John: Honey, we all have memory lapses. That’s a sign of getting older. The other day I couldn’t remember the word . . . um . . . “glucose.”
Alice: It’s not like that. It’s like something drops out of me.
John: But there is no diagnosis yet?
Alice: No.
John: Well then I think that this is ridiculous it’s complete bullshit. You don’t have Alzheimer’s.
Alice: God damn it. Why won’t you take me seriously?! No, I know what I’m feeling. I know it’s feeling . . . It feels like my brain is fucking dying. And everything I’ve worked for in my entire life is going. It’s all going.
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Alice: I need something to read.
John: I thought you were reading Moby Dick.
Alice: Yeah, I was. I got tired of reading the same page over and over again. Can’t focus.
John: That happens to me when I read Moby Dick, too.
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Alice: I know I’m alive. I have people I love dearly. I have things I want to do with my life. I rail against myself for not being able to remember this. But I still have moments in the day of pure happiness and joy. And please do not think that I am suffering. I am not suffering. I am struggling. Struggling to be a part of things. To stay connected to who I once was. So live in the moment I tell myself. It’s really all I can do.
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John: I can’t take a year off. Financially that’s not an option. And god knows where we’ll be further down the line.
Alice: That’s it then. That’s it.
John: What?
Alice: Well you don’t want that. A year . . . at home . . . with me, watching this.
John: I didn’t say that.
Alice: You didn’t have to.