Baseball and the Brain

My dad is kind of a saint.

The time between mom's repetitions has shortened dramatically and her short-term memory is the worst it has ever been. The other day she asked him three times in a span of about 20 minutes if he wanted to save his leftover Chinese food. She had no idea she already asked. This type of interaction occurs on a daily basis.

This week, baseball began. My mom has always been a huge baseball fan. Before her Alzheimer's really took hold and back when dad was more mobile than he is now, my parents attended about six St. Louis Cardinals games per season. They sat in the bleachers where I had my season tickets. Each visit to the ballpark was quite the production. Donning there Cardinal t-shirts labeled "Meemo" and "Papa Joe," my parents left the house hours before game time so they could park at a nearby (and very expensive) parking lot, grab a couple of hot dogs, and catch a bit of batting practice.

Mom always lugged along a thermal bag with bottled water and often pulled a ridiculously large visor on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. Dad tugged on one of his many ball caps and once he sat in his seat, he usually didn't move until around the 6th inning when they would pack up and head home, listening to the rest of the game on the radio as the cruised back home along the back roads.

Mom doesn't remember this season's opening day, even though we all watched the game together. She doesn't remember the walk-off win, the first win of the season. There are only three pieces of Cardinal baseball my mom remembers every day: Mike Matheny, Adam Wainwright, and Yadier Molina. The three of them have been around long enough that they are a part of my mom's longer term memory.

Now, mom still enjoys the game of baseball. She will watch every single game, keeping a watchful eye out for Yadi, especially. But every game, she has the same questions. Over and over and over, dad sits beside her and reminds her who Randall Grichuk is and tells her why Jose Oquendo is no longer standing by third base. Sunday, dad "introduced" mom to Dexter Fowler about six times and tonight, he did it all over again.

Dad is much more patient than me. He always has been. But he is especially patient now. Sometimes, dad is kind of a saint. But he loves my mom and she loves her baseball so he does whatever he can to keep their love and her love of baseball alive.

Inside Her Mind

Sometimes I think there is so much going on in my mom's head that she can't focus on what is going on around her. Often when I am talking to her, she will think she has responded but she hasn't said a word.

As long as I can remember, my mom has talked to herself. When I was little, she talked out loud a lot. In my teen years, I would tease her.

"Who are you talking to mom?" I asked.

She laughed, "Myself!"

Now, however, everything is stuck in her head. Her facial expressions change and she shakes her head. Sometimes she will move her hands or even pound her hand on the table. Most often, she seems angry when she is talking to herself. It was so funny to my when I was a kid but now I worry as I see her falling deeper and deeper into her own thoughts and, on many days, unable to express herself.

My need to understand what is happening with my mom's brain has become more urgent.

As I research, I thought I would share some helpful links for others in the same situation.

http://www.alz.org/alzheimers_disease_4719.asp

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/05/01/nyregion/living-with-alzheimers.html?_r=0

https://www.alz.org/braintour/alzheimers_changes.asp

http://www.nbcnews.com/feature/maria-shriver/embedded-inside-mind-alzheimers-n179596