The day after Judy’s diagnosis, she decided to call family and close friends to tell them about her condition. It was as if she were afraid they would find out from someone else. Judy was a planner, and she wanted to tell our three kids, Suzanne, Charles, and Douglas first, and then move on to her siblings, Susan and Joe, whom she had remained close to through the years.
First, she called Suzanne, our daughter and oldest child; Suzanne lived in Oklahoma City in a house she bought after her recent divorce. She worked for a non-profit company soliciting blood for the blood bank. Judy’s conversation with Suzanne went something like this.
“I saw a neurologist yesterday,” Judy said.
“Mom, why did you need to see a neurologist?”
“You know, the memory issues I’ve been having lately. I went for tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
“A blood test, an MRI, and the cognitive impairment test.”
“That sounds like testing for Alzheimer’s.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“The tests showed a vitamin B deficiency, and my hippocampus is mostly non-functional. I also have some cognitive impairment. The doctor said that I am well within the parameters of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis.”
A long pause. “It shouldn’t come as a big surprise,” Suzanne said. “Your mom and dad both died with Alzheimer’s, didn’t they?”
“It’s one thing to think Alzheimer’s is heredity and one day you might come down with the disease, it’s quite a different matter to know you have Alzheimer’s.”
“I so sorry, Mom.”
The next person on Judy’s call list was Charles, our oldest son, who lived in Alabama just outside of Montgomery. Charles had been close to his mother growing up. When his mom retreated to the darkened bedroom with a migraine, Charles was the first to check on her.
“Charles, I have something to share with you,” she began.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“I went to a neurologist yesterday.”
“You had the cognitive impairment test, right?
“How did you know?”
“When we’ve talked on the phone lately, I noticed your memory wasn’t what it used to be. You’ve always had such a sharp memory. Since both of your parents died with Alzheimer’s, I thought your memory issues might be a symptom.”
“Well, you guessed it. I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad’s going to take care of you, I hope.”
“He promised he wouldn’t stick me in a nursing home.”
“I wish I lived closer so I could be there for you. If there is anything I can do, let me know.”
Judy waited to call Douglas, our 2nd son, who lived in Leesburg with his new wife, twenty-five miles from Haymarket. I don’t remember if Judy delayed contacting Douglas because of our distant relationship or because she was busy.
Suzanne called a couple of days later. “Mom! I talked to Douglas last night and told him you had Alzheimer’s. He wasn’t surprised.”
Once our children had been informed about her diagnosis, Judy called her sister, Susan. Susan was next in line after Judy in their family. Susan had once sent Judy a framed embroidery picture of two young girls running across a field holding hands with skirts flaring. The inscription at the bottom read, God made us sisters, we made us friends. Despite our frequent moves, Susan made every effort to keep our families close.
When Susan heard Judy’s news, she said, “Oh, Judy.”
Of all the relatives Judy had thus far informed of her condition, Susan could identify with the condition more than anyone else. She had functioned as caregiver for both parents through their journeys with the disease.
Judy called her brother, Joe, next. Joe lives in Hammond, Louisiana. One summer, when Joe was a young teenager with a paper route and Judy was editor of the local newspaper, the family took a vacation to Mexico; Judy and Joe stayed behind because of their jobs. On Saturday evening, Judy told Joe, “Put on your suit and tie, we’re going out to dinner so you can learn how to act in public.” Joe never forgot this kindness from his sister; they stayed close even though we lived miles apart. Despite our multiple relocations and our busy schedules, we visited Joe, his wife, Pam, and their family whenever we were in Louisiana. When Judy called Joe to inform him of her condition, the conversation went much like her conversation with her sister, Susan.
I was close to my second oldest brother’s three daughters, Jeanne-Marie, Rose Ann, and Marcia. I wanted them to know, so I informed the eldest, Jeanne-Marie, in one of our telephone conversations and she passed the information on to her siblings. Since Jeanne-Marie asked how Judy was doing in her emails, I typically included a paragraph about Judy’s condition in my frequent emails, often with anecdotes and quotes. Poor at purging my sent file, I have emails to Jeanne-Marie going back for years with paragraphs updating her on Judy’s condition.
Judy had developed a friendship with her bagger at the Quantico Commissary, Chong, who introduced Judy to another shopper, Cay (Catherine) Conklin. Judy and Cay became fast friends and talked often on the phone. Judy told Cay of her diagnosis the next time Cay called.
“You know, I’ve been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
“Oh, Judy, I’m so sorry.”
#
On that Friday, after our dinner out, Judy and I visited Barb, Doug’s ex, the mother to our four grandchildren in Centreville. When Judy mentioned her condition, Barbara offered to help in any way she could.
Next, we visited our next-door neighbors; Judy asked me to do the talking.
I told them, “Judy’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s,” and we went from there.
Other people in our over-55 community had Alzheimer’s although I didn’t know any of them. The news of Judy’s condition passed by word of mouth to my golf friends. During one of my Monday morning association golf outings, Greg, the golfer I shared a cart with, pulled up under a tree as we waited for the foursome ahead of us to move on.
“My wife has Alzheimer’s,” he said. “My neighbor’s wife is staying with her for me to play golf.
“How long since her diagnosis?”
“Twelve years.”
“I didn’t think Alzheimer’s lasted that long.”
“My aunt has been in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s for seven years. She was diagnosed thirteen years ago.”
#
It was uncanny how my twin and I knew when the other needed to talk. We were that close. When we were young, we dressed alike, played the same sports, usually on the same team, and were inseparable. At nineteen, we went our separate ways; he became a professor at Loyola university, and I became an Air Force pilot.
Pat, now a professor of Philosophy at Loyola University in New Orleans, called one evening. When I told him about Judy’s diagnosis, he said, “Tell Judy my thoughts and prayers are with her.”
The rest of our friends and relatives found out from our Christmas letter, or from someone Judy had called.