Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:10):
And we continue here with our American stories. And this
next one is about a really serious subject and one
that affects so many millions of American families. And we're
talking about Alzheimer's disease. And my friend Chuck Stetson in
the Stetson Family Office does such terrific work in this area.
And we're doing so many really strong health stories in
(00:32):
partnership with the Stetson Family Office. And this is one
he just kept coming at us with. and just said,
you've got to tell this story, you've got to call
this lady. And so today we bring you the story
of Meryl Comer. She is an Emmy Award-winning reporter. She
was one of the first women in the early 80s
to host a nationally syndicated debate show. But about 20
(00:53):
years ago, Meryl's husband was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Here is
her story.
Speaker 2 (01:00):
The man I live with is not the man I
fell in love with and married. He has slowly been
robbed of something we all take for granted, the ability
to navigate the mundane activities of daily living, bathing, shaving, dressing,
and using the bathroom. His inner clock is confused and
(01:22):
can't be reset. His eyes are vacant and unaware, as
if an internal window shade veils our access. Before I
grasped what was happening, I was hurt and annoyed by
my husband's behavior. Those feelings dissolved into unconditional empathy once
I understood the cruelty of his diagnosis. Early onset Alzheimer's disease.
(01:49):
He was 58. At first, I ran interference and fought
for him because it was the right thing to do.
He was slipping out of control, confused, childlike. and helpless,
his social filters stripped away. He shadowed me because I
was familiar and safe, even when he could no longer
(02:11):
remember my name. I always loved him, but during our
marriage he was often aloof and unreachable. In illness, unlike
in health, he made me feel needed and important to him.
Neither a scientist nor a neurologist, I have spent close
to two decades trying to decipher what's going on in
(02:34):
my husband's head. How hard and unfair it is for
such a smart man to lose pieces of his intellect
and independence. His disease is my crossword puzzle. Harvey has
long forgotten me, but I am constant as his co-pilot
and guardian. I bear the burden of all decisions for
us both. The demons and terror of his world define mine.
(02:58):
I play into his reality and pretend that his fate
and our life together are not doomed. Unfortunately, I know better.
Alzheimer's distorts and destroys shared memories that bind family ties.
Caregivers are not unlike victims who survive a hurricane and
find ourselves sifting through the rubble to rescue faded, storm-drenched
(03:22):
photos or sentimental objects. We piece together what's left of
our past, and struggle to put down building blocks for
the future. I need to make some sense of my
journey through this storm. My bookshelf is lined with tomes
on dementia care, yet the page I need always seems
to be missing. Each brain unravels in its own quirky
(03:43):
and idiosyncratic way. I have learned firsthand that there is
no single solution to taking care of someone with dementia.
Many times, personal stories involving Alzheimer's gloss over the unseemly
details of care. They're written as love stories of unquestioned devotion,
(04:04):
or living memorials to honor someone during better times. Why not?
As spouses and caregivers, we deserve to do whatever works
for us. It's our version of pain management. But I
never wanted to embellish or soften the edges around the truth.
It does not do justice to the cruelty of the disease.
(04:27):
I offer you my own experiences from a position of
hard-won humility. I hope you will thread them with your own.
When I say I have cared full-time for Harvey in
our home all these years, many ask me why, even
though there is always an initial reflex that makes me
want to say, do I really need to explain myself
(04:50):
after all I've been through? I realize that the question
is a natural one, a human one, a social one,
The interlocutors are not judging me, but rather vicariously checking themselves.
In questioning me, they're testing their own capacity to deal
with the diagnosis of Alzheimer's disease and the potential impact
(05:11):
it might have on their relationship with a partner or parent.
When people hear my story, they sometimes tell me they
wouldn't make the same choices. I do not hold myself
up as an example to follow. No one who has
ever been on the front lines of care ever questions
when someone says, I can't do this anymore, but I
(05:35):
do want to be part of the last generation of
caregivers trapped by a loved one's diagnosis, an absence of
disease-modifying therapies, and a troublesome lack of quality care options.
When it comes to Alzheimer's, caregivers are frequently too worn
out or isolated to protest. Perhaps this is why advocacy
(05:56):
around the disease has often lacked the passion and energy
that characterize the cancer in HIV-AIDS communities. But how will
people understand if we don't tell our stories without apology?
Alzheimer's disease today affects a reported 5.4 million people in
the United States and 44 million worldwide. Like a stealth invader,
(06:21):
it is quietly dementing aging populations globally while pushing past
cancer and HIV-AIDS as the most critical public health problem
of our time. Every 68 seconds, another of us falls victim,
yet 50% of those with dementia never get diagnosed. There
(06:42):
is not a single FDA-approved drug that actually slows the
progression of Alzheimer's disease. There have been too many failed
late-stage clinical trials with promising drugs that seemed to work,
until it became clear they did not. Sometimes I think
we'd be better off if Alzheimer's disease was a brand
new emergency, instead of a century-old threat to which we
(07:05):
had somehow become inured. Perhaps people would understand that when
it comes to this disease, everyone is a stakeholder, because
everyone is at risk. There are also 15 million caregivers
just like me. Unintended victims and not among the official count.
Add to our legions those caring for loved ones young
(07:27):
and old with diseases of the brain, traumatic brain injuries,
and other chronic diseases complicated by a memory disorder. We
speak the same language. Our numbers amplify the collective pain
that makes it impossible for me to rest. The only
way to minimize the effect of Alzheimer's disease is to
(07:49):
get out in front of it, delay its onset, or
even reverse its devastation of the mind. We need to
move toward early diagnosis and study adults who do not
yet show symptoms. People like you and me. Such a
decision entails hard personal choices, risks, and emotional discomfort. It
(08:12):
means demanding safe and clinically valid genetic tests that let
us learn if we are at a higher risk for
getting Alzheimer's disease. It requires managing our lives and choices
under the shadow of the possibility of disease. Those of
us who are 50 years or older must stop viewing
(08:33):
ourselves as ageless. All of us should track our cognitive health,
just as we do cholesterol levels or blood pressure. I
write for all of us who are still well, but
have seen the devastation of Alzheimer's disease firsthand. The emergency
is with us and in us. I write to clinicians,
(08:55):
reluctant to diagnose because they can't effectively treat. Please know
the inadvertent trauma you inflict on families, left confused, hurt,
and helpless. Then time runs out on the ultimate conversation
with our loved ones, about end-of-life wishes. Their minds are erased.
(09:17):
It's simply too late. I write to reach the generation
of our adult sons and daughters who struggle to understand
our lives as we care for a loved one with Alzheimer's.
They stand on the precipice and wrestle with issues and
decisions similar to the ones we've faced. They deserve better
(09:38):
options and not the bankrupting burden of our care This
is not the legacy we want for our children or
the way any of us wish to be remembered. I
write for my grandchildren because no matter how hard I tried,
Alzheimer's blanketed my home with sadness. I know that loving
(10:00):
each of them unconditionally has been my salvation. One day,
I hope they'll read these words and appreciate my choices.
As I write these words, a faint glow fills the
room I share with Harvey. He's always present. even though
he is absent. There is an intimacy in our isolation. Nonetheless,
(10:25):
I am willing to open the door to our room
in the hope that you will find a way inside.
Only then will my story be worth the pain of
its telling.
Speaker 1 (10:39):
Harvey's story and his bride's. Meryl Comer, here on Our
American Stories.