My mom had Alzheimer’s. And she gave me secondhand Alzheimer’s.

Haven’t heard of secondhand Alzheimer’s? I’m not surprised. I think I coined the term. The way I saw it, either I had some devastating disease as a result of taking care of Mom with her devastating disease, or I was a complete jerk. Since I didn’t want to think of myself as a complete jerk, I decided I had secondhand Alzheimer’s. Though you may never have heard of it, I can assure you that secondhand Alzheimer’s is quite common. In fact, I’d say that for each of the 5 million people in America living with Alzheimer’s there are millions more living with (and desperately hiding) the symptoms of secondhand Alzheimer’s.

Just as symptoms of secondhand smoke are caused by exposure to cigarette smoke, symptoms of secondhand Alzheimer’s are caused by exposure to Alzheimer’s. And just as Alzheimer’s is ugly, secondhand Alzheimer’s is ugly. Not so ugly that we sufferers are abusive. Abuse is another animal altogether. But the symptoms of secondhand Alzheimer’s are ugly enough that we hide them behind brave smiles and stiff upper lips because no one must ever find out that we aren’t as patient and understanding as the actors that play us on Aricept commercials.

The five primary symptoms of secondhand Alzheimer’s are denial, anger, inappropriate laughter, making lame excuses, and bargaining.

Denial, of course, is at the root of everything.

1. Denial. I watched as Mom’s doctor administered the Mini-Mental Status Exam. The quack in the white coat demanded that she recite her name and date of birth. She told him to look at the chart in his hand if he needed ‘piss ant details’ about her life. Tenaciously, he asked her who the current president is. She said, “Ronald Reagan.” I could tell she was yanking his chain. She knew the name of the current president. She just didn’t like him. She liked Ronald Reagan, so she said, “Ronald Reagan.” White coat frowned. He obviously had no sense of humor. Equally obviously, I deemed the Mini Mental Status Exam to be a piece of trash, not a diagnostic tool. A bunch of incorrectly answered questions did not prove Mom had Alzheimer’s!

Yep, denial is the first symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s, and it permeates all other symptoms. It especially fuels the second most common symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s: anger.

2. Anger. I’d jab the red “end call” button on my iPhone after talking with Mom and yell at the empty room, “NO! I can’t come to your house, Mom! It’s two in the morning, and I’m trying to sleep!” Then, I’d get out of my warm bed, stomp to my car, and drive like a barefoot maniac to Mom’s house because she was afraid of things that go bump in the night and something had gone bump in the night. By the time I got there, she’d forgotten what had gone bump in the night and would yell at me for scaring her half to death by showing up in the middle of the night and bumping about! Then, she’d fret that I’d awakened Dad and I’d tell her that waking Dad would be a miracle since Dad died five years ago! Why couldn’t she remember that Dad was dead? Jeez!

Anger is the fever symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s. It is the embodiment of denial that rails against Alzheimer’s. But just as frequently, anger gives way to inappropriate laughter.

3. Inappropriate laughter. When Mom refused to get in bed because, according to her, there was a bad monkey perched on her pillow, I flung my body across the bed and rolled around like a wild woman. “Look,” I told her, “I’m squashing the bad monkey!”

“Get off that bed!” she yelled, “I’m your mommy, and I’ll bust your bottom!”

She remembered that she was my mommy! Which meant that she knew I was her daughter and not the cleaning lady or the nurse or the boy who pulled her pigtail in grade school. At that moment, she remembered me! I lay on the bed and burst into laughter — loud, belly-shaking, tear-producing laughter.

Inappropriate laughter is the coping symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s. It’s the symptom that sneers at Alzheimer’s. It says, “See! Mom doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.” Inappropriate laughter kicks Alzheimer’s ass. But then, Alzheimer’s comes back with vengeance, and that’s when lame excuses begin.

4. Making lame excuses. Mom fell. A lot. Well, of course she did! Anybody who insists on walking on wood floors in socks will take a tumble. Socks are slippery little devils. Socks were my fall guy as far as Mom’s falls were concerned. She stopped cooking. Who could blame her? She’d cooked three meals a day for a carnivorous family for fifty years. She deserved a break. She hadn’t forgotten how to cook. She was sick and tired of cooking. That’s all.

Finding lame excuses is the default symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s. When the evidence for Alzheimer’s is insurmountable, lame excuses pile up. But eventually, excuses are exhausted, and bargaining begins. Bargaining is the last ditch symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s.

5. Bargaining. “If you’ll eat this soup, Mom, I’ll give you a Milky Way for dessert.” Or, “If you’ll try to walk, Mom, we’ll go outside.” Or, “If you can remember your son’s name, we’ll call him to say ‘hi.’” And finally, “If you open your eyes one more time, Mom, I’ll be ready to say ‘goodbye’ tomorrow.”

Bargaining is the futile symptom of secondhand Alzheimer’s. Alzheimer’s is relentless, heartless, and in the end, victorious. No matter how much you beg or what you promise, Alzheimer’s never backs down.

My brother, a minister, spoke at Mom’s funeral. He said her grandchildren and I had to forget ‘Mom with Alzheimer’s.’ Instead, he asked us to remember ‘Mom before Alzheimer’s.’ We needed to remember the woman she was. The one who played a mean game of checkers and baked a wickedly good lemon meringue pie. The one who loved us unconditionally.

Happily, I’ve been able to do that. Alzheimer’s failed at stealing my good memories of Mom.

And in time, I’m hoping that those memories allow me to heal from the symptoms of secondhand Alzheimer’s.

K. Anne Smith is a speech pathologist.

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