Dad

My dad died from dementia. At least, that’s what his death certificate says. They said he had Alzheimer’s disease. We believed them.


It seemed… well, it seemed credible at the time, even though there really is no way to diagnose Alzheimer’s without an autopsy. Besides, the doctors say that they can diagnose Alzheimer’s with 90 percent accuracy. I wonder if Dad was one of the 90 percent. They didn’t do an autopsy.


I read on one of those medical websites that one of the first signs of Alzheimer’s is a change in personality, and I’m pretty sure that’s what clued the doctor’s in that something was wrong with Dad. He was getting grouchy… losing his temper for no apparent reason. At least, none that anyone was aware of. When they asked him why, he said he didn’t know.


Maybe he did know but just said he didn’t. Sometimes it’s easier to just say, “I don’t know.” Particularly when the answer may make you sound, well, demented. If someone thinks something differently than the consensus, it’s easy to just discount it as crazy. And a lifetime of other people not understanding, believing themselves smarter because of their education, explaining to you using management school mumbo jumbo how you’re wrong, and constantly biting back the response that you know is right but that other more educated people will only ignore… well, it seems to me that sooner or later it will get the better of you. Sooner or later, you just can’t bite your tongue any more.


At first, the doctors just called it depression, and prescribed some sort of antidepressant. Now, I’m no expert, but I do have some experience with antidepressants. I was diagnosed with depression once, years ago. I took the pills, which made me feel lousy. I couldn’t think; it was as if my brain was filled with cotton; everything was fuzzy. My previously good health took a turn for the worse, and a friend told me that what I was experiencing was typical for this particular drug. He told me to get off the stuff.


One of the things doctors tell you when you start taking antidepressants is that you should never just stop taking them; instead, you need a doctor to help you wean yourself off. So, I went to the doctor and told him I thought these pills were making me sick, and that I couldn’t think any more. The response was, in retrospect, was crazy: “You need to take more.” The doctor doubled my dose.


I tried the new dosage for about a week, until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I quit taking the stuff. It took maybe a month for me to feel normal again, but to this day, I actually think that I have some lingering health issues related to that drug.


So, lately I’ve been thinking about my dad, and how it is that he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s once he had gotten on the antidepressant freight train. I call it a freight train because it seems like once you get started on antidepressants, it’s nearly impossible to stop, at least if you put that much trust in the “experts.”


It might have been a year or so after starting to take antidepressants that my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Unfortunately, some of the side effects of some antidepressants are also symptoms of Alzheimer’s. Then, to make things worse, some of the side effects of Alzheimer’s medication could appear to be symptoms of Alzheimer’s, like incontinence. Again, I’m no expert. Somebody crapping their pants may not have anything to do with the prescribed medications; it could be due to dementia. I wouldn’t know the difference between drug-induced incontinence and dementia induced incontinence, but I guess a doctor can tell.


The really troubling thing is that even the experts don’t know anything. They believe depression is caused by a chemical imbalance. And now, this “knowledge” has gained widespread acceptance, so much so that even lay people believe this is a fact. Only, it isn’t a fact. It’s a theory.


I’m going to end here with what is perhaps one of the most troubling statements I’ve seen on the subject of antidepressants: “the truth is that researchers know very little about how antidepressants work.”