Photo by Mark Hooper
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What It Feels Like
By Thomas DeBaggio, September & October 2005
Alzheimer’s dropped me into a frightening, fractured new world
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Read All Articles in This Special Report
Inside Jim's Brain: How Scientists Are Untangling the Mysteries of
Alzheimer's
He's Still in There: A Daughter's Perspective
Stay Sharp Longer: Nine Simple Things You Can Do
Finding Help: New Choices for People With Early-Stage Alzheimer's
Great Pretenders: Common Ailments and Drugs Known to Monkey With Memory
Web Exclusive: Feed Your Head With Healthy Brain Foods
Back to the first article in this Special Report: You’re Wiser Now
I thought I was breaking into pieces. Shards of memory kept disappearing.
When, after tests, the doctor told me I had Alzheimer's disease, the
statement exploded in my head. The diagnosis was difficult for me to accept.
There was no cure, only the hope that my brain's eager course of
self-destruction could be slowed for a while.
A new world greets me every morning now. I have begun to adjust my life so
each day has a structure to it, and a purpose: to enjoy every minute I can. But
I see myself differently, almost as if a death ray penetrated me. I look in a
mirror and discover I am crying.
I had been an herb grower for 30 years, but before that I was a writer. When
I began writing, I was bent on uncovering life's joys and its illusions.
Now writing is like walking through a dark room. Sometimes I have to get down
on my knees and crawl. Words slice through my mind so fast I cannot catch them.
Scraps of ideas flit like birds. This is the worst thing to happen to a
writer.
One morning on my daily walk I came across a new scribble, neatly engraved
on a new area of sidewalk. In knife-thin characters, this artistic scofflaw
wrote: ARTISTS LIVE FOREVER. It was the first real truth I can say I have
physically stumbled across.
I have lived an ordinary life by definition. Just what I feared. The finish
line does not feel ordinary at all, though. It is the most exciting time in my
life. I float in my own chaotic world, grateful to know I am still alive.
I will soon be stripped of language and memory, existing in a shy and
unsteady forbearance of nature. I am on the cusp of a new world, a place I will
be unable to describe. It is the last hidden place, and marked with a
headstone.
Thomas DeBaggio lives in Arlington, Virginia. This essay is adapted from his
book
Losing My Mind (Free Press, 2002). He has written a second memoir,
When It Gets Dark (Free Press, 2003). Though he no longer reads or writes,
he continues to describe his experiences through periodic interviews on
National Public Radio.
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