This morning is lovely, cool and still and clear (although bound to be painfully hot by midafternoon). BrotherB and I have had gluten-free pancakes, first try of Bob's Red Mill mix. Not horrible. I'll probably make them mostly for B in the future, though, because he's the celiac guy. They weren't <i>that</i> good.
B's hair continues to fill in and his health is turning around, now that his body isn't attacking itself, and now that he's able to absorb nutrients. He had his first Reclast treatment a couple of weeks ago, an annual IV chemical meant to halt his osteoporosis. He's still small and thin, and getting shorter every day. He's lost nearly two inches in height in the last year, and has developed scoliosis. I am so sorry about the dearth of competent caring doctors in our world. We could have prevented all these things - the alopecia, the bone loss, the thyroid disease - if someone had bothered to test and diagnose him earlier.
Last week I ran into ShirleyMayer, the elderly woman who underwrote the purchase of my home four-and-a-half years ago. We'd become estranged because of a misunderstanding - someone that deaf is hard to get through to. But now she was pleased to see me, and I was overjoyed to have my good friend back. I learned that she had sold her car and relied on a neighbor, now, for weekly transportation to the supermarket. She sees no one, stays in her house with her cats. She can't hear her phone, can't hear the voice of anyone who might call. She's only 76.
<i>Say</i>, I said (of necessity loudly and slowly), <i>would you like to come with me to yard sales on Saturday mornings?</i> She was confused for a moment, and resisted, but when I pulled up in front of her house yesterday she was waiting and ready to go. I had thought it would be great fun to drive around with my old friend as we used to, listening to her chatter and joke about her colorful life and remark on the world in her funny and philosophical way. But she was different now, quiet, and when I managed to tell her something about what was going on in the world (<i>All this smoke's blowing in from the fires up in Oregon</i>, for example), she argued and disbelieved me. I let it go. We had fun at each sale. I found a handful of valuable books and she bought some cute knickknacks. I stopped off at my house before taking her home. I wanted to show her what I'd done to the place since she'd seen it last, and to show her how the Siamese kitten she gave me had grown up into a beautiful, very special, cat. But she didn't notice any differences in the house, and didn't remember giving me the kitten ("Why would I give you a cat? Where did I get it?"). Then I tried to show her how she could use a smart phone to send text messages. She would be able to contact people for help, and they would be able to get in touch with her, if she would only wear it in her pocket to feel it vibrate. I used my iPhone and borrowed my husband's to show her how we could talk back and forth with texts. I'm getting my upgraded phone next week and wanted to give her my old one. But she wouldn't let me teach her how to use it, getting angry when I tried, and then became so frustrated trying to teach herself she flung it hard across the kitchen table. She'd never use it, she said.
As we got in the car to go back to her place I asked if she'd like to go yard-saling again next week. "I thought that was what we were going to do today," she said, irritable. <i>We did</i>. "Well, how many did we go to?" <i>Five</i>. "Oh. I think I kind of remember one ... Did I get all this stuff?" <i>Yep</i> Silence.
She told me she got rid of her car because one day she got into it and couldn't remember how to start it. She'd gone into the house then and there and phoned her mechanic, and he'd bought it from her for $800.
When we got to her house she couldn't remember how to unlock her door.
"I think I'm worse than I was a year ago," she said. "Am I?" <i>Yes</i>, I said, <i>a </i>lot<i> worse.</i> I didn't bother to remind her that we hadn't seen each other in four years.
In the end I was so exhausted and discouraged from all her arguing and and frustration that by the time I got home all I could do was stare into the middle distance and try to process and recover. Clearly Alzheimers - not dementia (she's too young for dementia, isn't she?) - is happening here, to a woman who has no one to notice or care. An argumentative independent woman who will put up fierce resistance should anyone attempt to intervene. The neighbor she depends on is a single guy, a sort of ne'er-do-well, but maybe he cares about her. Of course, this casts her spontaneous generosity to me, back in the day, in a whole new light. She had seemed so sharp and rational and certain, but I should have realized it then.
I'll take her around to yard sales every Saturday and keep the conversation simple and light. But I think I'll call adult protective services, too, just to inquire about procedure down the line, maybe to see if someone can check on her.
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