Page 116 - November 2020
P. 116

                                                                                       November 2020

                                       ME, DAD AND ALZHEIMER

                                          Nodirabegim Ibrokhimova

                 Nodirabegim  Ibrokhimova  was  born  in
                 Fergana region, Uzbekistan on July 18th
                 1989.  She  has  studied  International
                 Journalism  at  University  of  Foreign
                 Languages  in  Uzbekistan  during  2007-
                 2011.  Her  major  areas  of  expertise
                 include  writing  books,  short  stories,
                 narratives  and  articles,  as  well  as
                 translation of world literature books

                 Alois Alzheimer.

                 Father  of  neuropathology.  He  studied  brain  pathology  and  discovered  pre-senile
                 dementia, an illness which bears his name today. I have been addressing this name
                 quite often in recent years. He died of heart failure when he was fifty-one years old.
                 Had  he  lived  longer,  he  would  likely  find  a  possible  cure  for  this  disease,  and  I
                 would not now fall into the abyss of despair.

                 No, I do not have this disease. I would not have been aware of that if I did anyway.
                 Unlike  me,  people  with  Alzheimer  don’t  write  their  past  stories  or  events.  They
                 simply can’t. How could it be possible for you to write your memories when you
                 aren’t able to even to remember what you had for breakfast today? Unfortunately, it
                 is impossible for me to perceive what or how they feel.

                 I  first  got  to  know  this  word  from  the  doctor,  following  the  medical  check-up  he
                 performed  to  my  father.  As  his  well-detailed  explanation  went  further,  I  came  to
                 realize that he was indeed speaking the truth about my dad – I was helping him to
                 find  his  glasses  for  a  long  time,  although  they  were  usually  lying  on  top  of  the
                 bookshelf. He then began to confuse his workplace. Once he returned very early,
                 complaining that another person was working in his position, which he had actually
                 left  seven  years  ago.  To  my  surprise,  when  I  mentioned  his  current  work,  he
                 couldn’t  remember  at  all.  Watching  him  perplexed  and  distrait  with  elements  of
                 aging, my mom started giving him walnuts, in hopes that this would help to prevent
                 memory loss.

                 Similar incidents increased, as did our concern. He resigned from his job and was
                 stuck in homecare. We put him into a sanatorium, thinking he might have nervous
                 or  mental  tiredness.  However,  one  day  he  again  disappeared.  After  a  massive
                 search, he was found in his hometown village, staying in his old childhood house.
                 My  uncle’s  son,  whom  he  didn’t  recognise  at  all,  reported  that  he  angrily  and

                 continuously asked for his deceased parents.
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