My Turning Point
To say I’ve lived and breathed Alzheimer’s disease almost everyday of my adult life is an understatement. I am all too familiar with not only how it destroys the person it takes, but also how it permanently scars that person’s loved ones.
So when someone asks me how I can maintain such a strong willpower, how I can so dogmatically adhere to the strict diet and lifestyle I follow, the answer is simple. I am hellbent on preventing this disease in myself. I will do absolutely anything within my power to stop it if at all possible. And if I can lead by example, helping my family, friends and anyone else to prevent it along the way, all the better.
When I am confronted with the temptation of doughnuts at work, of my oldest sister Susan’s out-of-this-world Danish or any number of other goodies, I simply think of Mama. I let the memories of all she suffered at the hands of Alzheimer’s wash over me. I let the fear of the disease take hold, and suddenly that Snickers candy bar doesn’t seem quite as tempting. I realize the temporary and artificial high I get from eating these things are not worth the price I will pay down the road. My life and my future are far more important to me than these foods.
I wasn’t always like this, however.
Mama entered the nursing home in 2007, just a few days before my 30th birthday. For the first time in six years, I was able to put Alzheimer’s on the back burner a bit, keep it at arm’s length. I turned my focus on finishing school and starting my new career, still never giving my own health a second thought. I wasn’t able to find a job in my field right away, so I was forced to accept a job at a big box home improvement store. At first, all was well; I actually lost weight from being on my feet and moving around the giant store all day. But, like so many women after they turn 30, I was beginning to notice some minor changes in my metabolism and energy levels and overall feeling of wellbeing.
Then my hours changed. My new schedule was 5 a.m.-2 p.m. each day, and I went from getting plenty of sleep every night to getting a few hours if I was lucky. I just couldn’t adjust to the change in schedule to ensure my usual 8 hours of sleep. I always went to bed early enough, but I would just lie there wide awake for hours. This would stress me out, making me restless and still unable to fall asleep as the night wore on. It was a vicious cycle. I tried not letting it stress me out. I tried to unwind and watch TV until I was tired instead of forcing a bedtime but to no avail. I just couldn’t adjust. From there, my health began to unravel.
I struggled with occasional, mild anxiety and depression in my teens and 20s, but these kicked into high gear as my health began to spiral out of control. I was experiencing wild mood swings and was overall just miserable, always on the verge of tears. At the same time, my blood sugar would spike and then plummet. I always had to keep some kind of snack with me because if I went too long without eating, I would become shaky and start to feel faint. I would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat (further complicating my already bad sleep issues), and I would feel so weak that I would struggle make it to the kitchen to get a spoonfull or two of peanut butter. So I started keeping a jar and spoon right next to my bed. I also was slowly but steadily gaining weight.
My body was desperately trying to tell me that I wasn’t 20 any more, that things had to change — I couldn’t keep eating anything I wanted (sugar and plenty of it!) with very little exercise and not pay the consequences, but I wasn’t listening. After all, the foods I had been eating had never affected me before. Therefore, I believed the culprit for my issues must have been my job and the resulting poor sleep. What was I to do about that? I couldn’t just quit. I had been searching for another, better job without success since starting at that store. I believed if I could just find a better job — an 8-to-5 job — then all my health woes would disappear again. Boy was I wrong.
In September 2010 I learned of an opening for a reporter at a local newspaper. I pounced and a month later was excitedly starting my new job. Much to my chagrin, however, my health issues did not abate, despite a better sleeping schedule. The anxiety and depression continued to kick my butt and I struggled to focus and think clearly. A newspaper reporter must be sharp, quick thinking and very detail oriented to do her job well. My job performance was mediocre at best, leaving my editor, I am convinced, with regrets of hiring me. I really had a hard time remembering what information I needed to gather for a story and couldn’t maintain my focus and concentration at meetings I was covering.
I quickly found myself despising my job and being brought to tears on many occasions. It sucks knowing your boss hates you and you can’t seem to get it right no matter how hard you try. And I just didn’t understand why. I had done so well in school, earning straight As with ease and receiving nothing but glowing praise from my professors. How could it have all disappeared in a few years’ time?
The daunting reporters schedule only added insult to injury. I frequently worked 10-12 hour days, spending my days either at the office or covering some meeting or event, grabbing a quick bite at some fast food place for dinner and then spending my evenings at various meetings I had to cover. I then would have to get up bright and early to write my stories for deadline. The stress and anxiety brought on by the crazy schedule and the dread that I might be fired at any time, did nothing for my sleeping habits.
On top of all that, I had gone from a highly active job to a very sedentary one — from my car to my office desk, back to my car, to some meeting, etc. I had little time for any movement at all, let alone real exercise. My coworkers also were big on bringing in sweet treats (and still are). Almost every day someone would bring in cupcakes, cookies, candy and numerous other desirables I couldn’t resist. I really began to pack on the pounds in earnest, and my health spiral continued downward at a breakneck pace.
The years passed, and I was never fired; I just continued to struggle and was as unhappy as ever — pushing 200 pounds and being nearly overpowered by depression and anxiety. Rock bottom. Then my brother told me he had given up gluten and was amazed by how much better he felt as a result. This was my first inkling that my issues might, just maybe, be a result of my diet. I knew I needed to cut the junk food and lose weight, but I had never connected what I was eating to my mood, sleep habits and mental issues.
I decided to take the plunge also and gave up gluten in early 2013. This first, difficult step would turn out to be the beginning of a long and eye-opening journey of self discovery that would change my life.