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Early Onset Alzheimer Behavior

I ignored many of the signs of Early Onset Alzheimer Behavior with my Mom. I brushed off silly things Mom said and did and odd things she would tell my two brothers. I often thought it was a faze she was going through.

Some things, I realize now, were a clear warning of dementia or some other physical problem. But at the time, I saw them as sheer orneriness. And, my Mom could be onry if she set her mind to it.

It sounds inconsistent to say such a sweet lady as my mother could be onry, but she could. I think stubborn might be the better word, but in her later years that stubbornness became obstinate. So now I even wonder about those early days and signs and symptoms that I dismissed as stubbornness.

Should I have suspected sooner? Could Mom have taken medication earlier? Could I have done something to slow the progression of her early Alzheimer’s disease?

==> What did I miss? <==

We could all say and think the same thing, but we would be berating ourselves for naught.

Could I have been kinder when her behavior was atrocious and angry– or more receptive and loving when she wanted a hug. Certainly I could have but it would have made no difference to Mom, nor does whipping myself now change anything.

Changes in behavior is the hallmark symptom for Alzheimer’s disease whether your loved one is in their late 40’s or late 70’s. It isn’t always a big change in behavior but can be something as small as a hug.

Mom began hugging in her late 70’s, I mean hugging all the time and hugging hard. She had never been a hugger in the past and it gave me a little hitch in my stomach every time she hugged me. Something was wrong. Yet, how could I go to the doctor and say, there has to be something wrong with my MOM–she hugged me today.

On the other hand, the earlier the diagnosis, the sooner medications are prescribed to delay symptoms. It’s a catch-22 for sure.

I would never have considered a disease as culprit when Mom started hugging. Not then, or now. I only knew that my mother was different, somehow. I thought it might be senility due to her age, or loneliness because her husband had passed away. The changes in her personality weren’t particularly “good” or “bad.”

==> Mom was just different <==

Suddenly she was no longer my regular, good natured, Mom.

Growing up, I never heard my mother say a curse word. She didn’t curse and she didn’t allow her children to curse. She wasn’t a strict disciplinarian but she had rules and we obeyed.

Old fashioned as she was, she didn’t tell dirty jokes or speak evil of anyone. Likewise, she didn’t coddle nor hug her children. She remembered the depression of her youth and the difficult life her parents had endured to survive it. “All work and no play,” was the rule of their day and held true for my mother as well.

The Intimacy Factor Scary Close: Dropping the Act Emotional Intimacy 100-Day Guide to friendship

==> My mom was not a hugger <==

Still, I knew she loved me and my two brothers. She was not over-affectionate or prone to hug and kiss her children or my father. To her way of thinking, you didn’t make a public display of affection, even in the privacy of your own home.

When Mom hugged me for the first time, me… a sixty-year-old grandmother myself, it was a death-grip. Like no hug I had ever had before, I recoiled. It felt so uncomfortable, so unnatural that I couldn’t stay in Mom’s grasp. Mom was breaking a rule that she’d adhered to for all of her life and demanded that we obey also. She was seventy-eight years old and she was hugging me so tight that it was uncomfortable.

Mom’s behavior changed in many ways. Over the next few years, in baby steps, inhibitions were forgotten, family rules were no more, soft-spoken became out-spoken and gentile became bawdy at times. The changes came slowly–over several years–one at a time.

I didn’t see them all at once, as a whole, as the beginning of a dreaded disease–not until after the diagnosis. Now, all those moments of change bring pause to my thoughts–remembering all the behavior changes that I ignored. If only we had begun treatment sooner, I scold myself–

Live Your Best With Early-Stages Can no longer read hands on a clock Conversations Change may need counseling 2 Button controllers less confusing

Alzheimer’s Disease is a slow, progressive disease that may run its course over 20 years near the end of a life span. In the beginning–symptoms are few and easily overlooked. Behaviors change gradually, but eventually, the person you knew is no longer there–

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DEMENTIA: Early Diagnosis Alzheimer’s: Dementia: Symptoms Caregiver’s Introduction to Dementia Early Onset Dementia

Is This The Beginning of Alzheimer’s Disease or… What City is this anyway?

04/1910 Comments

The Beginning of Alzheimer’s Disease

My mother was in her late 70’s when her second husband passed away. The time and photo of her, with my son, was 10 years before her diagnosis.

Her first marriage had not been a happy one but this second mating was perfect. Mom enjoyed a full and happy life for 15 years with her second husband, a kind and caring man. They traveled the East Coast, sights that were new and unique for my Mom; a west coast lady for all of her life after leaving Oklahoma as little more than a teen.

I hadn’t spent nearly as much time with her during the last few years of her life. My young children were growing up and becoming young adults, monopolizing most of my time. And Mom was busy with her own life– a new husband and happier than she’d ever been.

Mom was fortunate to have good health, a happy smile and youthful attitude well into her seventies. I only hoped I was lucky enough to inherit her good genes. Then, unexpectedly, her husband was gone– an infection after major surgery. And Mom was alone again.

She owned her own home, had a nice car, was in good health (never a drinker or smoker), and was as active as she’d ever been. I knew she’d be fine, only needing to brush-up on her rusty driving skills. All driving had been deferred to her new hubby for the past 15 years so Mom was skittish behind the wheel.

Driving for Mom was limited to a weekly trip to her favorite hair-dresser and quick “run-backs” to Safeway at the same shopping center, only a block away.

To break the monotony of her loneliness I invited Mom for an occasional weekend at our place. I’ll never forget a particular visit that left me puzzled about Mom’s behavior.

Mom loved shopping so on the second day of her visit, we woke early and spent a full day of shopping and lunch at the mall.

After lunch, Mom appeared to be a little tired and confused so we headed back to the car. As she stood near the passenger door, she inhaled deeply, held out her arms and said, “Take a deep breath. Isn’t this great. It’s funny how much better the air smells in Texas.”

I frowned. We lived in Arizona, we’d lived in Arizona for 35 years. The air could take your breath away in the summer alright, it was Hot and Dry and if you breathed too deeply you’d probably scorch your lungs.

“Right,” I agreed facetiously, “You can fry an egg on the sidewalk this time of year, Mom.”

Mom frowned, and asked, “You can? In Texas too? You can fry an egg on the sidewalk in Texas?”

Now, I was confused. I stashed our packages in the trunk and got Mom into the car. Something was wrong, I was certain of it. After getting her seated, I hurried to the driver’s side. I couldn’t imagine what might have happened but Mom was clearly confused. The thought of a stroke entered my mind.

“Mom…” I finally turned to her, “This is Arizona.”

She didn’t face me, but leaned back in the seat and a puzzled expression wrinkled her brow. “This is Arizona?“

Her eyes were confused when she turned toward me, searching my face for the sign of a grin. She thought I was teasing her. “We’re in Arizona?” She repeated the question as she looked out the window, clearly searching for something to help get her bearings.

I nodded. “Mom, do you have a headache, or anything?” I started the car while I watched her cautiously. “Yes, this is Arizona. We’ve lived here for 35 years. What made you think it was Texas?”

She rubbed her forehead and I could see the struggle as she accepted my words and brought her mind back to Arizona.

“My goodness,” she finally said. “I could have sworn we were in Texas.” She pointed out the window. “I think this mall is built exactly like the mall we use to visit in Texas. It confused me for a moment.” Then she laughed aloud.

I couldn’t help but laugh, too, once I knew that Mom was all right. “Nope, Mom, you’re in Arizona. We haven’t been in Texas in 35 years.”

That moment was a missed warning. But later it became a humorous story that Mom and I told often, laughing harder at the silliness of it with every telling. It would be years before I looked back and realized that day at the mall had been an ominous “sign,” a “symptom” of what was yet to come– Alzheimer’s.

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Living Your Best With Early-Stage Alzheimer’s: An Essential Guide Come Back Early Today: A Memoir of Love, Alzheimer’s and Joy Developing Support Groups for Individuals with Early-Stage Alzheimer’s The Alzheimer’s Answer: Reduce Your Risk and Keep Your Brain Healthy The Alzheimer’s Action Plan: What You Need to Know–and need to Do Ice Cream in the Cupboard: A True Story of Early Onset Alzheimer’s

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Early Signs and Symptoms of Dementia Dismissed as Simple Aging

04/19Leave a Comment

Early Signs and Symptoms of Dementia Dismissed

I felt a sense of relief that my mom was so independent for her age. Almost 80, she looked and acted years younger. Her health was good, she ate well and exercised daily.

Years as a dietitian had taught her the value of a balanced diet filled with fruits and vegetables. She loved to cook, sew, crochet, knit and embroider. She was an artsy-crafty woman who never knew the word “bored.” Mom had more plans and goals than someone many years her junior.

I felt a strong sense of gratitude that I had reached my late-fifties and early-sixties with a living mother. Too often we take our parents for granted when we’re younger. But as we reach later stages of life and still have living parents, we’re grateful.

That doesn’t mean that every minute between us was bliss, we had our share of arguments. We were like any other Mother and daughter— but I couldn’t imagine a day without her.

After Mom’s husband passed away, our times together became more frequent. I made the trip across town (we lived on opposite sides of a large metropolitan city) twice weekly. It was a renewal of an old friendship for me. We hadn’t been together as often since her days with my father, more than 15 years before. Now we were learning about each other all over again. My brothers visited, also. We alternated days so she would have fewer days alone and less time for grieving the loss of her most-recent husband.

Oddly, Mom seemed a happier person than I remembered. The strain of marriage to my father all but forgotten, happy memories with her new husband became the topic of our conversations. I wanted to hear about their travels, the places she’d seen, the experiences she’d had, the souvenirs she’d brought home and preserved in stacks and stacks of photo albums and shadow boxes. A bedroom full. And I wanted to share with her all the experiences I’d missed while she’d created a new life with someone other than my father.

One afternoon as I rummaged through Mom’s travelogues, searching for a particular city I wanted to learn more about, I thought of something a little odd. “Where are our photo albums, Mom?” I asked her. It had been years since my brothers and I sat around a messy stack of photo albums and laughed at younger photos of ourselves until our stomach muscles ached from raucous laughter.

“Your photo albums?” Mom repeated my question with a blank look on her face, clearly she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Mom..” I said. “We had stacks and stacks of photo albums. Kindergarten through High School, Children through Grand-Children and now… Great Grand-Children.” I hadn’t seen those albums in years, but I was certain of their existence. “Yes,” I was firm, “the photo albums of me and Randy and Tim. Our families!”

Mom stared at me for long moments, clearly trying let what I’d said soak in and plan a response. It was almost as though I were a stranger, why would she have pictures of my family. Then she grew suddenly flippant and answered, “Oh, they’re around here somewhere.”

She stood abruptly, averted her eyes as she brushed the question away along with the imaginary dust on her apron. “I’m gonna fix us both a cup of tea,” her voice trailed off as she ducked her head and rushed off to the kitchen. Clearly, without a word, she had said the subject was closed, no more questions about our family photo albums. Amazed, I could only wonder at how odd the entire encounter had been.

And I still thought of it that evening at home. It seemed a strange thing to be so bothered about, I consoled myself. A small moment of brain freeze, perhaps, I tried to comfort my doubts. It was bizarre, none the less. And if it wasn’t weird behavior, and shouldn’t upset me, why was my stomach in such a knot.

As I thought back about that strange day, much later after a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s had been made–then, it all became clear and made sense.

Mom had hedged on every album I pulled out. She wouldn’t identify a picture, name a city or discuss her, now deceased, hubby’s family. Yet it was all of them so obviously smiling from so many of those pictures taken in Wisconsin. I had wondered if her heart was too heavy with grief. Maybe she didn’t want to remember all those good times, didn’t want the reminder of what her life had been, maybe the grief of losing her husband ran too deep, it had been scarcely more than a year since his passing now.

She seldom spoke of him anymore, and when I mentioned his name Mom would change the subject. Another mystery that I’d been unable to solve. My mother just wasn’t quite my mother anymore. I couldn’t explain it, I just knew Mom wasn’t her old happy self.

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