Did I already say that?

My garden seems to have been overtaken by forget-me-nots this year and despite my weeding efforts, each week I am introduced to a glut of newly conceived seedlings. This week it dawned on me that the person I planted them for, my mom, might be trying to remind me that 58 was the year she developed dementia, and as this landmark birthday approaches, I would be wise to take care.

I used to wonder if Mom developed Alzheimers because she always had 10 things to think of at once and like most mothers, spent most of her days telling us the same thing over and over again. I am not certain that my kids would recognize that their mother was developing dementia given my constant repeated rants: eat your breakfast, brush your teeth, don't mess around, get ready for school, don't play with the seatbelt, don't talk to strangers, do your homework, don't mess around...did I already say that?

I recently came upon a letter written by my Mom's specialist recommending that she discontinue HRT because her breasts were fibrocystic. Mom had complained that she felt unwell off her hormones and that her hands were becoming arthritic and too painful to play the organ...she was a church organist. Neverthless, she was denied further prescriptions for estrogen and 2 years later she had early dementia. Watching her battle this disease was the most painful experience of my life, although Mom seemed blissfully unaware of her tragic state.

I've long felt that my brain was of more use to me than my breasts, and if I had to sacrifice one to save the other, it would be a simple choice. As evidence of the protective nature of hormones on brain tissue persists, I have decided that I will take estrogen until the year before I want to die. And as it turns out, estrogen isn't so bad for the breasts after all.

A much smaller percentage of men develop Alzheimers than women and some of this too has been attributed to the massive amount of hormone, specifically testosterone,that they continue to produce long into decrepancy. I recently was advised that a "spot of T' may improve some of my joint pain, and to my surprise, it not only completely obliterated it, but the crappy concentration I attributed to chasing my little superstars cleared up as well. Eighteen years of working with a reproductive endocrinologist has taught me that stress hormones are bad and sex hormones are great...and hopefully this approach will keep my mind (and sex life) on target until my hubby and the kids are old and sick of me.

"If either of us is likely to develop dementia, it's probably me" my dear man said this week. He truly is the epitome of the absent minded professor but mostly because of the sheer volume of decisions he has to make on a daily basis. I've decided that if I get dementia, I'm going to eat gluten, specifically rhubarb pie until I die of a bowel obstruction saving everyone the trauma of witnessing my long term uninhibited self. "Will you still take care of me if I lose my mind?" he asked tentatively.

"You'll just be another one of the kids" I reassured him.."playing outside in a fenced yard where you can't hurt yourself, and me reminding you: eat your breakfast, brush your dentures, don't mess your pants, do your Soduku, don't play with your seatbelt, don't mess...did I already say that?