c. 2019, Olan L. Smith

(photographs by Olan L. Smith all right reserved)

My eldest brother is sick with Alzheimer's, and I read a poem recently that brings this to mind, and the poem is cathartic. I assume you can call Alzheimer's a mental illness, but really it is a disease, and it seems, from recent studies, it's caused by the herpes virus. That is both good and bad, because if they've narrowed the cause to a specific virus family, then perhaps a cure or a preventative vaccine is around the corner, and bad because almost everyone has been exposed to the virus. Alzheimer's stages are defined and clear cut, so the shift from one to the other is like shifting gears in a semi with seven gears, but unfortunately stage one has no symptoms, and before you know it your in stage three with mild memory problems. Usually, before the family knows it, you're in stage four or five and you don't know it.

I can tell you from my brother's experiences he struggled with remembering things for the last few years, but he was, like anyone else his age, forgetful. Four years ago he would talk politics, current events, and nothing seemed amiss, but you wondered. He would talk about getting Alzheimer's and having to live in a nursing home, but he still did volunteer work at nursing homes to cheer them up. If it is the herpes virus and you are one of the few with the virus who get Alzheimer's, and there is nothing you can do about it, it is coming to get you.

I have dementia, some of you know this, but it is caused from a brain injury that happened in 2003; it is not progressive, and in case it is I take two Alzheimer's meds. I find myself searching for nouns, but I've discovered it is no worse than some thirty something's I know; they tell me, Olan, your sharper that I am. Those young people have no idea what has vanished, because they didn't know me before. My memory was like a steal trap, and nothing was misplaced in it. My losses are mild memory loss, damage to my frontal lobes, and math skills. I can add but I can't count things, like blocks, or pills without getting loss. It sounds odd, but thank god for the word count. Thankfully, it didn't affect my art or my writing centers of my brain, so writing flows easily, organizing storylines, paragraphs, plots, etc., is difficult. The brain injury change my personality completely, and one of the reason my marriage didn't survive. If I hadn't had the TBI I wouldn't be the writer/painter I am. Things happen, and you make do with the curves life flings at you. Some of you may know I had a TBI when I was eighteen, as a result of an auto accident. The second head injury, in 2003, compounded it. If dementia's a side effect of TBI, then so be it.