My Story

I learned about Alzheimer’s Disease (AD) quite early in life. My grandmother was diagnosed with it when she was 65, and I have no recollection of her without the crippling illness.

My earliest memory of grandma’s AD began with our routine visits, during our trips in Japan, to her nursing home near Tokyo Bay, where we saw her enjoying piano music in the dining hall and occasionally taking wheelchair strolls to a park next to the IBM building. These activities made her happy and more alert. Usually, she was sleepy in bed, and we had a hard time keeping her awake. She was clearly in the terminal stages of Alzheimer’s because the caretakers had to feed her, bathe her, and she could not speak.

Although I did not witness the progression of AD at its earliest stages, I learned about my grandmother’s gradual deterioration and the ways it affected my father’s family. The onset seemed to follow the passing of her own mother, my great-grandmother, who had been suffering a mild form of schizophrenia. The Alzheimer’s slowly crept into her day to day life with simple forgetfulness like misplacing house keys but became more noticeable when the stove and hot water faucet were left on.  Subsequently, my grandpa found that she would hide stashes of cash in the closet and strange boxes throughout the house. The normal chores became a struggle as did the cooking. Naturally, this raised suspicion and resulted in a psychiatric evaluation that led to the AD diagnosis. Unfortunately, this was in the early 1990s, when Alzheimer’s had no cure or even any known method to limit its progression. My dad’s family was devastated with the news but was fortunate enough to afford caretakers. My grandfather wished very much to keep her alive as long as possible and dedicated much time in keeping her happy.

The setbacks and gradual transformation of my grandma took its toll on the people in her life. I never got to know the loving, beautiful woman I had heard so much about. During her late stages, we visited her in the nursing home as much as we could, and I remember seeing her, motionless, in a room filled with drawings and origami, not quite understanding why she never spoke. Looking back, I wish I had spent more time with her, holding her hand and talking to her. Without AD, we could have bonded over our love for music and shared a closer relationship. Regardless, I am grateful for the moments I did have with her and that I was old enough to remember our visits.

In the end, she reached the age of 81 – about 20 years after her diagnosis – and outlived my grandpa.

Through this blog, I hope to provide a straightforward resource to those interested in AD. The disease can affect anyone, and I believe awareness is the first step towards a better future.

Thank you for reading my first blog post!