On Christmas morning I pulled up to the curb at my father’s house knowing well what I was about to face. Over the past decade our family has watched our father slowly slipping away. He suffers from what doctors call dementia. I, on the other hand, am confident it is Alzheimer’s disease.
My dad shuffled through the kitchen and dining area using a walker, a home health care nurse following closely behind. He looked thinner and his posture was deteriorating, not from age, but from the long-term effects of living with one foot. For the past 50 years my father has been walking with a limp from the prosthesis which, over time, effects your equilibrium, which effects your spine, which effects your muscles, which effects your balance, which effects your posture.