Alzheimer's Disease

Client:

Macmillan Publishing Company

Audience:

Sixth - ninth graders

Goal:

Engage the interest of reading reluctant teens and preteens while clearly explaining the social and physical effects of Alzheimer's disease

Role:

Writing

American Library Association, Recommended Book for the Reluctant Young Reader; National Science Teachers Association, Outstanding Science Book for Children; American Medical Writers Association, Excellence in Medical Communication Award

My Grandma Ida was a grandmother with a capital G. She was all warm smiles and softness. She wore her hair long, in an old-fashioned braid wrapped like a crown around her head. I sometimes thought the braid was silly. But when Grandma cut it off to "join the modern world," I felt sad. And I was glad she didn't do anything else to change - like go on a diet.

Grandma's arms were the world's best argument against diets. One arm around your shoulder could scatter the worst fears. Two together could hug away tears. They could say, "I'm so proud of you," "I love you," and "I'm happy to see you" all in one great yielding hug.

Grandma didn't talk much. She didn't have to. Somehow, she just knew what I needed or wanted. She always kept a candy bar in the refrigerator for my visits. We would wait together until my father (a dentist) and my mother (a believer in healthy snacks) said goodbye. Then she'd rush to the refrigerator for my delicious, secret treat.

These visits to Grandma's were always the same: a hug, a candy bar, a game of cards, a look at old pictures of her family back in Europe. So I was puzzled one day when Grandma forgot the candy bar.

Then Grandma began forgetting more than the candy. Her mind seemed elsewhere when we played cards. She made dumb mistakes. One day I heard her yelling at my grandfather for eating a sandwich she'd made for herself. But he hadn't eaten it. She had moved it from the kitchen to the dining room table and forgot. This scared me. I didn't understand what could be happening to my grandmother.