The Diagnosis

July 17, 2007, was a big day: things were finally going to be out in the open. Mother, her husband, and I went to an appointment for her with a neuropsychiatrist. She specializes in treating Alzheimer's patients. She is very professional and businesslike. And she pulls no punches, so to speak.

I went to their home because Pop was having trouble getting Mom to agree to go to the doctor's appointment. She was extremely upset, so I went there instead of meeting them at the office. When I arrived, Mom was angry. She seemed to feel that we were in a conspiracy against her. I hugged her and asked her to get ready. She said she wasn't going anywhere, and I said we were going to the doctor. As she continued to refuse to go, she went about combing her hair, picking up her purse, and so on. She was so unhappy with us that she didn't care what clothes she wore. She said it was our idea and she didn't give a d---.