Saul Larry Polack
April 4, 1934 --December 9, 1995

He is absent from me, lost to me. There is only this same kaleidoscope of jumbled wires loose, hanging, suspended, maybe, in the space of his brain. I am reminded of a macabre skeleton being shaken on Holloween as he walks through the apartment. Making few encounters with any objects or with me, he withdraws and then suddenly regains an immense ability to communicate by writing his little notes which are unreadable.

He loved flying (B-29's), and Nat King Cole, and all kinds of music, and the Rumba . . . Oh, he was a good dancer . . . We even won a dance contest once . .

And he was proud of everything I did and thought me beautiful even at my worst . . . And he could be demanding and thought I could do and be everything for him . . .

Now, I can't find "him" . . . although he follows me around and around this apartment and is next to me in any direction I happen to turn . . .

Agitation
coordination
shaking
hallucinations
dementia
loss of appitite

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