Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Alzheimer's Drugs Aim to Be More Efficient
Current Alzheimer's drugs, including Aricept and Namenda, are targeted at slowing the formation of a gluey protein
plaque in an Alzheimer's sufferer's brain. They do this by creating enzymes that prevent brain proteins from cleaving, or
tearing apart, into smaller peptide chains that create the destructive plaque. However, scientists have
recently determined that these drugs also stop the cleavage of another important protein known as Notch that is important
in brain function. When the Notch protein is cleaved, or broken apart, it helps to create new brain cells.
We don't want to mess around with Notch.
Now, apparently, scientists have found a protein that can do the job right.
Yesterday
DrugResearcher.com reported that researchers at New York's prestigious Rockefeller University have discovered a protein known as
casein
kinase 1 that slows the cleavage of proteins that produce the bad gooey plaque without affecting the cleavage
of the good Notch protein.
Scientists at Rockefeller are working on a drug that stimulates the casein kinase protein in a person's brain.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Catching Up with Uncle Jack
(See my Monday blog.)
The phone call I received about Uncle Jack was confusing, but the purpose of the call was clear: Dad was trying to track
down Uncle Jack. Uncle Jack is Mom's surviving brother, the last of her three brothers: Keith, Leslie and Jack McComas. Uncle
Jack is presently a resident at a Veterans Administration Hospital in Massachusetts. He was placed there by his son Dix McComas
who lives in Amherst.
Dad is mad about Uncle Jack. He feels that his two sons -- Dix and Jack Jr -- have abandoned their father. He feels that
Mom, Jack's sister, is not being given access to Jack.
Dad came to me because he thought the number I gave him for Uncle Jack was wrong. But after Dad and I spoke yesterday
he called the number and he reached Uncle Jack's nurse. The nurse told Dad that Jack is doing well at the hospital. Dad planned
to have Mom call Jack last night so Mom could talk with her brother.
I asked Dad if I should call Dix (Uncle Jack's son) and have him call. Dad said, "Forget it. If I spoke with him, I'd
lay him flat. I'm so angry at him I don't know what I'd say."
CHILDREN WHO TURN THEIR BACKS ON THEIR PARENTS
Dad is mad at a lot of people these days. He is particularly mad at children who turn their backs on their parents.
This includes us four kids: me, Tim, Lisa and Owsley.
Dad feels that all four kids have abandoned him and Mom. Dad said yesterday that I would feel "unbelievable remorse"
once he and Mom passed. He said that was only natural since I had the opportunity to look after them while they were here,
but I turned my back on them.
Monday, February 26, 2007
A Confusing Phone Call
This morning when I went downstairs I found the message light blinking on the answering machine for our family's telephone.
I pressed the PLAY button and heard the following message:
MOM (on the phone): "Hello, Jack? Jack, give me a call in Media at ... What's our number? Babe, what's our number?"
DAD (in the background): Dad says their number.
MOM: Mom repeats the number into the phone. Then she says, "I need to get Freddie's phone number ... Babe, who
am I calling?"
DAD: "Jack."
MOM: "Oh, Jack! Jack, I want you to call me with your father's number. Oh ... isn't this my brother? Is this Jack
McComas, Jr?"
DAD: "Yes. It's Jack McComas Jr."
MOM: "Babe! I don't know what the heck I'm doing! Good-bye!"
Mom hangs up the phone.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Dad Resumes Radiation Treatments
Dad's flies are now history, and he has resumed his radiation treatments.
My daughter Catie asked me on Monday how things are progressing. I told her I'd try to get the name of Dad's radiologist
so I could speak with him (her?) directly on the phone.
Yesterday when I called Dad I asked him for the radiologist's name and phone number. Dad turned me down. He said he would
tell me if I came to Pennsylvania, but he wasn't telling me over the phone. "Besides," he continued, "I'm too far into them.
I only have five more treatments and then I'm done."
Dad is a brick wall when he wants to be. (Sorry, Catie!)
ALZHEMED: A NEW WARRIOR AGAINST ALZHEIMER'S?
San Francisco's ABC-7 TV program reported yesterday on a drug that I mentioned a few months ago --
Alzhemed. This drug differs from the current drugs in that it attacks the fatty Amyloid protein plaques that grow in an Alzheimer
patient's brain and kill their brain cells.
According to the
ABC-7 report scientists are now conducting a
Phase 3 study of 1000 people who are taking the drug. If the drug is successful in the study, it may appear commercially in the next couple
of years.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The End of Babe's Flies
It has been so weird calling home recently. I usually get Mom and we talk about the weather. And I almost never get Dad.
But recently things have been different. Mom answers the phone, but she immediately passes the phone to Dad. Suddenly
he can't wait to talk with me. Is it about Mom's Alzheimer's? The cancer in his leg? The radiation treatments? Caregiving
concerns?
None of the above.
It's about flies!
Not pop flies, or pants flies, but bugs! The kind that have been flying around Mom and Dad's apartment, apparently driving
them daffy.
The conversations are almost too strange to believe. Yesterday, for example:
Dad: You probably asked to talk to me because you wanted to hear about my flies.
Me: Well ... I guess so ...
Dad: Well, I'm sad to say the flies are all gone.
Me: Oh, that's too bad. (Here I tried to manufacture a little sympathy for Dad's dead flies since Dad's voice sounded
so bereaved at the loss of his flies.)
Dad: Yes, the flies have all died. I think they lasted two weeks. That's long for a fly, isn't it?
Me: Yes, Dad.
I think the flies lived long and healthy lives. I guess it eventually had to happen.
Dad: Yes, it did. I often wanted to kill them. But then I'd feel I needed to let them live, even if they were flies.
This way they died naturally, on their own.
Me: May they rest in peace, Dad. You did the right thing by your flies.
Dad: Yes, I'm happy I let them live. The apartment will seem empty without them.
Me: I feel your pain, Dad. You're a good man.
Dad: Thank you, son.
Monday, February 19, 2007
News Tidbits
FRUIT JUICE AND ALZHEIMER'S
Scientists in Seattle, Washington, have spent 10 years following hundreds of older adults. They found that drinking 2-3
glasses of fruit juice each week resulted in a 76 percent decrease in the risk of developing dementia. Drinking one glass
of fruit juice a week caused a 16 percent drop.
Scientists said the results were tied to fruit juice and not to raw fruit because fruit juice contains more antioxidants.
HOMOCYSTEINE -- THE OTHER CHOLESTEROL
Homocysteine is an amino acid, a protein building block. In the past, elevated levels of homocysteine have been associated
with heart attacks, cancer and strokes. This is because when homocysteine is above normal, it attacks cell walls and causes
damage to blood vessels.
Now high levels of homocysteine have been linked with Alzheimer's Disease and other dementias.
High levels of homocysteine are caused partly by diet and partly by genetic factors. Scientists say that a way to control
homocysteine is through a healthy diet with possible Vitamin B (B6 and B12) and folate supplements.
STEM CELLS AND ALZHEIMER'S
The link between stem cells and Alzheimer's Disease has been tenuous. But there is an encouraging story in this week's
MediaWire about a 72-year-old woman who received an infusion of pure cordblood stem cells directly into her brain. Six months
after the infusion, her memory has improved and has remained stable. She is planning to receive another infusion.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Is He Pulling My Leg?
Flies ... flies ... flies ...
This morning I called Dad and he said he thinks that the two remaining flies in his apartment had a baby.
"I took a shot at a fly yesterday," he said, "before I knew it was pregnant."
"Pregnant?" I asked.
"It's all very perplexing," Dad said. "Should I let them live? Sometimes I think 'yes'. Then I think maybe it should
be survival of the fittest, and I want to fumigate the place."
"You sure spend a lot of time thinking about your flies," I said.
"I do," said Dad. "And this power of life and death starts making me feel giddy."
"Whoa, Dad," I said. "I think
maybe it's time for you to get out a little more. I think you've been inside too long. Maybe you have a touch of cabin fever."
"And
the flies make me think of the cleaners," said Dad.
"The cleaners?"
"I think of the pair of pants I have at the cleaners. The pants have buttons in the fly. I think I need to call the cleaners
and have them let the buttons out on the fly."
At this point I hear my mom shout: "Don't pay him any mind, Fred. He's full of baloney!"
"That's what I like to hear," said Dad. "That's your mother shouting at me. When I'm controversial she resents me. I
get her back from the great blue yonder."
"That's good," I said, happy to be off the subject of flies.
"But then she puts words into action," said Dad. "She wants to move. She wants to go places."
"Like where?" I
asked.
"She wants me to take her to lunch," said Dad.
"But it's only ten in the morning," I said.
"She's ready for lunch now," said Dad.
In the background I hear Mom shouting at Dad, telling him to get moving.
Dad and I signed off at this point, and I left him with Mom and his flies.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
He's on My Conscience
It's mid-February, and my parents are hunkered down for the winter. Pennsylvania, like other states in the Northeast,
has been hit by a paralyzing snowstorm. Airports are closed, roads are treacherous, and the sidewalks are icy. The doctors
have postponed the radiation treatments for Dad's skin cancer another week so his leg can heal. The best thing for my
dad to do is stay indoors in his cozy, warm apartment.
As a result, he has lots of time to spend with his flies.
I called Dad and Mom yesterday on the telephone. I asked Mom about the Valentine's Day flowers I sent her. I was gratified
when she actually remembered them. "They're lovely," she said.
Then she immediately passed the phone to Dad.
"I'm getting conflicting reports," Dad said.
"About what, Dad?" I asked.
"Someone needs to do some serious research about flies," he said. "I've got a couple here that are supposed to be dead.
But they're still divebombing your mom and me."
I told Dad I'd looked on the Internet and found that flies live up to two weeks.
Dad was not impressed. "I tolerated them for several days," Dad said. "Then I batted one down."
"What did you
do with him?" I asked.
"I let him go," said Dad. "He's on my conscience."
"What do you plan to do now?" I asked.
"I need more research," said Dad.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
I Let the Fly Live
My dad and I were talking on the phone yesterday, and, out of nowhere, he asked me, "How long does a fly live?"
"One or two weeks," I said. "Why did you ask me that?"
"This 'mother' must be at least that old," said Dad. "He just keeps flying around our apartment, buzzing me and
your Mom."
"Why don't you swat him?" I asked. "Or get Mom to do it?"
"Nope," said Dad. "I'm going to let the fly live."
"Why?" I said, surprised.
"When you get as old as I am," said Dad, "you realize life is precious. Even the life of a fly. Who am I to take life
away?"
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Radiation on Hold
I called Dad and Mom today. Dad said that his radiation treatments for his leg were on hold. He said that the laser treatments
had "burnt" his leg and he needed to heal.
I later talked with Lisa and she said that Dad's doctors also had another reason for postponing the treatments:
The sore where the treatments are focused has not healed.
Dad and Mom both seemed in good spirits today. It was snowing in Pennsylvania, but they were warm and cozy together in
their little apartment.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Would You Really Want to Know?
If you could go to your doctor and take a test that would show if you will someday get Alzheimer's disease, would you
take the test?
Over half of all Americans say "Yes."
Scientists have developed a battery of tests and diagnostic tools to screen people for their risk of coming down with
everything from cancer to Alzheimer's Disease. Surprisingly, most people say they would take these tests if they were offered.
Even if the news is bad, most people would like to look into the "crystal ball" to see what the future has in store for them.
For example, according to the citizens news agency,
Huliq.com, nearly three-fourths of all people (72 percent) would take a test to see what diseases they might capture 20 years from
now.
There are new imaging machines, including the PET-CT (Positron Emission Tomography) scanner, that enable doctors to see
snapshots of our bodies at the cell level. These machines can pinpoint problem areas in the body where illnesses are getting
a foothold.
How would people react if they got news about a future disease? According to the report, men would be twice as likely
as women to do nothing and more than twice as likely to go on an extreme adventure.
How about you? Would you really want to know?
Friday, February 9, 2007
A Late Love that Burns Brightly
Jo Ann and Bob Chew married in 1995. Jo Ann is 82. Bob is 70. In an interview on NPR, Jo Ann told Bob, "You could have
some cute little chick that you could be running around with, 10 years younger."
Bob's reply: "I have my princess right now."
In December 2004 Jo Ann was diagnosed with dementia. A year later her doctors told her she had Alzheimers.
Jo Ann and Bob live in Little Rock, Arkansas. When they saw that the traveling
StoryCorps van that makes stops all over the U.S. was in their area, they drove to the van and recorded their story in the
van's portable studio. Their story is gentle, loving and memorable. You can listen to it by going to
NPR's StoryCorps web page and clicking on the "Listen" button.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Radiation on Hold
I called home today and spoke with Mom. That's not big news, but I was surprised to get her at 10 AM. Normally, she and
Dad are at the radiation doctor's at 10 so Dad can get his shot of radiation on the cancer tumors on his leg.
"Why are you guys home?" I asked Mom.
"I'm not sure," Mom said. "Here, speak to your father."
I asked Dad the same question.
"The doctors told me to take a week's break," Dad said. "They felt my leg needed a rest."
I asked Dad if his leg had been damaged by the radiation. Dad said no. He knew I was still a little suspicious so he
put my brother Owsley on the phone. Owsley agreed with Dad. "They just did it as a precaution," he told me. "Dad's leg is
fine. He starts his remaining radiation treatments a week from today."
Friday, February 2, 2007
Weather Reports ...
Hi, blog faithful. Don't give up on me. This was a transition week, and not much happened with my mom and dad. (A good
thing!) As a result, I have been very lazy.
But I'm back!
My sister Lisa was out of town for two weeks, and Lisa is a key person for making things happen with my parents. In
the meantime, Owsley has been living with my parents and taking good care of them. Dad has been stable. He goes to the hospital
every weekday to have the radiation treatment done on his leg, and he is half done the radiologist's regimen of 30 treatments.
He doesn't show any negative signs from the treatments.
Mom continues to be Mom. She bugs Dad. She wants to go out and do things, and often my poor hobbled father agrees and
accompanies her. He does this in the snow, the cold and the gray winter days. He does this even though he is in constant pain.
He does it even though his knees don't work, and he is constantly weak and faint from his congestive heart failure and his
medication.
He does it because he loves her.
When I call Mom I probably miss what little drama there is. After we say "Hello," talk turns immediately to the weather.
Mom is a weather optimist. It's all good -- except for wind. Mom hates the wind.
Mom's thermometer is the high spot of her weather reports each day on the telephone. She always remembers to tell me
what the thermometer outside her kitchen window says. Today I called, and she said there was snow on the ground and it was
very chilly. Then she told me that her thermometer said it was 65 degrees outside.
"Mom!" I exclaimed. (I always act surprised.)
Mom always replies: "Freddie, don't worry. It only says that because it's in the sun."
Somehow that makes it all right. The thermometer is always part of our daily conversation. But, winter or summer, day
or night, the thermometer always reads 65.
That doesn't stop Mom. It's an integral part of her daily weather report.
So, dear readers, I'm never sure what drama is currently unfolding in my parents' lives in Pennsylvania. But I can
have the small comfort and satisfaction that, no matter what is happening, it's always 65.
