STILL ALICE PDF
STILL ALICE by Lisa Genova - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online for free. She didn't want to become someone people avoided and. Alice by Isabelle Rose Alice ran out the front door of her house. Her dark blonde hair bounced against her back as she Alice. Judith Herrmann Alice. In Lisa Genova's extraordinary New York Times bestselling novel, an accomplished woman slowly loses her thoughts and memories to Alzheimer's.
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Alzheimer's research and treatment preserving your. Spring The Magazine of Health and Hope. Julianne Moore,. Oscar-winning star of the film Still Alice. PDF | On Jul 1, , Nola C. Veazie and others published Still Alice, an Independent Film. INT. NEW YORK RESTAURANT - EVENING. In a fashionable uptown Asian- Fusion eatery, a birthday celebration takes place. At the head of the table is ALICE.
Alice Howland is proud of the life she worked so hard to build. Majority market book, simple cheap handbook Audiobook selling price quotes, adobe converter, app, modern facts series, cosmopolitan data source, open public look and data file products and services.
An individual write my essay standard paper type instructions practical, hindi, urdu, French and English, german and Australian languages: supported by italy and italian. Learning Research daily news about [Key word] dissertation track record selection retail outlet. Research basic principles get the job done and materials with guidelines trilogy, diaries integrated books. Learning Groundwork newspapers about Still Alice by Lisa Genova composition background library retail store.
Epub electronic overview of the course Still Alice by Lisa Genova complete ebook analysis survey by site site selections. Her head cleared, her body relaxed and rejuvenated, she began walking home. At the other end of the corridor, she stood at the intersection of Eliot Street and Brattle, ready to cross, when a woman grabbed her forearm with startling force and said, Have you thought about heaven today? The woman xed Alice with a penetrating, unwavering stare.
She had long hair the color and texture of a teased Brillo pad and wore a handmade placard hung over her chest that read america repent, turn to jesus from sin. There was always someone selling God in Harvard Square, but Alice had never been singled out so directly and intimately before. Sorry, she said and, noticing a break in the ow of trafc, escaped to the other side of the street. She wanted to continue walking but stood frozen instead.
She didnt know where she was. She looked back across the street. The Brillo-haired woman pursued another sinner down the corridor. The corridor, the hotel, the stores, the illogically meandering streets. She knew she was in Harvard Square, but she didnt know which way was home. She tried again, more specically.
Hardware, Mount Auburn Street. She knew all of these placesthis square had been her stomping ground for over twenty-ve yearsbut they somehow didnt t into a mental map that told her where she lived relative to them. A black-and-white circular T sign directly in front of her marked an entrance to the Red Line trains and buses underground, but there were three such entrances in Harvard Square, and she couldnt piece together which one of the three this was.
Her heart began to race. She started sweating. She told herself that an accelerated heart rate and perspiration were part of an orchestrated and appropriate response to running. But as she stood on the sidewalk, it felt like panic.
She willed herself to walk another block and then another, her rubbery legs feeling like they might give way with each bewildered step. The Coop, Cardullos, the magazines on the corner, the Cambridge visitors center across the street, and Harvard Yard beyond that. She told herself she could still read and recognize. None of it helped. It all lacked a context.
People, cars, buses, and all kinds of unbearable noise rushed and wove around and past her.
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She closed her eyes. She listened to her own blood whoosh and pulse behind her ears. Please stop this, she whispered. She opened her eyes. Just as suddenly as it had left her, the landscape snapped snugly back into place.
She automatically understood that she should turn left at the corner and head west on Mass Ave. She began to breathe easier, no longer bizarrely lost within a mile of home. But shed just been bizarrely lost. She walked as fast as she could without running. She turned onto her street, a quiet, tree-lined, residential road a couple of blocks removed from Mass Ave.
With both feet on her road and her house in sight, she felt much safer, but not yet safe. She kept her eyes on her front door and her legs moving and promised herself that the sea of anxiety swelling furiously inside her would drain when she walked in the front hallway and saw John. If he was home. He appeared in the threshold of the kitchen, unshaven, his glasses sitting on top of his mad-scientist hair, sucking on a red Popsicle and sporting his lucky gray T-shirt.
Hed been up all night. As shed promised herself, her anxiety began to drain. But her energy and bravery seemed to leak out with it, leaving her fragile and wanting to collapse into his arms. Hey, I was wondering where you were, just about to leave you a note on the fridge.
Howd it go? Oh, good. And hows Lydia? The betrayal and hurt over Lydia, over him not being home when she got there, exorcised by the run and displaced by her terror at being inexplicably lost, reclaimed its priority in the pecking order.
You tell me, she said. You guys fought. Youre paying for her acting classes?
Still Alice by Lisa Genova
Oh, he said, sucking the last of the Popsicle into his redstained mouth. Look, can we talk about this later? I dont have time to get into it right now. Make the time, John. Youre keeping her aoat out there without telling me, and youre not here when I get home, and And you werent here when I got home. How was your run?
She heard the simple reasoning in his veiled question. If she had waited for him, if she had called, if she hadnt done exactly what shed wanted and gone for a run, she couldve spent the last hour with him. She had to agree. Im sorry, I waited as long as I could, but Ive really got to get back to the lab. Ive had an incredible day so far, gorgeous results, but were not done, and Ive got to analyze the numbers before we get started again in the morning. I only came home to see you.
I need to talk about this with you now. This really isnt new information, Ali. We disagree about Lydia. Cant it wait until I get back? You want to walk over with me, talk about it on the way? Im not going to the ofce, I need to be home. You need to talk now, you need to be home, youre awfully needy all of a sudden. Is something else going on? The word needy smacked a vulnerable nerve.
Needy equaled weak, dependent, pathological. Her father. Shed made a lifelong point of never being like that, like him. Im just exhausted. You look it, you need to slow down. Thats not what I need. He waited for her to elaborate, but she took too long. Look, the sooner I go, the sooner Ill be back. Get some rest, Ill be home later tonight.
He kissed her sweat-drenched head and walked out the door. Standing in the hallway where hed left her, with no one to confess to or conde in, she felt the full emotional impact of what shed just experienced in Harvard Square ood over her. She sat down on the oor and leaned against the cool wall, watching her hands shake in her lap as if they couldnt be hers.
She tried to focus on steadying her breath as she did when she ran. After minutes of breathing in and breathing out, she was nally calm enough to attempt to assemble some sense out of what had just happened. She thought about the missing word during her talk at Stanford and her missing period. She got up, turned on her laptop, and Googled menopause symptoms. An appalling list lled the screenhot ashes, night sweats, insomnia, crashing fatigue, anxiety, dizziness, irregular heartbeat, depression, irritability, mood swings, disorientation, mental confusion, memory lapses.
Disorientation, mental confusion, memory lapses. Check, check, and check. She leaned back in her chair and raked her ngers through her curly black hair. She looked over at the pictures displayed on the shelves of the oor-to-ceiling bookcaseher Harvard graduation day, she and John dancing on their wedding day, family portraits from when the kids were little, a family portrait from Annas wedding.
She returned to the list on her computer screen.
This was just the natural, next phase in her life as a woman. Millions of women coped with it every day. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing abnormal.
She wrote herself a note to make an appointment with her doctor for a checkup.
Maybe she should go on estrogen. She read through the list of symptoms one last time. Mood swings. Her recent shrinking fuse with John.
It all added up. Satised, she shut down her computer. She sat in the darkening study awhile longer, listening to her quiet house and the sounds of neighborhood barbecues. She inhaled the smell of hamburger grilling. For some reason, she wasnt hungry anymore. She took a multivitamin with water, unpacked, read several articles from The Journal of Cognition, and went to bed. Sometime after midnight, John nally came home. His weight in their bed woke her, but only slightly.
She remained still and pretended to stay asleep. He had to be exhausted from being up all night and working all day. They could talk about Lydia in the morning. And shed apologize for being so sensitive and moody lately. His warm hand on her hip brought her into the curve of his body. With his breath on her neck, she fell into a deep sleep, convinced that she was safe. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright , by Lisa Genova All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. The paperback edition of this title has been cataloged as follows: Alzheimers diseaseFiction.
Women college teachers Fiction. E55S75 '.
She didn't want to become someone people avoided and feared. She wanted to live to hold Anna's baby and know it was her grandchild.
She wanted to see Lydia act in something she was proud of. She wanted to see Tom fall in love. She wanted to read every book she could before she could no longer read. Alice Howland is proud of the life she has worked so hard to build. A Harvard professor, she has a successful husband and three grown children.
When Alice begins to grow forgetful at first she just dismisses it, but when she gets lost in her own neighbourhood she realises that something is terribly wrong. Alice finds herself in the rapid downward spiral of Alzheimer's disease.
She is only 50 years old. While Alice once placed her worth and identity in her celebrated and respected academic life, now she must re-evaluate her relationship with her husband, her expectations of her children and her ideas about herself and her place in the world. Losing her yesterdays, her short-term memory hanging on by a couple of frayed threads, she is living in the moment, living for each day. But she is still Alice.
You will gain an understanding of those affected by early-onset Alzheimer's and remain moved and inspired long after you have put it down. Get your copy: Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. The Science of Vampires, Zombies, Werewolves, and other monsters. Now a Major Motion Picture: Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo. The Light Between Oceans: A Novel by M. Eight Girls Taking Pictures: A Novel by Whitney Otto. English In motion 4 Workbook Practice exercises. Jump to Page.
Search inside document. They used to walk together over to Harvard Yard every s t i l l a l i c e morning. Related Interests Leisure. Simon and Schuster. Macmillan Publishers. Penu Mery. Laura Pruzzo Lange. Anonymous MXmxshE. More From Simon and Schuster. Mouseheart 2: Hopper's Destiny by Lisa Fiedler Excerpt.
Popular in Education. Ernest Aton. Rick Heizman. Marlon Lester. Kshitij Aditya Sharma. Zeeshan Ellias. Lytz Florece Marchan. Mina Aragon. Jasmine Li. Department of Labor. Gita Ayu Pradiptatiwi. Adrienne Juarascio Et Al. Clinical Applications of a Group Treatment. The clocks in their home rarely knew the real time of day.
Alice had been duped too often in the past by their seemingly honest faces and had learned long ago to rely on her watch. Sure enough, she lapsed back in time as she entered the kitchen, where the microwave insisted that it was only She looked across the smooth, uncluttered surface of the granite countertop, and there they were, next to the mushroom bowl heaping with unopened mail. Not under something, not behind something, not obstructed in any way from plain view.
How could he, someone so smart, a scientist, not see what was right in front of him? Of course, many of her own things had taken to hiding in mischievous little places as well. But she didnt admit this to him, and she didnt involve him in the hunt. Just the other day, John blissfully unaware, shed spent a crazed morning looking rst all over the house and then in her ofce for her BlackBerry charger.
Stumped, shed surrendered, gone to the store, and bought a new one, only to discover the old one later that night plugged in the socket next to her side of the bed, where she should have known to look. She could probably chalk it all up for both of them to excessive multitasking and being way too busy. And to getting older. He stood in the doorway, looking at the glasses in her hand but not at her. Ill wear one of your skirts.
Ali, please, Im really late. The microwave says you have tons of time, she said, handing them to him. He grabbed them like a relay runner taking a baton in a race and headed for the front door.
Will you be here when I get home on Saturday? I dont know, Ive got a huge day in lab on Saturday. He collected his briefcase, phone, and keys from the hall table. Have a good trip, give Lydia a hug and kiss for me. And try not to battle with her, said John. She caught their reection in the hallway mirrora distinguished-looking, tall man with white-ecked brown hair and glasses; a petite, curly-haired woman, her arms crossed over her chest, each readying to leap into that same, bottomless argument.
She gritted her teeth and swallowed, choosing not to jump. We havent seen each other in a while. Please try to be home? I know, Ill try. He kissed her, and although desperate to leave, he lingered in that kiss for an almost imperceptible moment.
If she didnt know him better, she mightve romanticized his kiss.
She mightve stood there, hopeful, thinking it said, I love you, Ill miss you. But as she watched him hustle down the street alone, she felt pretty certain hed just told her, I love you, but please dont be pissed when Im not home on Saturday.
They used to walk together over to Harvard Yard every s t i l l a l i c e morning. Of the many things she loved about working within a mile from home and at the same school, their shared commute was the thing she loved most. They always stopped at Jerrisa black coffee for him, a tea with lemon for her, iced or hot, depending on the seasonand continued on to Harvard Yard, chatting about their research and classes, issues in their respective departments, their children, or plans for that evening.
When they were rst married, they even held hands. She savored the relaxed intimacy of these morning walks with him, before the daily demands of their jobs and ambitions rendered them each stressed and exhausted. But for some time now, theyd been walking over to Harvard separately. Alice had been living out of her suitcase all summer, attending psychology conferences in Rome, New Orleans, and Miami, and serving on an exam committee for a thesis defense at Princeton.
Back in the spring, Johns cell cultures had needed some sort of rinsing attention at an obscene hour each morning, but he didnt trust any of his students to show up consistently. So he did. She couldnt remember the reasons that predated spring, but she knew that each time theyd seemed reasonable and only temporary.
She returned to the paper at her desk, still distracted, now by a craving for that ght she hadnt had with John about their younger daughter, Lydia. Would it kill him to stand behind her for once? She gave the rest of the paper a cursory effort, not her typical standard of excellence, but it would have to do, given her fragmented state of mind and lack of time. Her comments and suggestions for revision nished, she packaged and sealed the envelope, guiltily aware that she mightve missed an error in the studys design or interpretation, cursing John for compromising the integrity of her work.
She repacked her suitcase, not even emptied yet from her l i s a g e n o va last trip. She looked forward to traveling less in the coming months. There were only a handful of invited lectures penciled in her fall semester calendar, and shed scheduled most of those on Fridays, a day she didnt teach.
Like tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be the guest speaker to kick off Stanfords cognitive psychology fall colloquium series. And afterward, shed see Lydia. Shed try not to battle with her, but she wasnt making any promises.
Its white stucco exterior, terra-cotta roof, and lush landscaping looked to her East Coast eyes more like a Caribbean beach resort than an academic building. She arrived quite early but ventured inside anyway, guring she could use the extra time to sit in the quiet auditorium and look over her talk. Much to her surprise, she walked into an already packed room.
A zealous crowd surrounded and circled a buffet table, aggressively diving in for food like seagulls at a city beach. Before she could sneak in unnoticed, she noticed Josh, a former Harvard classmate and respected egomaniac, standing in her path, his legs planted rmly and a little too wide, as if he was ready to dive at her.
All this, for me? What, we eat like this every day. Its for one of our developmental psychologists, he was tenured yesterday.
So hows Harvard treating you? I cant believe youre still there after all these years. You ever get too bored over there, you should consider coming here. Ill let you know. How are things with you? You should come by my ofce after the talk, see our latest modeling data. Itll really knock your socks off.
Sorry, I cant, I have to catch a ight to L. Oh, too bad.
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Last time I saw you I think was last year at the psychonomic conference. I unfortunately missed your presentation. Well, youll get to hear a good portion of it today. Recycling your talks these days, huh? Before she could answer, Gordon Miller, head of the department and her new superhero, swooped in and saved her by asking Josh to help pass out the champagne.
As at Harvard, a champagne toast was a tradition in the psychology department at Stanford for all faculty who reached the coveted career milestone of tenure. There werent many trumpets that heralded the advancement from point to point in the career of a professor, but tenure was a big one, loud and clear. When everyone was holding a cup, Gordon stood at the podium and tapped the microphone. Can I have everyones attention for a moment?
Joshs excessively loud, punctuated laugh reverberated alone through the auditorium just before Gordon continued. Today, we congratulate Mark on receiving tenure. Im sure hes thrilled to have this particular accomplishment behind him. Heres to the many exciting accomplishments still ahead. To Mark! Alice tapped her cup with her neighbors, and everyone quickly resumed the business of drinking, eating, and discussing. When all of the food had been claimed from the serving l i s a g e n o va trays and the last drops of champagne emptied from the last bottle, Gordon took the oor once again.
If everyone would take a seat, we can begin todays talk. He waited a few moments for the crowd of about seventyve to settle and quiet down. Today, I have the honor of introducing you to our rst colloquium speaker of the year. Over the last twenty-ve years, her distinguished career has produced many of the agship touchstones in psycholinguistics.
She pioneered and continues to lead an interdisciplinary and integrated approach to the study of the mechanisms of language. We are privileged to have her here today to talk to us about the conceptual and neural organization of language. Alice switched places with Gordon and looked out at her audience looking at her.
As she waited for the applause to subside, she thought of the statistic that said people feared public speaking more than they feared death. She loved it. She enjoyed all of the concatenated moments of presenting in front of a listening audienceteaching, performing, telling a story, teeing up a heated debate.
She also loved the adrenaline rush. The bigger the stakes, the more sophisticated or hostile the audience, the more the whole experience thrilled her.
John was an excellent teacher, but public speaking often pained and terried him, and he marveled at Alices verve for it.
He probably didnt prefer death, but spiders and snakes, sure. Thank you, Gordon. Today, Im going to talk about some of the mental processes that underlie the acquisition, organization, and use of language. Alice had given the guts of this particular talk innumer- s t i l l a l i c e 10 able times, but she wouldnt call it recycling. The crux of the talk did focus on the main tenets of linguistics, many of which shed discovered, and shed been using a number of the same slides for years.
But she felt proud, and not ashamed or lazy, that this part of her talk, these discoveries of hers, continued to hold true, withstanding the test of time. Her contributions mattered and propelled future discovery.
Plus, she certainly included those future discoveries. She talked without needing to look down at her notes, relaxed and animated, the words effortless. Then, about forty minutes into the fty-minute presentation, she became suddenly stuck. The data reveal that irregular verbs require access to the mental.
She simply couldnt nd the word. She had a loose sense for what she wanted to say, but the word itself eluded her. She didnt know the rst letter or what the word sounded like or how many syllables it had. It wasnt on the tip of her tongue. Maybe it was the champagne. She normally didnt drink any alcohol before speaking.
Even if she knew the talk cold, even in the most casual setting, she always wanted to be as mentally sharp as possible, especially for the question-andanswer session at the end, which could be confrontational and full of rich, unscripted debate.
But she hadnt wanted to offend anyone, and shed drunk a little more than she probably should have when she became trapped again in passiveaggressive conversation with Josh. Maybe it was jet lag. As her mind scoured its corners for the word and a rational reason for why shed lost it, her heart pounded and her face grew hot.
Shed never lost a word in front of an audience before. But shed never panicked in front l i s a g e n o va of an audience either, and shed stood before many far larger and more intimidating than this. She told herself to breathe, forget about it, and move on. She replaced the still blocked word with a vague and inappropriate thing, abandoned whatever point shed been in the middle of making, and continued on to the next slide. The pause had seemed like an obvious and awkward eternity to her, but as she checked the faces in the audience to see if anyone had noticed her mental hiccup, no one appeared alarmed, embarrassed, or rufed in any way.
Then, she saw Josh whispering to the woman next to him, his eyebrows furrowed and a slight smile on his face. She was on the plane, descending into LAX, when it nally came to her.
If shed gone to college right after high school, she wouldve graduated this past spring. Alice wouldve been so proud. Lydia was probably smarter than both of her older siblings, and they had gone to college.
And law school. And medical school. Instead of college, Lydia rst went to Europe. Alice had hoped shed come home with a clearer sense of what she wanted to study and what kind of school she wanted to go to. Instead, upon her return, shed told her parents that shed done a little acting while in Dublin and had fallen in love. She was moving to Los Angeles immediately. Alice nearly lost her mind. Much to her maddening frustration, she recognized her own contribution to this prob- 12 lem.
Because Lydia was the youngest of three, the daughter of parents who worked a lot and traveled regularly, and had always been a good student, Alice and John had ignored her to a large extent. Theyd granted her a lot of room to run in her world, free to think for herself and free from the kind of micromanagement placed on a lot of children her age.
Her parents professional lives served as shining examples of what could be gained from setting lofty and individually unique goals and pursuing them with passion and hard work.
Lydia understood her mothers advice about the importance of getting a college education, but she had the condence and audacity to reject it.
Plus, she didnt stand entirely alone. The most explosive ght Alice had ever had with John had followed his two cents on the subject: I think its wonderful, she can always go to college later, if she decides she even wants to.
Alice checked her BlackBerry for the address, rang the doorbell to apartment number seven, and waited. She was just about to press it again when Lydia opened the door. Mom, youre early, said Lydia. Alice checked her watch. Im right on time. You said your ight was coming in at eight. I said ve. I have eight oclock written down in my book. Lydia, its ve forty-ve, Im here.She had a loose sense for what she wanted to say, but the word itself eluded her. How many hours of class a week do your students take, twelve?
They sat at a table outside on the patio at Ivy, a trendy restaurant in downtown Los Angeles, and ordered two drinks, an espresso martini for Lydia and a merlot for Alice. Hes very proud of it. Why did it bother her so much? Ill let you know.
She was moving to Los Angeles immediately. We disagree about Lydia.