force of those last years of caring for her returns to me.  

    Her humor and her strong desire to be with us is still vivid in my mind.  She would not want to return to Sunrise after spending Christmas or Easter with us.  

    Once when I told her I was driving to Colorado, her home, she demanded to know: "Is there any good reason why I can't go with you?"

    Well, yes, several good reasons: the wheelchair, the incontinence, the need for oxygen at the high altitude, the constant care (probably too much for me).  Of course, she didn't remember those things--she just remembered that she belonged in Colorado.

    She would have turned 94 this year--but she would not have wanted to live with limited capacity and with caregivers bathing her, feeding her, and changing her Depends.  

    Thus it is well that she is gone, but the mystery of someone being fully involved in life and then suddenly absent still haunts me.  

    This is the human condition: we have a limit... our lives have a beginning and an end.

    So I'll continue to continue to pretend
    My life will never end
    And flowers never bend
    In the rainfall...

    Monday, January 28, 2013

    Five Years Later


    Five years ago at the end of January, I was pushing my mother in her wheelchair toward the elevator of her residence.  

    "The Christmas decorations are gone!" she cried with alarm.

    "Oh yes," I said, noticing that indeed the small tree and other cheer had been removed from the lobby.  "They just put them in boxes to save for next year."

    "I wish they hadn't put them away," she continued.  

    She was genuinely sad, though it didn't seem like such a big deal to me.

    In retrospect, it was her last Christmas.  She knew it.  

    For her, the Christmas decorations would not emerge again next year.  There would be no next year.

    The vanishing of Christmas was yet another step toward total loss:  home, health, shopping, walking, eating, life.  

    Now it is the end of January five years later, 2013.  I've packed and stored the Christmas decorations once again, but I always think of her and how sad she was to part with the bright joy of Christmas.

    Earlier this month I visited the place where her ashes are scattered.  It lies under two feet of snow.  

    Rest in peace, they say.  

    Certainly she rests--perhaps she feels the joy of Christmas.  I do not know.

    Anyway, Mother, know that I am thinking of you.

    Saturday, January 12, 2013

    Resting in Peace

    Here lie my mother's ashes, resting in peace beneath the snow in her beloved Colorado mountains near blue spruce trees.

    During her last five years, when she lived near her daughters in California, she was impatient to get to this resting place.

    I agree with her choice--a good place to have one's molecules return to earth.