Going to a party with ALZHEIMER'S

Novelist Valerie Blumenthal used to love socialising, but living with a cruel form of dementia has made this a challenge

- VALERIE BLUMENTHAL

It is a Saturday evening. I am getting ready to go to a party. I am not looking forward to it, though it is hard to explain why. I can see the tremor of my fingers as I apply my make-up. I worry that my lipstick is smudged or even on my nose instead of my mouth. When I put on my dress, it takes three attempts: first, it is upside down, then it is inside out, and just as I start to despair, I struggle into it, a small victory.

‘You’ve got 20 minutes,’ calls my husband from downstairs.

And although I know that he is trying to be helpful, I become more agitated.

I used to love parties: seeing people who perhaps I have not seen for a while, meeting new people. But nowadays, the latter, in particular, throws me into a panic. I am afraid that I shall let myself down, afraid I shall forget a word, afraid I will say too much, or too little. I am afraid I will be overlooked, and I will not be taken seriously. Most of all, I dread being pitied.

Sadistic tricks

I dare say that I should have begun this by explaining that I have posterior cortical atrophy (PCA). This rare form of Alzheimer’s affects the back part of the brain responsible for all things visual. It usually strikes in your 50s or 60s, slowly progressing with the stealth of a thief.

I am a published novelist – writing has been my life and my love for many years. But PCA is a spiteful disease, and one of its symptoms is to render you illiterate – a sadistic trick to play on an author.