(I don't know that I'll make a habit of talking about books that I'm reading, but this one really struck me, so I hope you'll indulge me...)
I read a fair number of novels, and lately I've been on a light chick-lit kick. Shopaholic, Queen of Babble, etc. Very enjoyable, even well-written, but not something that hits hard and will stay with you for a long time. Sometimes you just need mental...candy, you know?
But after awhile, in the same way you can't actually LIVE off of candy, I need something more substantial, more mentally...nutritious. (OK, I promise to stop with this metaphor now.)
I read a blurb about Still Alice in a little free, monthly newsletter my library keeps by all the checkout desks. It sounded interesting, so I stuck it on my to-read list and picked it up at our library, along with several other books, without giving it a lot of thought. At that point, I could only vaguely recall what the book was about, and I put off reading it, actually, until I'd read all the other books I'd checked out.
Friends, I am so glad I read this book.
From the time I was very little, my mother worked as an RN in nursing/retirement homes. I'd often accompany her there for short periods of time, and I got to know a number of her patients, many of whom had Alzheimer's or experienced some form of dementia. It was heartbreaking to hear 80-year-old women crying for their mothers, as though they were small children themselves, or to see a 75-year-old man become angry at his grandchildren because he had no idea who they were.
But there were also moments when those patients were sweet and loving, if still not entirely lucid. Many of them were kind and sweet to my five-year-old self, enjoying (for some reason) my incessant singing or inane little-girl babbling. And I enjoyed them, too, although I'm sure I didn't realize why they usually didn't recognize me, or sometimes would cry or get angry with the staff.
This book is an amazing portrait of someone with early-onset Alzheimer's ("Alice" is only 50), and it chronicles her entire decline into dementia. It begins with typical forgetfulness, which Alice attributes (as most of us would) to getting older, being too busy, feeling stressed or, in her case, starting menopause. But after she forgets how to get home one day (on a route she runs almost every day), she knows something much bigger is going on.
The author has a Ph.D. in neuroscience, and I'm sure it would've been easy for her to make this a clinical, medicalese-filled account of Alzheimer's that would be informative but leave the reader feeling cheated of any kind of connection to her main character. But Lisa Genova does a wonderful job of blending the science with the pathos.
And telling the story from the point of view of the patient descending into dementia (rather than from the caregiver's point of view, watching their loved one slip away) was, I think, absolutely inspired -- and the key to why this novel had such an impact on me. You're with Alice the entire time, as her symptoms get worse, her control weakens and her life as she knew it completely slips away. You feel her frustration, fear, anger and false hope. You want the diagnosis to be wrong, even though you know the premise of the book from the outset.
My own grandmother was in the early stages of Alzheimer's when she passed away several years ago. Her symptoms hadn't progressed to the point where Still Alice leaves off (one of the tragedies of early-onset Alzheimer's is that the patient can live for 20 years or more with full-on dementia), although she had started to forget things and become easily confused. But she still recognized us, and I'm so thankful we (particularly my mother) didn't have to deal with the pain of seeing a blank stare from someone who had been such a vibrant, happy presence in our lives.
The biggest tragedy for those who suffer from Alzheimer's, I think, is that they're at times written off by their family members. Because they're no longer able to care for themselves, they're taken to nursing homes, and because they often can't recognize their loved ones, some family members seldom visit them at all, figuring, "What's the point?" Or, simply, "I can't bear to see him/her like this."
This book completely altered my view of the Alzheimer's patient. It was heartbreaking, depressing at times, and ultimately frustrating to experience this process with "Alice." But it was also fascinating, inspiring and amazing.
If you know anyone with Alzheimer's, particularly a family member, I strongly, strongly encourage you to read this book. If you do, please tell me what you think -- I'm very curious to hear others' thoughts.
