Losing My Mind

Today, I find myself suddenly wondering about the scourges of old age, and the real possibility that something frighteningly nasty could be hiding in my genes. I’m not talking about the increasing aches and pains, the growing pharmacy shelf in my bedroom or even the facial lines or gray hair. What I am suddenly concerned about are the mental changes that seem inevitable and how severe and debilitating they may become.

I really don’t know if senility, dementia and the like run in my family. My father died at age 23 from nephritis, and my mother died at age 56 – officially from flu-induced heart failure, but in reality, it was years of alcohol abuse and cigarette smoking that killed her. Her alcoholism colored our opinions of her health status, and only recently have my sisters and I come to understand that there may have been underlying medical issues that were never addressed. For example, my own diagnosis with Graves Disease (a thyroid disease) made me realize the similarity of my symptoms to things that happened to my mother – things such as mental fog, thinning hair and dry skin. Could she have had an undiagnosed thyroid problem?

And now, as I realize I am not that far away from the same age my mother was when she died, I find myself re-examining her mental state during the last few years of her life. Was it the alcohol that made her so forgetful? Was it years of abusing both her body and her brain the contributed to the “fading away” of her persona? Or, was it the signs of early onset Alzheimer’s, just compounded by her drinking?

This concern hits home for me on a day when I arrived at work without either pocketbook or briefcase – nothing but my keys in my hand. Over the past few weeks I have found myself occasionally staring at the computer screen trying to remember just what it was I was going to work on. Last night I put down a glass of water and seconds later, could not remember where it was. Little tasks at work are slipping through the cracks as I find myself asking, am I losing my mind?

There is an advertisement in the local paper for an assisted living center that asks the question, “If today is Tuesday, why is Dad taking Thursday’s medicine?” A quick check of my pocket finds that I actually have my little pillbox marked “Thursday” with me.

Unfortunately, it’s Wednesday.