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Disease Robs Memory, But Not Memories

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By NANCY PLATE, Special to the Tribune

Published: October 23, 2007

VALRICO - Gary and I sat quietly in the clinic's waiting room, glancing toward the receptionist's desk as we waited for his mother's name to be called. After three long weeks of blood tests, brain scans and psychological tests, the pieces to the puzzle of Lil's increasingly bizarre behavior would be put together into a diagnosis.

Would all these medical tests be a blessing or a curse? Gary and I had tried to think of every treatable condition that might be causing Lil's increasing loss of memory and inability to think clearly or perform everyday tasks. Maybe it was a chemical imbalance or a ministroke. Even a brain tumor would be better than the disease that not only ravishes the body but steals the mind.

Finally, we were called into the doctor's office. We sat numb, too disbelieving to cry as we heard the words: 'By process of elimination and by reviewing your mother's history, she seems to be in the early to middle stages of Alzheimer's disease.'

That day in 1996 was the beginning of the end for Gary's mother and my best friend.

I had known Lil since I was 14 years old. She had worked full time, been active in the Eastern Stars and stayed busy raising four children. She did special things for her family, such as making sloppy Joes and brownies every Friday night after football games for the team and our friends.

After her son and I were married, Lil was my confidant and shopping buddy. She and Gary's dad would visit us for three months during the winter, and a week never passed without the two of us making the trip to Dillard's at Eastlake Square Mall to find a bargain or two.

No shopping excursion was complete until we stopped at Morrison's cafeteria and bought an apple dumpling to share. We would drown it in cream and wash it down with coffee. Now those days would be gone forever.

I believe that the worst time for Alzheimer's patients is when they know they aren't behaving rationally but can't do anything about it.

My mother-in-law was always particular about her appearance. The colors of her blouse and slacks always matched, but as her disease progressed she was lucky not to put her blouse on backward.

She would become upset and made me promise to check her clothes after she dressed. She lost the ability to tie her shoes, so we bought slip-on shoes and elastic shoestrings. Eventually, though, I picked out her clothes and helped dress her.

Lil was worried about needing to go to a nursing home. She repeatedly made Gary and his dad promise not to put her in one. They promised, believing they could care for her at home. I knew the time would come when their promise would have to be broken.

It came sooner than we expected. Soon she couldn't walk, feed herself, control her bladder or bowels or use her right hand. Her doctor said she might have had a stroke and admitted her to the hospital.

Tests did not reveal a stroke, but she was deteriorating so rapidly, the doctor said she needed to be admitted to a nursing facility.

The hardest thing my husband ever did was to admit his mother into the nursing home. She looked him straight in the eye and said, 'You promised you would never do this.' That was the second time I ever saw my husband cry.

Lil had led an active life of bowling, golf, playing cards and beating me at Scrabble. Now she was being lifted into a wheelchair at the nursing home and had to be fed. She seldom recognized family members and usually spoke irrationally, if she spoke at all.

Lil's face had always been tan from working in a garden at the golf course and was known by all as 'the flower lady.' She loved to golf. Now her face was pasty white; she blended in with the hospital sheets.

Her smiling eyes had twinkled with delight as she watched the grandchildren open Christmas gifts, the ones she had purchased all year and hid in the bedroom closet.

Now her eyes looked empty and bewildered. She didn't recognize the grandchildren she had loved so dearly.

How do you pray for an Alzheimer's patient? Do you pray for a miraculous cure? Or for release from their terrible existence before they forget how to swallow and need to have a feeding tube inserted? Or for whatever is God's will?

Lil was in the nursing home for two years before she had a massive stroke and died within a few hours. She was buried on my husband's birthday, but she already had left us long before.

We still miss her. Gary still has guilty feelings about putting his mother in the nursing home.

But I know she has forgiven him. I know she will be waiting for me in heaven, wearing a beautiful matching blouse and slacks, and holding an apple dumpling with two spoons.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nancy Plate, 69, lives in Valrico with her husband, Gary, and grew up in Lima, Ohio. They relocated frequently during his Air Force career and moved to Florida in 1979. She and her husband have two children and three grandchildren.

Do You Have A Story To Tell?

I Remember It Well is a feature of the Prime Time page. Send entries via e-mail to shemmingway@tampatrib.com or in typewritten form to Susan Hemmingway, The Tampa Tribune, P.O Box 191, Tampa FL 33601. Submissions cannot be returned and should be no longer than 14 one-sentence paragraphs. Be sure to include a contact phone number.

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