“‘She skips over huge sections of the outline, so you skip it, too, but then she expects us to know it for the exam.’

“‘She doesn’t seem to know the information she’s teaching.’

“‘Class was a waste of time. I could’ve just read the textbook.’

“‘I had a hard time following her lectures. Even she gets lost in them. This class was nowhere near as good as her intro course.’

“‘Once she came to class and didn’t teach. She just sat down for a few minutes and left. Another time, she taught the exact same lecture she did the week before. I’d never dream of wasting Dr. Howland’s time, but I don’t think she should waste mine either.’”

That was tough to hear. It was much, much more than she’d been aware of.

“Alice, we’ve known each other a long time, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to risk being blunt and too personal here. Is everything okay at home?”

“Yes.”

“How about you then, is it possible that you’re overstressed or depressed?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“This is a little embarrassing to have to ask, but do you think you might have a drinking or substance problem?”

Now she’d heard enough. I can’t live with a reputation of being a depressed, stressed-out addict. Having dementia has to carry less of a stigma than that.

“Eric, I have Alzheimer’s disease.”

His face went blank. He had been braced to hear about John’s infidelity. He was ready with the name of a good psychiatrist. He was prepared to orchestrate an intervention or to have her admitted to McLean Hospital to dry out. He was not prepared for this.

“I was diagnosed in January. I had a hard time teaching last semester, but I didn’t realize how much it showed.”

“I’m sorry, Alice.”

“Me, too.”

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Neither was I.”

“I was expecting something temporary, something you would get past. This isn’t a temporary problem we’re looking at.”

“No, no, it’s not.”

Alice watched him think. He was like a father to everyone in the department, protective and generous, but also pragmatic and strict.

“Parents are paying forty grand a year now. This wouldn’t go over well with them.”

No, it certainly wouldn’t. They weren’t shelling out astronomical dollars to have their sons and daughters learn from someone with Alzheimer’s. She could already hear the uproar, the scandalous sound bites on the evening news.

“Also, a couple of students from your class are contesting their grades. I’m afraid that would only escalate.”

In twenty-five years of teaching, no one had ever contested a grade given by her. Not a single student.

“I think you probably shouldn’t be teaching anymore, but I’d like to respect your time line. Do you have a plan?”

“I’d hoped to stay on for the year and then take my sabbatical, but I hadn’t appreciated the extent to which my symptoms were showing and disrupting my lectures. I don’t want to be a bad teacher, Eric. That’s not who I am.”

“I know it’s not. How about a medical leave that would take you into your sabbatical year?”

He wanted her out now. She had an exemplary body of work and performance history, and most important, she had tenure. Legally, they couldn’t fire her. But that was not how she wanted to handle this. As much as she didn’t want to give up her career at Harvard, her fight was with Alzheimer’s disease, not with Eric or Harvard University.

“I’m not ready to leave, but I agree with you, as much as it breaks my heart, I think I should stop teaching. I’d like to stay on as Dan’s adviser, though, and I’d like to continue to attend seminars and meetings.”

I am no longer a teacher.

“I think we can work that out. I’d like you to have a talk with Dan, explain to him what’s going on and leave the decision up to him. I’d be happy to coadvise with you if that makes either of you more comfortable. Also, obviously, you shouldn’t take on any new graduate students. Dan will be the last.”

I am no longer a research scientist.

“You probably shouldn’t be accepting invitations to speak at other universities or conferences. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea for you to be representing Harvard in that kind of capacity. I have noticed that you’ve stopped traveling for the most part, so maybe you’ve already recognized this.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“How do you want to handle telling the administrative faculty and people in the department? Again, I’ll respect your time line here, whatever you want to do.”

She was going to stop teaching, researching, traveling, and lecturing. People were going to notice. They were going to speculate and whisper and gossip. They were going to think she was a depressed, stressed-out addict. Maybe some of them already did.

“I’ll tell them. It should come from me.”

September 17, 2004

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

Upon thoughtful consideration and with deep sorrow, I have decided to step down from my teaching, research, and traveling responsibilities at Harvard. In January of this year, I was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. While I am likely still in the early to moderate stages of the disease, I’ve been experiencing unpredictable cognitive lapses that make it impossible for me to meet the demands of this position with the highest of standards that I’ve always held myself to and that are expected here.

While you’ll no longer see me at the podium in the lecture auditoriums or busy writing new grant proposals, I will remain on as Dan Maloney’s thesis adviser, and I’ll still attend meetings and seminars, where it is my hope to continue to serve as an active and welcome participant.

With greatest affection and respect,

Alice Howland

THE FIRST WEEK OF THE fall semester, Marty took over Alice’s teaching responsibilities. When she met with him to hand over the syllabus and lecture materials, he hugged her and said how very sorry he was. He asked her how she was feeling and if there was anything he could do. She thanked him and told him she was feeling fine. And as soon as he had everything he needed for the course, he left her office as fast as he could.

Pretty much the same drill followed with everyone in the department.

“I’m so sorry, Alice.”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“I had no idea.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Are you sure? You don’t look any different.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Then they left her alone as quickly as possible. They were politely kind to her when they ran into her, but they didn’t run into her very often. This was largely because of their busy schedules and Alice’s now rather empty one. But a not so insignificant reason was because they chose not to. Facing her meant facing her mental frailty and the unavoidable thought that, in the blink of an eye, it could happen to them. Facing her was scary. So for the most part, except for meetings and seminars, they didn’t.

TODAY WAS THE FIRST PSYCHOLOGY Lunch Seminar of the semester. Leslie, one of Eric’s graduate students, stood poised and ready at the head of the conference table with the title slide already projected onto the screen. “Searching for Answers: How Attention Affects the Ability to Identify What We See.” Alice felt poised and ready as well, sitting in the first seat at the table, across from Eric. She began eating her lunch, an eggplant calzone and a garden salad, while Eric and Leslie talked, and the room filled in.

After a few minutes, Alice noticed that every seat at the table was occupied except for the one next to her, and people had begun taking up standing positions at the back of the room. Seats at the table were highly coveted, not only because the location made it easier to see the presentation but because sitting eliminated the awkward juggling of plate, utensils, drink, pen, and notebook. Apparently, that juggling was less awkward than sitting next to her. She looked at everyone not looking at her. About fifty people crowded into the room, people she’d known for many years, people she’d thought of as family.