reflecting on the novel Still Alice

I have just finished reading this novel, after being unable to watch the movie, given my parents' double diagnoses of Alzheimers and vascular dementia. I am almost immobilised by the uncertainty of my own risks and I seriously wonder about the power of self-fulfilling prophecies. Do I want to know the reality of my risk, or am I really prepared to take the gamble of living life to the full? While I am clear about my own preference, I wonder if I really should be more socially responsible and investigate my real risks. Regardless, I thought it wise to read this novel in the safety of my own house. I wanted to read about an alternative reality to the life I am living. Lisa Genova has completed some serious research to write a very compelling story about Alice, an accomplished Harvard professor in cognitive psychology, who is diagnosed at 50 with Alzheimer's disease. The dramatic disintegration of her career and her consequent academic worth is tragic amidst a family who pulls together to care for her. The question of whether her husband can stand beside her is left unanswered, and this adds a real credibility to the whole story. Can he, as an equally esteemed academic, learn to care for her, while letting his own career slip, is a question perhaps too great to ask of any single person. The story is both compelling and terrifying, however, Still Alice is a moving and vivid depiction of life with early onset Alzheimer's disease. This is not just a light story of diversity. Nor is it melodramatic or emotionally manipulative. It isn't the Alzeheimer's equivalent of tell me about my cancer diagnosis book. Instead, this is a deeply moving psychological portrait of a woman's deteriorating mind and how this gradually affects her relationships with the people around her. It's about an intelligent woman suddenly finding that she can no longer rely on her mind. She tried every day to hold onto her memories and her sense of understanding, and we are taken on a terrifying journey into what it must be like to know you are slowly losing pieces of yourself day by day. The book is frightening on both biological and psychological levels. It describes many of the common assumptions about Alzheimer's; from the forgotten memories, of faces without names, and of everyday places that have become unfamiliar. It also describes current thinking about the biological explanations of what is really happening in the brain. The story raises the important questions for Alice; how much can she lose and still be herself? If our entire personalities are built from memories, sensory experiences, from the things we've said and done, who are when we longer remember any of that? How can you make today matter when tomorrow you won't even remember it? This is a sad book but it does not fail to leave you with a glimpse of light in the darkness.