Lisa Genova - Still Alice

She checked everywhere but couldn't find it. Then she figured out that she needed to be looking for her baby blue bag. She changed the chant.

"Blue bag, blue bag, blue bag."

She found it on the kitchen counter, her cell phone inside, but off. Maybe the noise was someone's car alarm locking or unlocking outside. She resumed her position on the couch and opened Dan's thesis to page twenty-six.

"Hello?" asked a man's voice.

Alice looked up, eyes wide, and listened, as if she'd just been summoned by a ghost.

"Alice?" asked the disembodied voice.

"Yes?"

"Alice, are you ready to go?"

John appeared in the threshold of the living room looking expectant. She was relieved but needed more information.

"Let's go. We're meeting Bob and Sarah for dinner, and we're already a little late."

Dinner. She just realized she was starving. She didn't remember eating any food today. Maybe that was why she couldn't read Dan's thesis. Maybe she just needed some food. But the thought of dinner and conversation in a loud restaurant drained her further.

"I don't want to go to dinner. I'm having a hard day."

"I had a hard day, too. Let's go have a nice dinner together."

"You go. I just want to be home."

"Come on, it'll be fun. We didn't go to Eric's party. It'll be good for you to get out, and I know they'd like to see you."

No, they wouldn't. They'll be relieved that I'm not there. I'm a cotton candy pink elephant in the room. I make everyone uncomfortable. I turn dinner into a crazy circus act, everyone juggling their nervous pity and forced smiles with their cocktail glasses, forks, and knives.

"I don't want to go. Tell them I'm sorry, but I wasn't feeling up to it."

Beep, beep.

She saw John hear the noise, too, and she followed him into the kitchen. He popped open the microwave oven door and pulled out a mug.

"This is freezing cold. Do you want me to reheat it?"

She must've made tea that morning, and she'd forgotten to drink it. Then, she must've put it in the microwave to reheat it and left it there.

"No, thanks."

"All right, Bob and Sarah are probably already there waiting. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"I'm sure."

"I won't stay long."

He kissed her and then left without her. She stood in the kitchen where he left her for a long time, holding the mug of cold tea in her hands.

SHE WAS ON HER WAY to bed, and John still hadn't returned from dinner. The blue computer light glowing in the study caught her attention before she turned to go upstairs. She went in and checked her inbox, more out of habit than out of sincere curiosity.

There they were.

Dear Alice, My name is Mary Johnson. I'm 57 and was diagnosed with FTD five years ago. I live on the North Shore, so not too far from you. This is such a wonderful idea. I'd love to come. My husband, Barry, will drive me. I'm not sure if he'll want to stay. We've both taken an early retirement and we're both home all the time. I think he'd like a break from me. See you soon, Mary Hi Alice, I'm Dan Sullivan, 53 years old, diagnosed with EOAD 3 years ago. It runs in my family. My mother, two uncles, and one of my aunts had it, and 4 of my cousins do. So I saw this coming and have been living with it in the family since I was a kid. Funny, didn't make the diagnosis or living with it now any easier. My wife knows where you live. Not far from MGH. Near Harvard. My daughter went to Harvard. I pray every day that she doesn't get this. Dan Hi Alice, Thank you for your email and invitation. I was diagnosed with EOAD a year ago, like you. It was almost a relief. I thought I was going crazy. I was getting lost in conversations, having trouble finishing my own sentences, forgetting my way home, couldn't understand the checkbook anymore, was making mistakes with the kids' schedules (I have a 15-year-old daughter and a 13-year-old son). I was only 46 when the symptoms started, so of course, no one ever thought it could be Alzheimer's. I think the medications help a lot. I'm on Aricept and Namenda. I have good days and bad. On the good, people and even my family use it as an excuse to think that I'm perfectly fine, even making this up! I'm not that desperate for attention! Then, a bad day hits, and I can't think of words or concentrate and I can't multitask at all. I feel lonely, too. I can't wait to meet you. Cathy Roberts P.S. Do you know about the Dementia Advocacy and Support Network International? Go to their website: www.dasninternational.org. It's a wonderful site for people like us in early stages and with early-onset to talk, vent, get support, and share information. There they were. And they were coming.

MARY, CATHY, AND DAN REMOVED their coats and found seats in the living room. Their spouses kept their coats on, bid them a reluctant good-bye, and left with John for coffee at Jerri's.

Mary had chin-length blond hair and round, chocolate brown eyes behind a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. Cathy had a smart, pleasing face, and eyes that smiled before her mouth did. Alice liked her immediately. Dan had a thick mustache, a balding head, and a stocky build. They could've been professors visiting from out of town, members of a book club, or old friends.

"Would anyone like something to think?" asked Alice.

They stared at her and at one another, disinclined to answer. Were they all too shy or polite to be the first to speak up?

"Alice, did you mean 'drink'?" asked Cathy.

"Yes, what'd I say?"

"You said 'think.'"

Alice's face flushed. Word substitution wasn't the first impression she'd wanted to make.

"I'd actually like a cup of thinks. Mine's been close to empty for days, I could use a refill," said Dan.

They laughed, and it connected them instantly. She brought in the coffee and tea as Mary was telling her story.

"I was a real estate agent for twenty-two years. I suddenly started forgetting appointments, meetings, open houses. I showed up to houses with no keys. I got lost on my way to show a property in a neighborhood I'd known forever with the client in the car with me. I drove around for forty-five minutes when it should've taken less than ten. I can only imagine what she was thinking.

"I started getting angry easily and blowing up at the other agents in the office. I'd always been so easygoing and well liked, and suddenly, I was becoming known for my short fuse. I was ruining my reputation. My reputation was everything. My doctor put me on an antidepressant. And when that one didn't work, he put me on another, and another."

"For a long time, I just thought I was overtired and multitasking too much," said Cathy. "I was working part-time as a pharmacist, raising two kids, running the house, running around from one thing to the next like a chicken with my head cut off. I was only forty-six, so it never occurred to me that I might have dementia. Then, one day at work, I couldn't figure out the names of the drugs, and I didn't know how to measure out ten milliliters. Right then, I realized I was capable of giving someone the wrong amount of drug or even the wrong drug. Basically, I was capable of accidentally killing someone. So I took off my lab coat, went home early, and never went back. I was devastated. I thought I was going crazy."

"How about you, Dan? What were the first things you noticed?" asked Mary.

"I used to be really handy around the house. Then, one day, I couldn't figure out how to fix the things I'd always been able to fix. I always kept my workshop tidy, everything in its place. Now, it's a total mess. I accused my friends of borrowing my tools and messing up the place and not returning them when I couldn't find them. But it was always me. I was a firefighter. I started forgetting the names of the guys on the force. I couldn't finish my own sentences. I forgot how to make a cup of coffee. I'd seen the same things with my mom when I was a teenager. She had early-onset AD, too."