Fighting Alzheimer’s: What Would Thatcher Think?

Editor's note: The guest post below was written by James A. Cassidy, a caregiver and father of Colette Cassidy, a former news anchor who recently wrote for the first time about her mother's battle with early-onset Alzheimer's. Fighting Alzheimer’s: What Would Thatcher Think? By James A. Cassidy It’s no accident Margaret Thatcher earned the nickname “The Iron Lady”. Popular or not, she showed the world and its leaders that she had the courage of her convictions. She found a soul mate in Ronald Reagan, who stood at the Berlin Wall and demanded that Gorbachev tear it down. To a lesser

Up Close and Personal: My Mother and Alzheimer’s

As many times as I read reflections of a daughter writing about her mother with Alzheimer’s, it never gets old; it never fails to punch me in the stomach; it never fails to make me tear up. Such is the case with Colette Cassidy, a former news anchor, trained to be dispassionate about every story. But there is no being dispassionate about your mother living with Alzheimer’s. Thank you, Colette, for sharing your poignant story: As a TV reporter, I thought I had seen it all. In Philadelphia I covered every local story imaginable, and travelled for hurricanes, political conventions

The Iron Lady Fights Her Toughest Foe

Well, it’s a biopic so you have to expect that there will be quibbling over interpretation. You know, the usual stuff: was he the favorite; was she a mean witch; was he a private cross-dresser? Who really knows? The new biopic The Iron Lady, currently showing in your favorite Cineplex, has sparked controversy – even outrage – due to the fact that the central figure, Margaret Thatcher, is still alive. The crux of the objection is that the film depicts Thatcher as suffering from dementia. Friends and foes alike are “uncomfortable” with –or even incensed by – the scenes depicting

My Mother, My Grandmother, My Daughter, Myself

Note: this is first in a series of posts about women and Alzheimer’s When I was home during intersession in my junior year of college, I went with my mother to visit my grandmother in a nursing home. She had what was called “hardening of the arteries.” An articulate, determined, domineering woman-of-her-era, she was now a confused, rambling old lady. I watched as my mother gathered her mother’s soiled laundry to wash at home. Until then, my mother’s laundering skills were nil – unless you counted her rinsing out her nylons at night. But this was her mother and our

Walk a Day in Her Shoes

When my mother, as yet undiagnosed with Alzheimer’s, asked me to get a pair of glasses from her purse, I stumbled upon a traffic ticket. I sighed, knowing my mother’s propensity for speeding. I scanned the summons to find how fast she was going this time. Much to my surprise she had been pulled over for going ten miles-per-hour on the middle lane of The George Washington Bridge. Rather than cutting off traffic, she had been virtually leading a parade of cars at a snail’s pace. Horns were blaring, but my mom thought there was a party going to a