My father had Alzheimer's for quite a few years before he died. He did not go at all quickly. He continued to be able to fool strangers into thinking he had his faculties, but he would talk to me on the phone, clearly not knowing I was his daughter, and try to be glib and witty and make small talk. This no doubt worked on strangers, but the fact that he did not know I was his daughter was a bit hard for me to miss.

His death was very slow. He basically starved to death ever so slowly. The one photo I saw from his funeral was unrecognizable. He had always been a big man with a round face. He was basically a skeleton.

I think the entire family was basically glad to see his suffering at an end. We had already lost him years earlier, but now he could finally rest.

I've just gone through an, admittedly short, HN commentary and felt compelled to hit the UV button on every single comment - I'm usually pretty stingy in that regard.

The article is beautifully written and I defy anyone to read the quote below to not be touched in some way. To then realise, later on, that the writer is also afflicted with Alzheimer's is very poignant.

This is a very touching and tender reflection of what a mind and intellect can be and what the gradual and cruel destruction of self means to the sufferer.

"As Murdoch’s illness continued to crumble away her language and reason, she gradually abandoned attempts to write. Soon sense departed from her speech as well—except to him who loved her deepest and longest. There came a day when Iris laid her hand on Puss’s knee and said, “Susten poujin drom love poujin? Poujin susten?” Bayley needed no more help than her hand gentling his cheek to distill from this jumble the grammar of love."

I admitted my mother to a care home the day before yesterday. Went to see her after her first night and she seemed shocked to see me initially, but settled after a few minutes. She knew who I was and asked where she was and why she was there, I told her she'd been getting more confused and wandering, and leaving the gas hob on with no flame. It was for her safety and better care, and more interaction with people and staff, with activities and regular meals. A little later, she asked if I had a mother or siblings in the area.

I've been living half way round the world for the last 15 years and other than irregular visits have watched her decline from afar. From getting confused on the phone, to not knowing (from what her home carers said) that the phone ringing meant anything other than an annoying noise. To getting picked up wandering the street by the police at 3am in her nighty.

A friend called not long after I left the care home, he has a way of putting a lot of things into a single sentence and said, "ah yes, an emotional rollercoaster, wrapped in guilt".

If there is anything that scares me it is dementia. My grandmother suffered from a mild case of this and it really affected me. I seriously hope to side-step this later in life, either by luck or by choice.

I find articles written by people in early stages of dementia almost too sad to read. Few conditions rob us our humanity like dementia.

Is the last paragraph just a poetic ending or a demonstration of wandering mind affected by dementia? The sentence can be parsed and seems to have a discernable meaning but the associative leaps and comparisons seem highly unusual to me.

I honestly can't tell. Perhaps because I'm a non-native English speaker with a lack of subtlety when it comes to literature.

Just FYI for this thread,

The Alzheimer's association [1] deals with forms of dementia and brain diseases outside of just Alzheimer's. If you or anyone you know has concerns feel free to call their help line. A good chunk of their services revolve around helping the less fortunate with medicare applications and finding appropriate care for those who can't afford it.

[1]: https://www.alz.org/

> During the year Murdoch was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she composed a note that was downright ominous. “My dear,” she wrote, “I am now going away for some time. I hope you will be well . . .” She set aside the sheet, took up a second one, and wrote, “My dear, I am now going away for some time. I hope you will be well.” A third sheet consisted of pen marks that did not add up to any intelligible lines.

Reading this part sent chills down my spine. If anyone has seen the movie Antichrist, they might recall a particular scene that echoes (and was perhaps inspired by) this anecdote. I truly think losing ones mind is one of the most terrifying things to imagine -- the very fabric of reality coming apart at the seams.

These day I struggle to name things, everyday mundane things. My vocabulary is seriously diminished. It could be sleep. I am pretty sure lack of quality sleep is playing a role, but it is worrisome nonetheless. What gave me some reassurance was coming to know that such symptoms are not that rare.

It's great that somebody studied her writing to map the progress of the disease but it's a pity they only sampled three books so it gives no insight into the rate of decline or how early it began to diverge from normal age related mental decline.

".. linguistic creativity dwindled markedly over an almost 20-year period" is based on comparing one book at the beginning of that period and one at the end. We have no idea if it really dwindled over 20 years or all happened quickly on the final year. This is what's most interesting to me - both the possibility of very early diagnosis and being able to predict the rate of decline so you can make informed decisions about how to manage your life if you've been diagnosed.