Forget That

My dad's primary care physician suspected my dad was developing Alzheimer's Disease. This he told my mom because my dad was forgetting very simple things. Every time he went for a checkup, he'd keep asking for the same medical prescriptions that he'd asked for the time before, and the time before, and the time before. Naturally, repetitive behavior like this is an early indicator of the onset of this crippling disease, and especially for someone in his seventies like my dad, something to monitor. I'm not sure why he didn't tell my dad, other than it can be disturbing to tell someone that they're losing their coherence, getting unstuck in time, becoming disconnected with reality.

Naturally, my mom, in her straightforward fashion, asks my dad what's going on, if he's really not remembering that he's already got his prescriptions for several months out. She's one of those people that won't pussyfoot around a problem. She'll take a bat to it and walk right through it. My dad, on the other hand, he's got his reasons for everything, they make sense, he just doesn't ever tell anyone why. Turns out he knew exactly what he was doing, he was just scared of the prescription expiring and not having any of his medications in reserve. Thus, he wanted to stockpile several of the doctor's scrips just in case. And you wonder where I got my packrat mentality from.

It freaked me out when my mom first told me about this, because my father's memory isn't that great to begin with. Even when I was a kid, he'd forget a lot of things (like picking me up for school one afternoon). Me, I have a great memory, when I want to remember something. I'd forget a lot of the smaller things, to the point where my mom was convinced that when I got old, I'd have Alzheimer's, and that my dad would get Alzheimer's also. So far, so good, for the both of us. I still worry about him, partially because I'm worried about him, partially because through him lies my future (we're all selfish. Stop looking at me like that.).

He's retired, he's been retired for several years now. He gardens, he fishes when the weather is warm, though less and less the past few years. Mostly these days, he reads the newspaper in Chinese and watches Chinese television and movies. As far as I can tell, and my mom confirms, he doesn't do much that will engage his mind. I sort of understand his perspective. It's harder to get around, there's nothing to do after working for forty-some years, sometimes it takes effort to stay up during the day. Might as well go for the easy, mind-numbing option. He's seen his three kids grow up and go out on their own, sees his granddaughter once a year. His wife, just like him, has been independent, is independent, will be independent for years to come. In a way, I think he feels his job is done. Even if Alzheimer's creeps up on him, it's been a long run, a good run.

On the other hand, I really fear Alzheimer's, especially the early-onset version. I stopped using deodorant that applies aluminum, as one study showed a causal link between aluminum in the body and Alzheimer's. One of the reasons why I run is to help keep blood flowing to my brain, hopefully to keep it fresher and less likely to succumb to Alzheimer's. I am constantly daydreaming and writing for the main reasons, but also because I think that as long as I can flex my imagination, my brain is still working. Ever since outside forces kept me studying constantly in school, I have felt myself start an inevitable mental decline, age-related and lack-of-activity-related. See, five years ago, I'm sure I would've found a word that meant "lack-of-activity-related" immediately. Perhaps sloth or laziness, but as I typed that, "lackadaisical" kept popping into my head.

My dad and I are very similar, and because of that, we have never been very close. It's not that we don't love each other, it's just that we were never the kind of person that readily opens up and talks. Our conversations these days follow the same arc. I ask him about his Medicare and his medications that I don't understand, make sure he's OK. He asks about my job and my responsibilities that he doesn't understand, makes sure I'm OK. Once in a while, we bridge the gap, but for the most part, we stand opposite each other across a metaphorical chasm and wave. When you get down to it, though, we share Alzheimer's. I don't think he'd ever tell me that he might be afraid that it will happen to him. I won't ever tell him I'm afraid it will happen to me. I could be wrong about his fear; we're both pretty inscrutable in our own ways. But for now, I'm going to pretend that he is, just a little, and through that, we'll at least share something.