Editor’s note: This post is published in conjunction with the April issue of Health Affairs, which features a series of articles on Alzheimer’s disease.
I cannot write about Alzheimer’s disease without writing about my sister. For that matter, it is probably best to begin with the building where the word was first said to her. After all, my sister Jane was an architecture critic and buildings mattered to her, as did the urbanscape, and her whole vision of a people-centered city.
The building where she’d been diagnosed with “mild cognitive impairment” was a former military base now recycled into a labyrinth of medical offices, including the department where the people who clocked and studied—but could not curtail—the decline of her memory were lodged with their pencils and papers.
To get to the office, we had to drive into the imposing parking garage, take an elevator to the only floor where there was a bridge to the medical building, cross that bridge, then take a second elevator downstairs to register, get an electronic key, then ride upstairs again and find our way through a mysterious series of halls to the right door and unlock it.
This elaborate rite of passage never failed to strike me as a bizarre test in itself. Who designed this? What memory-impaired patient could remotely navigate this journey? Was this some sort of black humor, a way to triage those with or without the “executive function” to get there? Those with or without a caregiver who could lead her?
Read the rest of this entry »