Things are not always as they seem, nor easily projected into the future. I foolishly thought that by the time I got to the shady side of sixty-five I'd have things pretty well figured out and simply coast for awhile. Not so much.
I'm auditioning for inclusion in an Alzheimer's study at Duke. This is for people at higher risk but not showing signs of dementia. I won't know whether I've been accepted (met the conditions) for a little while yet, but it has me thinking. One part of the consent form stated the probability of an adverse reaction to one of the procedures in the study as 1 in 4,000. Whoa! That gave me pause. It then went on, for perspective, to state that the chances of dying in a car crash are about one in 82, and the chances of being killed by a car while crossing the street are about one in 730. Context is everything; I'll forge ahead.
I have an abiding and very personal interest in this kind of research. When each of my parents began to show signs of dementia, my immediate reaction was denial. It wasn't possible. It had to be something else. There was no family history and they were in good health. But it was true. I could neither wish it away nor ignore what was unfolding in front of my eyes. Alzheimer's doesn't care if you believe in it or not --- it's happening.
So now there is an established family history for me and for my siblings. The four of us, all in our sixties now, whistle in the dark, peering around corners and invoking gallows humor over any slip of the tongue or a lost water bottle. Spooked, we are, and rightfully so.
We each are developing strategies to stave off the anxiety. Three of us are geographically close and when we get together, the jokes will fly. One sister, always more active than the rest of us, still runs the trails regularly, still works full time. She's the baby sis. We older three make stabs at the modern obsession with diet and exercise that is supposed to banish decrepitude and death indefinitely but do so with little conviction. We all know what's coming, it's just a matter of how or when.
So my strategy at this stage is not to stay excessively hale and hearty. Yes, I'm teaching Qigong classes six times a week, which definitely keeps me moving and meditative. (It's a revelation to me that the only way to make sure I get regular exercise is to get paid for it!) I eat all right though I do seem to have overridden my appetite-curbing mechanism. But there, you see, is the magic bullet. If and when my brain starts to dissolve, I don't want to be so fit that I have to take it to the very end.
Mom and Dad both rode that pony all the way back to the barn. The ending of Alzheimer's Disease is not pretty. Some people, upon hearing a diagnosis of AD go ahead and plan to short circuit it intentionally. The trouble with that plan is that it's too unreliable. The progress of the disease precludes being able to make plans and complete them. Being paroled by a heart attack or stroke before the last gasp of AD is no more reliable a plan, but has its appeal for me.
Jill, my voice of caution, reminds me that dementia may not even be in my future. I know that. I'll take it under consideration. She just wants me around for years to come, she says. Isn't she sweet?
So all things in moderation, as they say. The other lesson I'm learning as I age is that it is just fine to be myself, warts, tummy rolls, moon face, and all. In due time, it will all be resolved. In the meantime, I continue to treasure the moments as they come without too much expectation. This day is sufficient and I am happy "to be rather than to seem" --- esse quam videri.
