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Partial View: An Alzheimer's Journal
Thoughtful book.
- GenresNonfiction
97 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1998
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
June 22, 2022
"Every day is a new day. I've never seen this day before and chances are I'll never see it again".
Partial View is a collection of Cary Henderson's recorded thoughts after being diagnosed with Alzheimer's and slowly succumbing to the disease. His musings are coupled with photographs taken by Nancy Andrews, a photographer for The Washington Post.
Two things that Henderson points out about his experience with Alzheimer's really stood out to me. First was the importance of his dog. He talks about his little dog Uni and how nice it was to have her around as a companion. He lovingly calls dogs "stupid" in the sense that they don't know when he screws something up, so he gets social interaction without the embarrassment. At the time of his recordings he was still able to walk her, which gave him something productive to do; he mentioned how he loved walking his "doggie" at least twice a day. Interestingly though, Uni became a massive source of anxiety at one point. There is a scene where his wife is sick (likely a cold) and is sleeping upstairs. Henderson knows it's time to feed the dog, which is usually his wife's job, but he doesn't want to wake her. He can't remember how to open the can of dog food and so, in his nervous state, he decides to poke holes in the can and tear it to pieces, just so Uni can get some of her food. His feelings of distress around something so simple as feeding the dog (the dog will be OK until his wife gets up, opening a can of dog food isn't that hard) really emphasizes the bland torture that Alzheimer's enacts on its victims.
The second thing that stood out wasn't so much something he explicitly said, but rather the overarching theme of time in his story. It seems like so much of what Henderson struggled with had to do with the inability to perceive time moving or the inability to align events into a coherent timeline. He talks about how when people are explaining things to him, he may not understand it in the moment but later fragments of the conversation will return to his mind and confuse him. It's as though he unwillingly resumes the conversation with himself later and then can't distinguish whether that conversation just happened or happened two days ago. He talks about how each day is a new day, an idea that sounds nice but is soaked in insidiousness. Since every day is new, there's no learning, no experience to build things on. He can't read or work, which was devastating to him as a history professor, largely because he couldn't coalesce individual thoughts into a broader schema. He talks about how scary it is when his wife leaves the room because he doesn't know if she's been gone two minutes or two days.
Henderson touches on a lot of other interesting topics too: the paranoia inherent in Alzheimer's, how bad it feels to rely on caregivers, and how nice it felt to be a part of a clinical trial at Duke. Stylistically, the recordings were transcribed near verbatim and it's interesting to see the Alzheimer's peek out of the text in odd phrasings or losses of the train of thought. This was an interesting narrative, a quick read, and a valuable tool for people living with Alzheimer's and their caregivers.
Partial View is a collection of Cary Henderson's recorded thoughts after being diagnosed with Alzheimer's and slowly succumbing to the disease. His musings are coupled with photographs taken by Nancy Andrews, a photographer for The Washington Post.
Two things that Henderson points out about his experience with Alzheimer's really stood out to me. First was the importance of his dog. He talks about his little dog Uni and how nice it was to have her around as a companion. He lovingly calls dogs "stupid" in the sense that they don't know when he screws something up, so he gets social interaction without the embarrassment. At the time of his recordings he was still able to walk her, which gave him something productive to do; he mentioned how he loved walking his "doggie" at least twice a day. Interestingly though, Uni became a massive source of anxiety at one point. There is a scene where his wife is sick (likely a cold) and is sleeping upstairs. Henderson knows it's time to feed the dog, which is usually his wife's job, but he doesn't want to wake her. He can't remember how to open the can of dog food and so, in his nervous state, he decides to poke holes in the can and tear it to pieces, just so Uni can get some of her food. His feelings of distress around something so simple as feeding the dog (the dog will be OK until his wife gets up, opening a can of dog food isn't that hard) really emphasizes the bland torture that Alzheimer's enacts on its victims.
The second thing that stood out wasn't so much something he explicitly said, but rather the overarching theme of time in his story. It seems like so much of what Henderson struggled with had to do with the inability to perceive time moving or the inability to align events into a coherent timeline. He talks about how when people are explaining things to him, he may not understand it in the moment but later fragments of the conversation will return to his mind and confuse him. It's as though he unwillingly resumes the conversation with himself later and then can't distinguish whether that conversation just happened or happened two days ago. He talks about how each day is a new day, an idea that sounds nice but is soaked in insidiousness. Since every day is new, there's no learning, no experience to build things on. He can't read or work, which was devastating to him as a history professor, largely because he couldn't coalesce individual thoughts into a broader schema. He talks about how scary it is when his wife leaves the room because he doesn't know if she's been gone two minutes or two days.
Henderson touches on a lot of other interesting topics too: the paranoia inherent in Alzheimer's, how bad it feels to rely on caregivers, and how nice it felt to be a part of a clinical trial at Duke. Stylistically, the recordings were transcribed near verbatim and it's interesting to see the Alzheimer's peek out of the text in odd phrasings or losses of the train of thought. This was an interesting narrative, a quick read, and a valuable tool for people living with Alzheimer's and their caregivers.
December 3, 2024
l’alzheimer è anche una malattia della memoria ma è anzitutto disordine di affetti, paranoia, senso di isolamento e paura. coraggiosamente un paziente lo ha raccontato, cosa vuol dire da dentro vivere con una malattia che ti svuota pian piano; e cosa significa per le persone che ami e un tempo conoscevi viverti attorno adesso che sei ancora qualcuno ma diverso.
consiglio a chiunque di leggerlo e sfogliarlo (le foto bellissime), ma soprattutto alle persone che devono fare i conti con l’alzheimer e con altre demenze, tutti i giorni.
consiglio a chiunque di leggerlo e sfogliarlo (le foto bellissime), ma soprattutto alle persone che devono fare i conti con l’alzheimer e con altre demenze, tutti i giorni.
December 11, 2017
"There are things I wish I could still do. But on the other side, there are still things that I can do and I plan to hold on to them as long as I possibly can. Laughing is absolutely wonderful."
This collection of pictures and vignettes followed a man with Alzheimer's. It was one of the most heartbreaking books I've read this year. Cary Henderson has recorded his voice, which was then transcribed into words. He also had an accompanying photographer with him, who took powerful photos. Tears were inevitable, but I carried the emotions with me for a long while after I returned the book.
This collection of pictures and vignettes followed a man with Alzheimer's. It was one of the most heartbreaking books I've read this year. Cary Henderson has recorded his voice, which was then transcribed into words. He also had an accompanying photographer with him, who took powerful photos. Tears were inevitable, but I carried the emotions with me for a long while after I returned the book.
March 9, 2012
This is a quick read - small chunks of writing with photographs. It's a good look at what it must feel like to find yourself aging/getting sick, and discovering that you're unable to do simple things you once could...and all the fear and confusion that comes with that. I hear it's out of print, but you should read it if you can find a copy...especially if you're working in any sort of healthcare or know anyone who is facing this reality.
April 1, 2012
A quick read by a man who recorded his thoughts as he became increasingly incapacitated by Alzheimer's. I loved the photographs--oftentimes, due to the nature of this disease, the images say more than the narration can.
August 24, 2009
A sad and moving book by a very good man about what he is losing to Alzheimer's disease.
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April 19, 2013Such a great book, he worked really hard to record his thoughts before they were gone!
February 21, 2016
Powerful book that exemplifies the sadness and loss that alzheimer's patients face.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews