Alzheimer’s Disease is just drenched in stigma. It’s the leprosy of our time, the worst possible thing that could happen. Your hands will fall off, your nose, parts of you will drop to the ground, strewn about the landscape, and people will run away when they see you coming. No, they won’t even look at you, won’t see you because you’ll be living on an island that spares them the trouble.
Yes. Alzheimer’s has that kind of stigma. Mega-stigma.
It has so much stigma that, after each sentence, I want to say “I don’t have Alzheimer’s.” I don’t want anyone thinking my every lost key or forgotten name is a symptom in search of a disease. I’m as sharp as they make ’em, don’t you know.
Today, I got an email from a national Alzheimer’s prevention registry. This is something that I signed up for in one of my over-zealous moments about how I should do more about Alzheimer’s Disease because it killed my mother.
Participation in the registry begins with submitting a DNA test. This is so, down the road, the registry can match a person with a study or drug trial that, for instance, compares outcomes for people predisposed to Alzheimer’s to those not so unfortunate.
It’s all about the APOE4 gene. If you have it, your chances of developing Alzheimer’s Disease later in life are way higher than people who have APOE2 or APOE3. Way higher. I’d say radioactive but that would sound hysterical and that’s uncalled for this early in the game.
So I don’t know if I have the APOE4 gene but the registry folks do. I gave them my DNA, remember? And they’ll tell me if I decide to participate in the study described in the email. Wait, let me clarify. They’ll tell me if I have the high risk gene if I want them to.
I’m thinking about it.