If by "soon," I meant in geological measurements.

I'll return soon with your regularly-scheduled profundity.
-Me, about three weeks ago.

Yeah, so, no. It's not like there hasn't been anything on my mind. In fact, in the past month, my mind has been more full of stuff than it has in a long time. My lungs have been full of stuff, too. I've had this cough since the first weekend in September, and I can't shake it. I sound like Violetta. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I'm calling a doctor tomorrow.

The last couple weeks have been quite the adventure in gerontology. Grandma had a stay in the hospital, to correct a problem (no need for details), and it's pretty much corrected, but the stress and the changes in location seem to have knocked her further and more abruptly down the memory slide. That happened this summer when she fell, too, and had another hospital visit. Before that, she was getting used to the retirement center, and the independent-living apartment was working out pretty well. At the time of the move, it seemed appropriate.

There's no Medicare-covered test to confirm whether someone has Alzheimer's. There's an optional and expensive method, and there's post-mortem brain autopsy if someone really thinks it's important at that stage, but doctors tend to diagnose it by observation instead. The drugs that treat Alzheimer's can also slow non-Alzheimer's memory loss, so there's little need for absolute certainty. And for a couple years, Grandma didn't seem to be following the Alzheimer's patterns so much as just getting old and forgetful.

In other words, denial was easy.

Now the common symptoms are showing up. The same question three times in five minutes. Simple, everyday words disappearing from her vocabulary. Routine tasks becoming less routine. The frequency of forgetting family names is increasing exponentially. Today when I called, she didn't say "Hello, Jenifer" like she usually does, or ask how Hans and the animals are - those are little signposts that tell me she still knows exactly who she's talking to. I know that she'll recognize me when I see her tomorrow. I see her often enough that I should still be that familiar. I hope. It's starting to sink in that one day, she won't know me.

She's still herself. The disease hasn't eaten her personality yet. She's as kind and as stubborn as ever, still cares about the people around her - never mind her problems, why haven't I seen a doctor for that cough? She still knows her own life history. She's a very intelligent woman, and what may be the worst part of all of this is that she's entirely aware of what's leaving her.

All right. I had some things to write about improv, but they'll have to wait. Hopefully not another three weeks. This post is long enough, and I'm kinda worn out these days.

Say good night, Gracie.
Good night, Gracie.